broken

I went to Father Tri's final vows mass on Saturday (Congrats, Cha!). During his homily, there were several things he said that really struck me. I'll only go over two of them, though. The first was simply that he is more broken than whole.

You know, that's all of us, isn't it? We are human, more broken than whole. I don't say that at all in any sort of theoretical view, either. I mean the real stuff here. I mean I, Jessica Vega, am more broken, bruised, weathered, beaten down, and lost than I am whole, innocent, complete, and confident.

I think it struck me in particular this time because I have noticed a shift within me in the way I talk about my pain. I think most people would say that I am a fairly open person and willing to talk about myself, struggles and all, pretty readily. This has been true about me for a while, ever since my freshman year at LMU when I joined CLC and it cracked me open. It takes immense strength to be vulnerable. But lately, I've found myself more guarded, wanting to tone down my more difficult experiences in order to seem more whole than broken.

After all, people don't want to hire someone who is broken. Organizations don't want to invest time and resources on someone who is lost. They don't want to entrust responsibility on the beaten down and bruised. They want someone confident, focused, and driven. Someone whole.

And I know why this shift happened in me, too. Deeper than a need for work, it comes from feeling judged. Judged by peers that my story is somehow a way for me to seek pity (It's not). Or perhaps it means I'm weak (We all are). I mean, it is all the normal responses to pain, really. Pain is not exactly enjoyable, is it? So we tend to shy away from it. Not everyone, but most of us. Or we have to present it in a shiny box, labeled with what we have learned by it. That happens, but that's not the reality. We judge others pain because it scares us, reminds us of the pain in us as well. We hate the vulnerable because they are living proof of our own vulnerabilities. Maybe if I was whole, someone would believe in me. 

Well, here I am. Let me shout it to the world (or just type it here, in a blog). I am more broken than whole! I am not a well-put-together 23 year old who knows where she wants to go in life, who has stepped out of adversity gracefully and seeks only beauty and truth. I'm really a very messy person.

I've got to make this shift back into myself. Away from fear of judgment, fear of betrayal, and away from actual judgment and actual betrayal. Cheers to this being the start.

But you know what gives me true and glorious hope? God calls the broken to lead God's people. It is always the broken person that God calls. It is stuttering Moses. Or young and unmarried Mary. Or elderly and baren Sarah. Doubting Thomas. Mary of Magdala, from whom seven demons were cast out. Peter, the one who betrayed him three times. Sickly St. Therese. Sex-addicted St. Augustine. Struggling and confused Mother Theresa. Terrified Oscar Romero. Poor Juan Diego.

Maybe also bruised and broken Jess.

God calls people who are too young, too old, too poor, too weak, too scared, and who sin too much. The broken, who therefore can blessed and broken and can be shared in the body of Christ.

Which leads me to the second thing Tri said that make complete sense to me. I must say yes to that which has already chosen me.