It’s an odd title to a post – it seems very unloving, doesn’t it?
We say we’re thankful Jesus died for us, but to write “thanksgiving for his brokenness” almost seems cruel.
But that is to be among our constant responses to the fact he said, “This is my body, broken for you.”
Thankfulness.
In her book Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren puts it this way:
“The word Eucharist literally means ‘thanksgiving’. The Eucharist is the thanksgiving feast of the church, and it is out of that communal practice of thanksgiving that my lunchtime prayer of thanks flows.
The Eucharist — our gathered meal of thanksgiving — for the life, death, and resurrection of Christ — transforms each humble meal into a moment to recall that we receive all life, from soup to salvation, by grace. As such, these daily, small moments are sacramental.”
Later, she continues:
“We recall and reenact Christ’s life poured out for us, and we are transformed into people who pour out our lives for others…. in this alternative economy of the true bread of life, we are turned inside out so we are no longer people marked by scarcity, jockeying for our own good, but are new people, truly nourished, and therefore able to extend nourishment to others.
…. In Christ there will always be enough for us, with so much leftover.”
I read that tonight, while feeling sad and ungrateful, and it provided a temporary “Ah, back on track” moment, but as in so much of our day-to-day spiritual lives, that was quickly replaced by the flat sadness of what I call the “all is vanity depression,” and which clinicians call “anhedonia,” a scientifically validated phenomenon.
But I want to draw attention to something…
That phrase: “In Christ there will always be enough for us, with so much leftover.” How beautiful. But again, it doesn’t always feel enough, let alone offering leftovers.
But the truth remains, and it’s why I wanted to post this — that indeed, “in Christ there will always be enough for us, with so much leftover,” and whether we feel that or not doesn’t change the fact that his body was, in fact, broken for us, and that he will always be enough for our salvation, no matter how we feel.
Christ’s love doesn’t ebb the way ours does.
He’s always enough, whether we feel it or not. Our names are written in heaven, and though you may feel flat tonight, he is with you just as surely as he was when he thought of you as he bled and died to make you an heir to his riches in heaven.
Our feelings – ha – the idea they could change that? What are we thinking?
Now, if you’re still feeling gloomy because you’re still flat and now you wonder how you could be a Christian at all, I’d suggest reading Spurgeon’s Sorrows.
There was never a man (except King David) who wrote so movingly about feeling both moved and unmoved by the fact the tomb was moved. Depending on the day.
Take heart that you’re not alone, if you feel alone in feeling this way.
Finally, this is why it’s so important to tend first to our own spiritual lives, because as Warren says, we serve others life-giving nourishment only after we’ve eaten the body ourselves. If we are flat, our service will be flat.
That’s why it’s so important to our spiritual lives that we get help for our depression — it’s not just some myopic “I want this for me” selfish American mindset.
It’s an “I want this for me, so I can better live it for you and my loved ones and my enemies, as well.”
John Piper once said we pray as if we’re in the solar system, and we pray first for ourselves, our own hearts, then we move outwards towards our family, then community, and so forth.
So we have to guard our hearts, tend to them, and celebrate the Eucharist in every meal.
No matter how small. Because that is how the big things begin. With the mustard seed of a meal.
Thank you, Jesus, that you were broken for us.
And if you feel broken tonight, he feels that for you too. He was broken, after all, too.
Finally, this is an absolutely lovely song for the broken, struggling, and the ones longing for God and turning their hearts to him and begging.
Listen to it a few times, and then a few times more. It’s meant the world to me. Heaven, to me, really.
If you live in the United States and struggle with depression, anxiety, or any other such disorders…
Find a psychiatrist here.
Find a therapist here (preferably, a medically trained Christian, but medically trained non Christians can be fantastic too).
For readers, internationally, I pray you can find help from a local resource.
For salvation, Christ and Christ alone.
