The Unclad Soul

There is a beautiful line from poet and author Wendell Berry, “We hurt, and are hurt, and we have each other for the healing. It is always healing. It is never whole." That sums up quite nicely a large part of our purpose on earth. After the passing of time and the living of life, we know too well that we hurt others and they hurt us. Life is an ongoing process of learning how to navigate this uneven path we are all on. And in the midst of our hurting and being hurt there are those who are there for our healing. This is a fundamental part of parenting. Our children, if they are to be themselves fully alive, emotionally healthy, and self-directed, must never doubt they are loved by their parents. And that whenever they fail, or get in trouble, or suffer illness, there will be healing at home. This, too, is the core work of marriage, of spending life with a partner, of committing oneself to another person in a relationship of trust, intimacy, and love. Being a s...

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. In Jesus’ day mourning was serious business. People suffering loss or some inner wound would go out into the streets and tear at their clothing. They would scream and weep in agony. They would gather a handful of dirt and pour it over their heads and let it mingle in their tears. It was a sign of their connection with their mortality, their belonging to the earth where sorrow breeds. They would wrap themselves in the arms of others. They didn’t lose themselves in mindless work or distract themselves in foolish activity. Grieving hurt. Mourning meant something. And I think what Jesus is saying here is: be open to the wounds of the world and to your own. Mourn the hurting of people and when you yourself hurt. Weep over the suffering of humanity and your suffering, too. Don’t hide from it. Don’t attempt to chase it away with meaningless clichés or empty escapes. Feel it and be moved. We are to mourn the deaths of those we l...

There is a scene in the first episode of the Showtime series "Nurse Jackie" where she consoles a young unmarried girl whose boyfriend, a bike courier, had just died of injuries in a bike accident on his way to work in the crushing traffic of New York City. The girl—poor, pregnant, wearing a stained t-shirt and asking what she is going to do, that she doesn’t even have money to get a cab home—sits on a bench in the hallway outside the chapel in All Saints Catholic Hospital. Jackie, a morally complicated, fiercely dedicated nurse but who is herself addicted to pain killers and whose personal life is a disaster, stands next to the girl and gently puts her hand on the girl’s head and draws her to her. Nothing is said. Just that moment of tenderness. As the scene ends and the camera pulls away from them, we see behind them at the end of the hallway set into the wall, a beautifully sculptured figure of Jesus with his arms extended.   I don’t know what Christianity is anymore....