Cracked Bells, Chipped Cups, and Me

It’s always fascinated me. The symbol of our nation’s freedom is the Liberty Bell, complete with a cracked shell. In elementary school I was told that attempted repairs to the bell never worked. Finally the obvious crack was incorporated into the design. This defect reflects a democracy obtained by flawed humans who made their share of mistakes and miscalculations. And, less-than-perfect humanity remains a visible part of who we Americans are today. Somehow it seems right to “own” that we are like all people — quite useful, beautiful vessels, but vessels whose edges are shattered.

Now shift your vision to coffee cups. I collect those ceramic, multi-faceted containers for hot beverages (styrofoam is much too practical and plain). The cups come in all sizes and shapes. Some have wording, some represent far away people or places, some have artwork, and some are works of art. But each, regardless of its intrinsic or sentimental value, is susceptible to the curse of being a cup: chipping. The usefulness of a chipped mug doesn’t change; yet, even the tiniest chip alters my perception of its beauty and value. Chipped cups are rarely used for serving drinks to guests. Rarely do I select one for my own personal use. I fancy my java served in a symmetrical, visually pleasing cup.

What is it about us? Why do we often only display objects that appear flawless? Why do we choose to present ourselves as those who have their act together—as with-it, unflappable, unbroken people? Is it possible that we appear whole in order to camouflage our unsightly feet of clay?

Writer Henri Nouwen popularized the term “wounded healers.” He asserted that faith travelers are strengthened most by fellow travelers who share, rather than hide, their brokenness. God brings a distinct sense of connection and healing into relationships that allow the cracks and chips to be seen, shared, and lightened. Whatever the source of the crack or chip, regardless of the uniqueness of every hurt, there are multitudes of people who can stand beside us—if and when we let them.

Lord, there is much that breaks my heart. Help me when I downplay the cracks and chips in my facade, when I foolishly trust in showing others only the unscathed exterior, when I fail to see that You provide needed encouragement through fellow wounded healers. Thank You for caring for me, even when I feel uniquely abandoned and lonely. In the name of the One who knows brokenness and wholeness, Amen.

Virgil Fry