The words reverberated in my heart, almost more riddle than question.
What did I have to give that wasn’t an overflow of his generosity and grace? All the good things in my life—daily bread, work for my hands, people to love, even my next breath—are gifts from him.
How could I possibly have something of my own to give back?
And then came the answer: my brokenness.
Such a wonder—that the King of universe, who deserves only the finest and the loveliest and the best, would accept something as messy and humiliating as my own brokenness. The God who could not be contained within the walls of the most splendid temple—that same God stoops to receive my cracked and wounded gift. And not just accept it, but yearn for it, delight in it.
The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God.
Scripture confounds me with its accounts of God’s tenderness toward broken things. When Jesus came into this world, he had every right to expect the best accommodations, the best company, the best service. Yet royalty though he was, he came humbly, seeking out every broken and beloved soul he could find.
In fact, he didn’t have much time for the people who had it all together; he looked for those with broken hearts, broken lives, broken reputations. He showered his love on people from broken families, people with broken bodies, people who have broken their promises.
God loves broken things.
And in perhaps the most beautiful display of his love for the broken, he offered his own body to be broken, so that we might be whole again (Luke 22:19).
If you are feeling broken today, take heart. Jesus himself knows what it is be broken, to live broken, to embrace brokenness. But he also knows how to put broken things back together again.
Holy Week is the place where all who are broken become whole.
Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory.
—1 Corinthians 15:43