Do Not Be Ashamed
Of Your Scars
In the 1990s Robert Bellah wrote, Habits of the Heart. He focused on four central traditions of moral discourse under distress in the United States: the Biblical; Greek; Utilitarian; and Expressive Individualism.
This is not the place to critique the book, but after reading it, I remember thinking that expressive individualism without spiritual community was becoming isolating and narcissistic, even nihilistic; utilitarianism was increasingly in the service of predatory capitalism and robber barons; and that Biblical tradition was being hijacked by Christian white nationalism and reductive fundamentalism across the political spectrum. Without transforming faith and love—and genuine movement of democratic renewal—American society was in deep trouble.
Even more so today.
After eighteen months of the sadistic tactics and politics of the present administration—with tyranny, white racism, misogyny, militarism, hatred of the poor rising —it is time to step up to higher ground, yet again.
This means paying attention, breathing, listening, mourning, responding under the Mercy—through the storm—even singing your song in a strange land.
In my years in Boston I first discovered Joan Armatrading singing, “Down to Zero. Another great one was “Willow,” where Joan sings of true friendship:
“Shelter in a storm
Your willow
Oh willow
When the sun is out
Shelter in a storm
Your willow, oh willow
When the sun is out
Shelter in a storm
Your willow, oh willow
When the sun is out.”
There’s a song just out, Scars by U2:
“You got lost love and you found trouble
When you went looking for your life
You got some scars and some others suffer
But you keep on reaching for the light
The doors of your heart were kicked open…
And now it’s time
I know, know, know
All that you’ve been through…
Who you are, who you are
Let them show, show, show
It’s your scars that give you beauty
You’re a beauty
Don’t cover your scars…
I’m the last of your loves
The loser the least
I’m the name on the form that demands your release
I’m the silence when you grieve
I’ll keep you company
Even if you don’t believe that it’s me
Put your hands on my hand
Feel the nails of the state
Punching holes in the innocent
To fill them with hate
When the townhall cries
For someone to blame
Making laws out of lies
And legal robes out of shame
Put your hand in my side
Feel the contours of control
The silver spikes of friendship
Traded for a soul
The touch and the taste of me
Vinegar sweet
You won’t know who I am
The next time we meet
The next time we meet.”
The role of the community of faith and courage—especially in this time—is not to hide our scars, so to speak, but rather to love fiercely by the River of grace and forgiveness, becoming willow trees of truthfulness, perseverance, song, standing with the poor, protecting the child, witnessing to the power in love.
That is, as friends Coleman and Valerie would say: not to be ashamed of the gospel.
(New Zealand Prayer Book)
A true Willow: beloved brother-in-law Israel Hernandez, with his wife Maria and my daughter Olivia.