Broken Harps

I think that all of us eventually come to the realization, even if it’s a thought that blinks on and off quickly through our minds, is that this world isn’t what it should be. Even if comfort and ease make up a large portion of our lives, we have a gnawing suspicion that deep down, things must be better than this. Unless we are completely numb and slightly (or not so slightly) sociopathic, we can clearly see suffering all around us. For a lot of us suffering and loss have significantly formed our lives. We live in its shadow, like a house built on the side of a mountain. People have called life a “veil of tears”, and no matter how much scientific advancement or human ingenuity is at play, all our lives are affected by the brokenness in the world. This brokenness in turn shatters us, and no matter what veneer we cover our defects with, they are still present rotting under the surface.  

We don’t like talking about our brokenness; it’s taboo to highlight our deficiencies in our Western culture. Vulnerability is hard. Fessing up to reality is hard. We built America by the law of the jungle, and we are frightened to look wounded lest we are destroyed by eyes that can peer too deeply into us. We fear what a wounded animal fears, yet the gash isn’t physical. As a result of this fear, many of us won’t show others, even close friends or spouses, our “stuff”.  

To compensate, we either project ourselves as being without flaws or minimize them so much that we hope they are camouflaged away. Yet we agonize over our secret stuff because we innately know that we are intended to be more than what we are. We have a concept of moral perfection, and we know what we are not it. We know we are meant to soar on the clouds, yet we know more so that we are chained to earth by our shadow self. Our guilt and defects weigh down on us like a large load, or like Christian’s burden in John Bunyan’s A Pilgrim’s Progress.  

Humans are like harps; we are intended to be these beautiful instruments that were crafted by the chief craftsman. But due to the world in which we live, many of our strings are broken. Someone or something took them and laid them to waste. However, some still work and resonate with beautiful notes, but we still ache for wholeness; we ache for what we are meant to be and what the world should be. So even if these strings that are still intact resonate, the song they play is still heavy with sorrow. They carry the grief and mourning over a world that for the moment is lost.  

In light of the human situation, there are no easy answers. Yet the Scriptures do insist that in the palms of the crucified God the world will be remade. There will be a conclusion to the current broken world. In these hands contain a promise that a new heaven and earth will rise out of the grave along with the resurrected Christ. However, we are currently in the long place of waiting for this new world to come to life. Good Friday was yesterday and Easter is tomorrow, yet the hours of Holy Saturday are agonizingly slow at times. It feels forever. We are eagerly anticipating the day when all of our broken strings are repaired. We keep saying to God, “How long O Lord?”. 

Yet in the middle of this tension a promise of God being a healer, a repairer of broken instruments still hovers pregnant with possibilities over our world. Possibilities of healing, possibilities of God’s reign happening despite our current mess. Our identity must be discovered in who God says we are. We will learn to accept that even though we are these broken harps, God loves us and will slowly repair the strings as we partner with His grace. We slowly learn that it is not in suffering that God is glorified, it is in overcoming suffering. There is a sure promise that this will happen in either this life or the next. Henri Nouwen speaks about our identity and how God see us: 

Your true identity is as a child of God. This is the identity you have to accept. Once you have claimed it and settled in it, you can live in a world that gives you much joy as well as pain. You can receive the praise as well as the blame that comes to you as an opportunity for strengthening your basic identity, because the identity that makes you free is anchored beyond all human praise and blame. You belong to God, and it is as a child of God that you are sent into the world. 

Life can be painful, but God is a good Father who nurtures us through the struggle. We must make space for Him to touch us in the places that we try to hide from others. Our healer will not force healing on us; this wouldn’t do anything but cause violence to our humanity, our free will. God created a world with the freedom to accept or reject Christ’s healing. If He did not do this, He would not be good. When free will is withheld, it is an indication that Satan is at work and not God.  

We must learn then to align our will with that of the craftsman. This involves hearing God’s voice regarding who we are as Nouwen mentioned above. This usually happens when we make space for God in quiet prayer and He speaks them into us. God’s voice creates life, and He reminds us of what we were designed for. This is often slow and steady; we will need to exercise patience with the process. He usually deals with one string at a time, gently touching our wounds. 

Another factor that heals us is community. We need churches that can be spaces for messy healing. Dallas Willard says this: 

“Many of our [churches] are not good at receiving broken people...Broken people are disruptive people. And very often, we are more concerned about order than we are about healing.” 

Healing is one of the primary tasks of the church. John Chrysostom, who lived in the 4th century, called the church a hospital for souls. If we want pristine veneers and projections of having everything figured out and in order, we are not a hospital; we are a stage performance. Broken people need a place for healing; they don’t need a show. We are all recovering hypocrites in some way. I think it is better to admit this and limp towards wholeness. Acting won’t deal with what is really happening. It can’t plumb the human heart; it can’t handle what it may discover.  

Yet it is in an environment that welcomes God’s healing love that can see mended strings on broken harps. The Spirit is still breathing on us. Who knows what will happen if we put up our sails and catch the wind? We may see that not only are our strings broken, but they are also broken on those who have hurt us. Perhaps this will change how we see the human condition? People are intended for beauty but are soiled by life, broken harps with broken strings. This may help us have mercy, both on ourselves and everyone in this world. And for the strings that are still intact, that still reverberate with life, we thank God for what remains. 

We are all broken harps, with strings fitly broken. 

Cords that are frayed, 

and worn. 

Notes still ring true, 

On the strings that endure, 

But their song is a shadow of what they might be. 

Lord of the harp, 

Repair my strings. 

Let my song be true and let healing mend the fibers.