Bad Body Break

Today I saw a body break.

The feet were tired of being walked on,
the hands were sick of being the only ones doing the dirty work,
and the eyes could swear they were the only ones able to see
what was coming next.
The ears were probably right they were the only ones who could hear,
the neck said the shoulders were too stiff.
The spine felt like little more than a catalyst
for the more important parts, like the head
and everything it told what to do.
The left arm wanted to be the right arm
because it heard that the right arm was
a cultural symbol of power.
The fingertips were so far on the fringe
they thought “why not just fall off?”
“No one would notice.”
The back wanted to be up front,
and the butt was bored of being sat on,
and the internal organs felt invisible at times.
The lips wanted to be the tongue
because the tongue accounts for slightly more of the speaking,
and the lungs wanted to quit because
they had to keep working
when everyone else had stopped to rest.

Even down to the cellular level—
blood wanted to be skin wanted to be fat wanted to be bone
every part envious
every part distracted from its duties
by the desire to be different.
So they broke it off.

Some cited irreconcilable differences,
though the differences were integral to the design,
though their reconciliation was the entire essence of the design.
Should the finger feign to be the ball of the foot?
And the calf complain it is beneath the thigh?
At some point stating the obvious became our anthemic toddler’s cry.
At some point we missed the point of imperfection,
the beauty of disjointed connections,
we are incomplete without each other.

When this body first was born and made,
it ran with all the intact health of youth,
but soon the limbs, they left,
and the heart, bereft
no longer knew who it was pumping to.
When this body first was born and made,
it moved with all the brandedness of New
but now it’s aged 2,000 years, and weighs
too much,
and bends and breaks and falls apart—
but I know two things are true:

We never should have expected this Body to be anything but broken. And
That is precisely why it is beautiful.

That somehow it still functions,
somehow it still grows.

Church is the accumulation of the awkward,
the gathering of the glaring inconsistencies,
the hypocrites learning humility through humbling experiences,
the deceitful intaking integrity through honest interactions,
the divisive
learn to shut up
and love people they don’t agree with
through proximity.

When you think of leaving entirely,
remember only dead things fall off of bodies,
and this body was meant to have you in it,
because God never made the wrist without the hand in mind,
and those feet would be nothing without the ankles,
which just might get less credit.
When you feel like you do things differently,
remember that was the way you were designed.
Many parts,
one purpose.
Many hearts,
one service.
Many people
seek One person.

And as we hobble along with compound fractures,
tendons showing,
ligaments nearly letting go,
walking down the aisle where we will Wed the Truth,
we will be made whole,
we are made whole,
we were made holy
when he said
“This is my body
which is broken for you.
Do this
in remembrance of me.”
And all His Body said,
“I do.”

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A little about me:
I live in Seattle with my wife. I work as a web designer & admin / social media manager. I write about what I am passionate about: humility, justice, selflessness, rhetoric, and brokenness.
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