I may have mentioned this before. When asked if I’m a glass half-full guy (optimist) or a glass half-empty guy (pessimist), I reply “neither.” I’m a realist who hopes.

As life swings this way and that, sometimes I need to be reminded of fact. I don’t consider myself a particularly moody person, given to great swings but, for some reason the last week or so, I’m at a bit of a low. Hence, this post.

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We touched on love and hope in our church service this week, which is not a bad combination.

For some, love and hope are just hard to come by. And, when they’re really hard to come by, the result is brokenness.

It’d be a pretty tough sell for someone to argue this world isn’t awash in brokenness. Such a person must be so insulated from reality that they are callous by any measure. Even if their own life seems rosy and they look forward to tomorrow and all that it promises, they’d have to have their head (and heart) in the sand not to see the degree to which so many others suffer significant hardship.

But, I don’t want to talk here about the world and all of its problems.

I want to talk about people and what I see around me.

I remember when the scale shifted in my perception about this. I grew up with a solid view of the forest from way above the canopy. I knew history and major events and the struggles and horrors that have always dotted the landscape. From hundreds and hundreds of books and from working in this or that organization concerned with this or that cause … I knew that life in general was never easy and often exquisitely painful. But, I was relatively insulated from the acute brokenness of many people around me. In childhood and young adulthood (through college), we can live pretty protected lives. Even in my early teaching years, I was surrounded in my private school with many intact people (at least on the surface). Brokenness was not a daily feature.

That changed when I arrived to teach in a high school with a visible gang presence and some measure of poverty and all the baggage that that life dumps on one’s doorstep: Violence, drugs, abuse and so on. And, when shortly after, I transitioned to the jobs of assistant principal, principal and HR assistant superintendent, the blinders fell away and I was daily immersed in brokenness like I could not have imagined before. Twenty years of this life bluntly made me realize how close brokenness is to the surface of our existence. I have experienced it in so many ways, it’s now fully hardwired into my comprehension of reality.

I am dealing with a situation right now where in the blink of an eye a number of people I deeply care for had their lives shattered. “Shattered” is probably the right word. Wholeness instantly dissembling. Pieces torn away with no hope of them ever being whole again. Where there was previously laughter and joy, now there is grief and something even worse. Any moments of those features that make life satisfying and rewarding are always a kind of mask for the anguish that lies beneath. It is a terrible thing to see.

Whosoever thinks that man is fundamentally good is deceived. We are not. Certainly, we are capable of remarkable good and we carry such rich reservoirs of beauty within us. I will not bite off here a debate as to our basic “nature” because that’s a whole thing in and of itself. But I know that we are not basically good and that we are hardwired for bad. That hardwiring is in competition for something else that is the wellspring for love and hope. That competition is actually quite a battle.

We are broken when the world we thought we lived in or the one we hoped for disappears and is replaced by a bleak landscape devoid of color, that washes out on the distant horizon. We are thrust literally or figuratively to our knees, pounded down by the knowledge that we are powerless to deter the pain … to wind back the clock … to withstand the onslaught.

For some, this is a death sentence and only death ends the pain. At least in this life. For others, it is a new reality that lasts for years and years. For others, perhaps far more fortunate, the brokenness in time is replaced by something else. Perhaps it’s a kind of functioning resignation or maybe even newly acquired coping skills.

Then, for some, the brokenness is a doorway into redemption and re-creation. For a few (I can’t know how many), the brokenness is seen in the rear view mirror as a gift.

But, that last news is no comfort to those who live in the valley.

This makes me think of several things.

I recall that less than a week ago, I was in the ER with a loved one who was not in good shape. Fortunately, it did not last long and everything should be fine. While there, I observed how the extended staff (doctors, nurses, aides, police officers, paramedics, hospital security, clerks, and custodians) went about their business. I felt completely at home (as I remarked to a family member) in that it looked just like our main office in my various high schools. Life processing all that was thrown at it. While our staff demonstrated great skill and empathy, they also did not let brokenness defeat them and neither did we … most of the time. Some of the time, though, we too felt defeated.

So, I think, what can we learn?

We should know that none of us are immune. No amount of preparation can totally insulate us when the circumstances flip and upend us. We should know that the difference between a vibrant life of color and the existential tear that rips us away may be only just around the corner.

We should know that darkness resides close by and, actually, within each of us. We can slough off such a connection as inconsistent with a modern understanding of man but, of course, that would be a terrible misjudgment and contradicted by the facts.

We should know that if it is not we who are suffering this moment, it’s probable that someone we know well is. And, it’s very possible that person, if not openly admitting it, is doing his or her best to deny the pain they endure. And, we should know that it’s incumbent upon us to come alongside them to the best of our ability to serve in the circumstances and their ability to receive care in the circumstances.

We should know that it is best to see brokenness as a place where healing is possible. And, healing is the point, after all. We cannot be healed if we are not sick.

We should know that it’s a mistake to believe we don’t need healing. Each of us. Modern people may not accept this easily. They can tend to see other people as broken or in need of healing but not themselves. Many modern people don’t like to turn the mirror inward because we’re supposed to be strong, competent and independent. And, when confronted by evidence to the contrary, the instinct is to just plow through it. When that fails, as it often does, the planets no longer align, hence the huge upsurge in visits to therapists and the seeking of spiritual release.

But back to what we should know. We should know that no brokenness need be eternal. All is reparable.

