‘When Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, he summarised in these gestures his own life. Jesus is chosen from all eternity, blessed at his baptism in the Jordan River, broken on the cross, and given as bread to the world.  Being chosen, blessed, broken, and given is the sacred journey of the Son of God, Jesus the Christ. When we take bread, bless it, break it, and give it with the words “This is the Body of Christ,” we express our commitment to make our lives conform to the life of Christ.  We too want to live as people chosen, blessed, and broken, and thus become food for the world.’ Bread for the Journey, Henri Nouwen.

If I’d read the passage quoted above at the time of our last publication, I would not have understood it as I do today, just six short months later. It would also be fair to say that tomorrow I will not understand it as I do today—the journey is ongoing. Different seasons of my life can be characterised by different emphases — in one season discovering more of my ‘chosenness’, in another more of ‘becoming food for the world’, but this season is defined by increasing degrees of brokenness and is deeply personal.

In the past my perception of brokenness has been that it is something to ‘get over’, something to be ‘dealt with’, something to be politely ashamed of, something that should be spoken of in the past tense as soon as is practically possible. Today I’m growing increasingly comfortable with my inadequacies, not yet totally comfortable, but increasingly comfortable with co-habitation — embracing my broken condition and entering in my weakness into the presence of Love (not ‘bringing’ my brokenness with me because my brokenness is me — the difference is subtle but significant as the former is still to hold brokenness at arm’s length). What I discover there is not judgment, disdain, or distance but Understanding, Compassion and Intimacy, Love’s unconditional embrace — my brokenness is me, my shortcomings are mine, and truly I am Loved for who I am right now. I’ve known this theologically for as long as I can remember, but now my heart is finally seeing, experiencing, and owning, like the first promising rays of sunlight on the dawn of a new day. Grace is deeply precious in this place. In my Christian(?) ‘I’ve got it altogetherness,’ grace is a nice concept, an increasingly distant memory; but in brokenness it is ever-present life and breath, a place of rest and self-acceptance where I can finally be me without shame or excuse… Even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you. (Psalm 139:12)