February 23, 7:00pm (Kevin Westling)
All wounds find their depth and can go no deeper, and after a time work their way back to the surface, free like an air bubble rising up from the mud. That is what is so miraculous about the heart. It absorbs so many wounds, so much pain, and then, sooner or later, spits them out again.
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The heart
is chink-marked
like an old windshield.
It is vulnerable
to the smallest stone,
whether tossed with indifference
or thrown with angry precision.
The heart
is held with wizened admiration
by the body,
because, you see,
the wounds of the heart
are not so easily mended as are the bones.
The heart,
its membrane soft and penetrable,
must seal rapidly to protect itself.
So shrapnel, both sticks and stones, that wound the heart
are encased,
taken inside and
preserved
within the very muscle they were sent to kill.
Bones
and mind,
they can break
but the heart never does.
We speak of a broken heart,
but the heart
never breaks.
The heart merely absorbs
all that is sent against it.
When it is said that someone has a broken heart,
it is not broken
but very, very full.
Full of the wounds
that thicken the blood
and slow it down to sadness.
It is miraculous really,
that our hearts can go on,
one beat after another,
one love after another,
no matter how much scaring there has been.
If you are someone that has known deep and pervasive hurt,
the kind a knife makes,
leaving behind a sheath of pain,
then you also know
that all grief ends sooner
or later.
All wounds find their depth
and can go no deeper,
and after a time
work their way back to the surface,
free like an air bubble
rising up from the mud.
That is what is so miraculous
about the heart.
It absorbs so many wounds,
so much pain,
and then,
sooner or later,
spits them out again.
The only poison that can threaten the heart
is the kind we add,
if we decide to make our wounds fester.
The only poison
that hurts the heart
is our own poison:
the resentments we foster,
the hatred we hold,
the anger we feed.
No one has the power
to poison the heart of another,
it is only we ourselves
who can do such damage, to ourselves.
As when we hold onto a wound
and won’t let it go.
As when we cuddle a hurt
as if it is our baby.
As when we jealously guard a pain
so it will never go away,
and rock it gently awake
each time it slips into sleep.
We are the only ones who can do such damage
to our own hearts;
the hurts and the pains others evoke
will find healing over time
if we allow them.
Some may take decades,
may be pernicious and exceedingly painful,
but if inflicted by others
there is hope of healing.
Only those we inflict upon ourselves,
often and usually
using wounds from others to do so,
only those will not heal.
The heart is miraculous that way, don’t you think?
Of course the heart
is more than a muscle,
just as the mind is more than the brain.
The heart
is all the life that has infused the muscle,
and all the love that has been generated
from within the muscle.
The heart
is as big as we grow it.
It is our heart
and if it is not big enough
we can grow it another size.
Amazing.
Seriously,
if our heart aches
it is a symptom that we need to grow it
yet one size larger.
If we find ourselves growing curmudgeonly
we need to grow it another size.
If we find ourselves becoming hardened,
slightly indifferent and calloused,
we need to grow it another size.
If we find ourselves
increasingly judgmental
and surely,
so that we feel compelled
to evaluate what others do and don’t do,
we need to grow it another size.
If we awaken to our own jealousy
and bitterness
over what we do not have
or what someone did not give us
or toward who someone chose instead of us…
we need to grow it another size.
The heart,
in addition to absorbing wounds,
in addition to spitting shrapnel back out again
in addition to being so much more than a muscle
is also endlessly supple, spry
and expandable.
Amazing.
The heart is astounding, truly.
Consider all that hazards,
all the suffering,
all the violence,
all the meanness,
all the hurtful, low-down bastardliness in the world
that we have seen ourselves,
up close,
or heard about.
And yet…
and yet the heart
gives birth each day…
each day it gives birth to a new hope.
The heart,
awesome.
The heart,
right there
beating inside your chest
like an egg in a nest
always ready at each new moment
to open and give birth.
So…
tonight…
no matter how much you have suffered,
no matter how much pain you have absorbed,
no matter how many times you have been betrayed
or tricked
or fooled
or lost…
tonight is a night for gratitude;
gratitude that we are creatures with a heart.
The tin man, you and me,
with our very own heart
to lead us into the world
and to heal us when we are tired and afraid.
Tonight…
tonight we give thanks
that we are creatures with a heart
instead of just a brain.
Tonight…
tonight we give thanks
that we are creatures with a heart
and that our hearts indeed,
do go on.
So…
I invite you to the candle wall
and to light a candle to your heart.
It has brought you a long way
and will take you further than you can ever know.
Give a prayer tonight,
a prayer of gratitude
that you have a heart
and that your heart beats strong,
here and now,
in this moment.
Between each beat of your heart
the veil between you and God is thin, and the love of God present.
