Our Support Group has been meeting for over a quarter of a century, our present circle of five
intact for a decade. I am unsure just “what it is” that coalesces to create the spirit
and tone, the nourishment and nurturance, the comfort and the challenge of our group – but it is
infilling and life-giving for each of us. I trust the following vignette is not too personal.
I am no fan of Birch Bayh, but his unexpected and emotional announcement, now several weeks ago, not to seek re-election to the Senate troubled me. If one aspires to influence our nation in a real and substantive way, what better opportunity than to become a senator? That’s what Bayh had thought, until what is arguably a dysfunctional and broken Senate changed his mind. I arrived at our monthly Support Group gathering unusually, uncharacteristically discouraged, my usually dauntless hopefulness badly bruised.
I could hear all that in my voice as well as my words, as I tried to share what I was feeling. “You sound broken-hearted,” Carol said, in her typically firm and gentle way. Even as I felt something rise to resist that word, it felt, at the same time, oddly right. Each word I had used in my sharing was “down-pulling,” not only describing my feelings, but intensifying them. But “broken-hearted,” for reasons I could not fathom, reversed that momentum. It was animating and up-lifting, comforting my heart and energizing my spirit.
Associations began to constellate in my mind. A line from a hymn sang quietly, “sorrow and love flow mingled down.” There is both sorrow and love in broken-heartedness. Words of the prophet Jeremiah whispered into my mind’s ear, his words so often mingling anguish and power. Is there empowerment in the anguish of broken-heartedness? Watching a “rich young ruler” walking away, his grip on his wealth and power unable to yield to a higher invitation, Jesus is broken-hearted. Seeing a people without a shepherd, without leadership and direction, he is broken-hearted again. Three disciples unable to stay awake, another betraying him with a kiss, his prayer blood-soaked and wrenching. And that awesome cry of forsakenness from the cross. Does faithfulness and ultimate trust flow from broken-heartedness?
Parker’s new book will be titled “The Politics of the Brokenhearted,” Carol added, the word a gift from a colleague and friend we share in common, Parker Palmer. Loops began to close. Might shared broken-heartedness become unifying, even amidst our differences, healing our personal lives and our government, per chance the Senate. An illustration came to mind: What if the Health Care Summit – more civil, it seemed to me, than the debate had been to date, but nonetheless ideologies stalemated and colliding as the day unfolded – had begun with shared broken-heartedness. Not as a partisan ploy, an ideological tactic, but as a common starting point. Broken-hearted that 25,000 American died last year of preventable or treatable diseases . . . broken-hearted that tens of thousands lost their homes, some exhausting their financial resources short of securing adequate medical care, many going into bankruptcy . . . broken-hearted that thousands were losing health care as fallout of the unemployment crisis . . . brokenhearted that we spend twice the percentage of our GDP on health care than nations with universal coverage, leaving thirty-five million citizens without care.
My hope, always vulnerable, is restored. My commitment to social justice, faith-defined and biblically-rooted, has firmed. My spirit has re-found its sturdiness and resilience. But I have chosen to welcome broken-heartedness as a companion – a source of vision, empowering action, and grounding both vision and action in confidence that I follow a God who will “work all things together for good.”
