A friend of mine introduced me to the Japanese tradition of
kintsugi. Kintsugi is the art of repairing broken pottery with a lacquer that
includes powdered gold, silver or platinum, which rather than masking the break
highlights it. In this tradition the breakage and repair of the object add to
its value. They become part of its history, rather than something to hide or
cover over.
Kintsugi: The Art of Broken Pieces from Greatcoat Films on Vimeo.
What a significant difference kintsugi represents from the
general trend in American culture to hide defects or, if they cannot be hidden,
to cast off the object and replace it with something new. (Some items of
demonstrated antique value may be handled differently, but even those are not
repaired in the kintsugi tradition.) American culture values newness,
wholeness, perfection. Flaws are to be disguised, not highlighted. Even in the
religious tradition I come from brokenness is not always celebrated. Sure,
Christianity acknowledges brokenness. In fact, at the root of most Christian
theology is the belief that humans are fundamentally flawed. But rather than
viewing the damage as part of the formation of each person, Christianity often
in practice tries to hide it. In my experience, rare has been the Bible study,
home group or church that truly invited people to be open about their
brokenness. And even when such brokenness is allowed to be shared, the goal is
to let god make one whole so one can move on to perfection. The American Christian tradition I come out
of has largely incorporated the larger cultural value of newness and
perfection. (This is not true across the board, I acknowledge. But I speak from
my own experience.)
In the past eighteen months I have been broken repeatedly, in
so many ways I’ve stopped counting. It doesn’t get any easier. Each time the
pain of grief, of loss, of heartache hurts. I’ve shed more tears in these
months than I probably shed in all the years prior. I’m tempted to try to hide
my cracks, my repaired façade, the repaired places where I’ve tried to put
myself back together (or received the loving touch of a good friend to do so).
But if I can think of my life in the tradition of kintsugi, those places of
repair shouldn’t be hidden. They can be filled with gold as a reminder of that
piece of my story, that story that is uniquely mine. I can’t undo the events
that have broken me. They are part of me. They have helped shape me into the
woman I am today. My life may not be perfect and pristine any longer. But it
has a unique and engaging story to tell, and I don’t need to hide or be ashamed
of all those beautiful cracks. They are filled with gold.
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