In Valencia Spain is a Lladro porcelain figurine factory. Years ago, my son-in-law purchased a Lladro Christus, a beautiful, tender statue of the Savior with outstretched arms.
The Lladro was a focus piece on a bookshelf in her home.
Until.
The house was prepared for painting. The bookshelves were emptied and moved, but to insure the Christus was safe, my daughter left it on the shelf, in clear view, so the painters could avoid it completely.
A few days later, paint dry, smell diminished, helping to put the house back together, I found the Christus lying on its back, its arm broken off, a finger missing and lying a foot away. I carefully took it to the kitchen, glue in hand, and tried my best.
But the hand was severed and nothing could change that.
My daughter gasped when she walked in and saw me holding the arm in place and the glue bottle open.
We both realized the statue was forever changed, its worldly value diminished. She lightly mourned. I suggested the break was now part of the statue's story, a highly symbolic story.
The statue was now potentially kintsugi, the art of precious scars. The Japanese mending art values the story of a broken object and the break is sealed with liquid gold. Once repaired the piece is considered more beautiful, more valued.
A porcelain figure, like a person's life, is not immune to falling, to breaking. Do we throw human life away? We do our best to repair it and in the process, beauty, compassion, and strength are renewed in the once broken life. The pain, the repair, become part of the story.
This reminds me of two things. First, Ken Burns and Lynn Novick's recent documentary: College Behind Bars. It is the story of broken lives. The Bard College program that reaches a scant percentage of incarcerated men and women, values broken lives and tries to repair them with education.
Second, eighty years ago, Germany created havoc and destroyed lives. For a short while thereafter, they tried to ignore and forget the horror. They didn't teach it in school or talk about in families. It was Germany's great shame. However, of recent years, the country has recognized it is part of their story and they work tirelessly to amend and make up for the prejudices and greed that brought the world into chaos.
Breaks, falls, mistakes--harm and sorrow are part of the human condition whether we perpetuate or witness. We can't change this. What we can change is how the frailties become a part of our story. Do we fill them in with liquid gold or leave the wounds open and let them fester?
The Lladro was a focus piece on a bookshelf in her home.
Until.
The house was prepared for painting. The bookshelves were emptied and moved, but to insure the Christus was safe, my daughter left it on the shelf, in clear view, so the painters could avoid it completely.
A few days later, paint dry, smell diminished, helping to put the house back together, I found the Christus lying on its back, its arm broken off, a finger missing and lying a foot away. I carefully took it to the kitchen, glue in hand, and tried my best.
But the hand was severed and nothing could change that.
My daughter gasped when she walked in and saw me holding the arm in place and the glue bottle open.
We both realized the statue was forever changed, its worldly value diminished. She lightly mourned. I suggested the break was now part of the statue's story, a highly symbolic story.
The statue was now potentially kintsugi, the art of precious scars. The Japanese mending art values the story of a broken object and the break is sealed with liquid gold. Once repaired the piece is considered more beautiful, more valued.
A porcelain figure, like a person's life, is not immune to falling, to breaking. Do we throw human life away? We do our best to repair it and in the process, beauty, compassion, and strength are renewed in the once broken life. The pain, the repair, become part of the story.
This reminds me of two things. First, Ken Burns and Lynn Novick's recent documentary: College Behind Bars. It is the story of broken lives. The Bard College program that reaches a scant percentage of incarcerated men and women, values broken lives and tries to repair them with education.
Second, eighty years ago, Germany created havoc and destroyed lives. For a short while thereafter, they tried to ignore and forget the horror. They didn't teach it in school or talk about in families. It was Germany's great shame. However, of recent years, the country has recognized it is part of their story and they work tirelessly to amend and make up for the prejudices and greed that brought the world into chaos.
Breaks, falls, mistakes--harm and sorrow are part of the human condition whether we perpetuate or witness. We can't change this. What we can change is how the frailties become a part of our story. Do we fill them in with liquid gold or leave the wounds open and let them fester?
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