When I look around at our society, and when I look inward at myself, I come to the conclusion that all of us are broken in at least one way or another. We struggle with insecurity or jealousy or anger or apathy or prejudices or greed or lust or gluttony or sloth or despondency. We have difficulty loving, trusting or daring. We fear failure, or we fear success.
It seems to me that our brokenness results from being detached from our creator, and this brokenness is painfully deepened by ways in which others have hurt us, neglected us, abandoned us, deceived us or misused us.
If, indeed, our brokenness results from being detached from our creator and being hurt by others in our lives, then the path to healing and to wholeness will be found in a restored relationship with our creator and in restorative relationships with others. In other words, the path to healing and wholeness will be found in healing communities of faith, in faithful communities of healing.
Our soul — that deep, inner part of our being — longs for a place where we can reconnect to the love and goodness and forgiveness and hope and joy and aliveness of God. Our hearts need a place where we can experience the love, forgiveness, acceptance and encouragement we need, and where we can practice loving and trusting and daring in an environment where our efforts to grow and to change will be encouraged and cheered.
Such healing communities of faith and faithful communities of healing are often found in churches. Sometimes they are found in AA communities. Wherever it might be, I encourage you to look for and to invest yourself in a place where you can pursue a restored relationship with your creator and restorative relationships with others.
Carl G. Conner shares, “A few winters ago, heavy snows hit North Carolina. Following a wet, six-inch snowfall, it was interesting to see the effect along interstate 40. Next to the highway stood several large groves of tall, young pine trees. The branches were bowed down with the heavy snow — so low that branches from one tree were often leaning against the trunk or branches of another.
“Where trees stood alone, however, the effect of the heavy snow was different. The branches had become heavier and heavier, and since there were no other trees to lean against, the branches snapped. They lay on the ground, dark and alone in the cold snow.”
Like the weighted-down trees, we need others to stand close to us, and we need to stand close to others. We need healing communities of faith, and faithful communities of healing.
Editor’s note: Tom Tripp is the former pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Sun City. He retired Jan. 1. Please send your comments to AzOpinions@iniusa.org. We are committed to publishing a wide variety of reader opinions, as long as they meet our Civility Guidelines.
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