Why is it reparable? How does that work?

Because, despite the fact that the landscape is colorless and featureless right now … despite the fact that there is no discernible evidence that things will soon (if ever) change … despite the fact that we, ourselves, carry the cause of broken places … despite all of that, we have a hope and a promise that none of this need endure.

The naturist must believe that from dust we come and to dust (or food) we go. That’s it. The release from brokenness is in death, which they must somehow equate with something far more impactful than sleep. It is an erasure of everything that always was and will be. The particles that formed us maintain relevance only in that they are molecules perhaps useful for some other meaningless compound … all of which will disappear in time to a void with no memory or purpose, cold, dark and formless. Thus, a broken life (that is what death is … a broken life) is absorbed into a meaningless nothing. End of story.

Not so, in reality which you can take to the bank. This is not wish-fulfillment but just plain fact. Feel free to choose the alternative. I did. No longer.

Even the rockiest soil, with the right attention, the right nourishment and care, can produce vibrant and beautiful life. While we would rightfully interpret this literally, it applies to the human heart, freed from the grip of the voice that preaches despondency, and attuned to the voice that says, “I’m here, come to me and drink living water.”

Hope is the antidote to despondency, to the state of brokenness that grips and consumes. I have written about hope before but I’m not sure we can ever afford to forget its power and authority.

When I hit my rock bottom some years ago (which would have been curious to many who knew me but not to me), I experienced brokenness. As a seeker through the decades, as one who helped so many others through tragedy and some pretty significant struggles, I had avoided the place of contradictions. That place where answers only provided more questions, none of them satisfying the urge to know truth purely and completely. By avoiding that place, I subconsciously chose to live without permanency. And, without permanency there can be no real hope.

Of course, some might argue that. We hope for things all of the time which are not permanent. We hope for better health. For a good job. For safety and comfort. For loving relationships. But none of these things are permanent. The material ones decay and the thirst for more is never quenched. The definition of a good job gets muddy as conditions and bosses change, as we age and the objects of our attention shift. And, most assuredly, even the closest and most loving relationships confront the specter of death.

Yes, death is the great leveler. We know it’s coming. We frequently fear decay that often precedes death. Of the debilitation that often accompanies aging. When young, our hopes are powerful and life may seem full of possibilities, brokenness not as obvious in ourselves or those closest to us (with exceptions, of course). That usually changes as preconceptions give way to new realities. And, those realities can shake the foundations on which we’ve long organized our lives.

I know people who have been broken, who have hit rock bottom and emerged stronger than ever, with a set of new perspectives that make those formerly held seem small in comparison. This is the consequence of hope triumphing. Memories may be long and pangs remain although they no longer have the strength to control and bind us to the miseries.

The hope may be slow to arrive and transform or it may spring forth with such complete presence that we are shaken to the core. However it occurs, the shattered substance of our lives is gathered and healed.

For some, that seems impossible. The shattering is so complete as to negate any concept that healing is on the horizon, no matter how far away.

My view is this.

First, as I said above, those of us who have been given hearts that care need to be open to coming alongside those who suffer. My frequent prayer is that I find myself next to someone who needs help in a way that I can assist. (To a lesser extent, it’s to be able to touch a stranger with a word of encouragement, a small act of kindness, that can brighten their outlook, even if only momentarily. In so doing, maybe that little boost will offer at least a small ray of light in an otherwise dreary landscape. The accompanying prayer is that God continues to work in my heart so that this way of life is as natural as breathing.) I am saddened that so many people do not have this kind of heart. Instead it is either self-righteous or self-centered, unable to see people around us as they are. Too many people, I’m afraid, are consumed by large issues and their personal opinions one way or the other. Sadly, they miss the point.

Second, and this is at the core … We need to resolve whether or not we believe in ultimate hope and why. Will there be healing for the brokenness? Will it be complete? Can we trust in it?

You know my belief.

One of the great moments in Jesus’s ministry is when he came across the Samaritan woman as she was drawing water from the communal well. As a Samaritan, she was an outcast from the dominant Jewish culture of the region. To boot, she was beaten down by a life of multiple lovers and husbands who most probably saw her as no higher than scum. Jesus, whose eye and heart were more keenly attuned to the interior lives of others than anyone in human history, saw beneath her exterior an acute level of brokenness and he offered her eternal hope, inviting her to drink living water.

Many, many examples of similar exchanges occur throughout the scriptures. The prodigal son, the adulteress about to be stoned, the thief next to him on the cross. All with bodies and/or spirits broken completely. All raised up because they found that eternal hope is manifest in Jesus.

In summary: Brokenness is all around us and is a terrible thing. It robs us of possibilities and of living a fulfilling life. Brokenness is a place where hope and love are excluded. In the worst cases, it can lead to despondency. We need to understand that each of us is both vulnerable on our own and able to assist others in regaining their foothold, if only we have the heart, eyes and will to engage with them. While any kind of hope and any amount of love will help those who are broken, in the end it’s how we view the big picture. If we view the big picture as basically meaningless beyond our own feelings and experience and figure we will just cease to exist and have our particles return a purely material existence, then death will have the final say. There can be no hope or love that survives. While some are resigned to that reality, they need not be. It is not just wish-fulfillment that says there is an alternative. Death and brokenness have been and can be defeated by the recognition that hope does spring eternal and love is both unconditional and permanent. Only in that reality is there the healing we all crave.

So, where is your eternal hope?