Presents!: The real meaning of Christmas

 Letter from an editor: Presents!: The real meaning of Christmas

Juliet Joly '06

Editor-in-Chief

 

When we were very young, our first understanding of Christmas was that of a magical time when Santa Claus, a gentle, loving, very generous, Joly old man, came through our chimneys to give us presents.  We have come to find that our culture and the media tend to add to this idea that the season of Christmas - or the "holidays," as they now call it to eliminate the possibility of divisiveness the phrase "Christmas" causes – is a time of feverish present-purchasing.  

As we have grown up as Christians, though, we began to realize that this cultural interpretation of Christmas seems to contradict our religion, which says that Christmas is in fact the time when Jesus Christ was born into the world, and God became flesh.  This is true and is the fact which gives our lives meaning, but fortunately does NOT suggest that gift-giving and receiving is all bad at Christmas.  It is only when this causes us to forget about Jesus' birthday does this become distraction.  This Christmas season we CAN go out and buy many presents, while at the same time recognizing that Jesus' presence is our real present.  

This requires a change or a modification of our attitude toward what we know Christmas is and how the media and our culture present Christmas and gift-giving.   It would not be wrong to say that presents are a large part of Christmas.  In fact, when viewed with the correct perspective, they are actually a very beautiful, and I would even venture to say the most beautiful aspect of Christmas (Jesus was a gift to us after all, right?).  

The only unfortunate thing is the way our culture emphasizes finding the “right present,” advertises constantly, and essentially takes advantage of the holiday for profit.  It shows little to no evidence that, in fact, united with this physical aspect of Christmas is the underlying truth that what brings meaning to each moment shopping exists, for example, in the joy that we experience when we have a gift for a friend that we think they will love.   

Therefore, because of this unity, this Christmas we can face the malls, the stores, and the incessant advertisements in a different way.  This takes putting what you do into perspective: do you buy presents out of necessity or as a show of affection for someone you love?  Do you stress about finding the right present or are you comfortable with giving anything thoughtful, whether purchased or handmade?  Do you feel there is a great disparity between how our culture paints the image of Christmas and what your Christian faith tells you is Christmas, or do you think there is a possibility to live the true Christmas spirit even while walking through the malls which seem to suppress the existence of Jesus Christ?

If you can answer the latter responses to these questions, you are well on your way to painting in the same painting, with the same medium, that which culture demands of your Christmas tradition and what your Christian tradition tells you.  The ironic trick to avoid being disheartened by our society’s portrayal of Christmas is not to be deterred from participating in our culture, but rather engage in it with vitality, with the recognition that you are buying presents not out of necessity, but because you love someone; therefore, you know that there is a meaning to why you are there.  If you can ask yourself “why am I shopping right now?” and be able to answer it in a way that satisfies you, than you understand that Christmas is about presents in some ways, because Jesus has to do with everything!  

We tend to get so caught up in the stress of buying the right presents for our family and friends for Christmas that we forget that the idea of a present is actually very beautiful.  Many semi-reasonable people actually think that our society has totally forgotten the “real meaning of Christmas” with all of the hype on sales, etc.  However, what do presents really mean to you?  I do not see them as a distraction from the real meaning of Christmas, but rather giving presents is a selfless way of thanking God for the gift of his Son by giving in turn to your friends and family.  Receiving gifts can be beautiful too, if while you are opening one, you take a moment to really observe the hopeful anticipation in the face of the one who gave you the gift.  Indeed, just their expression of pure generosity and joy provokes an element of surprise, and makes opening up their present to you completely different.

We must keep in mind when we are at the crazy, bustling malls this December that if we look at what a present really is, no matter what it is, it is a selfless expression of love, telling a friend you want their happiness.  This is precisely why God gave us the "present" of Jesus.  So really, God gave us the best present we could hope for at Christmas: the gift of his Son as a person, and the possibility to relate with and know God, the divine, in the same way that we do with our best friends every day. 

Indeed Christmas is really about this: Christ’s birth into the world through a simple young woman, thereby giving every moment of our lives meaning, even those spent at the malls shopping for endless hours for presents.   And yet even in these moments it can be clear to us, if we are open to Him, that the best Christmas "present" we can ever imagine is His Presence.  

December 3, 2005

I has just turned 18 when I wrote this!

Of those who are like them

I just wanted to post the google translated version of this incredibly beautiful article by Jesús Montiel.

Click here for the original article, "De los que son como ellos".


Of those who are like them

"I believe that children are the proof that we’re not made for projects, but for loving and being loved. Only in this way does the contingent situation make sense, and does the present not collapse."

Jesús Montiel  •  April 1, 2020

My children never fail to surprise me. During lockdown they never once complained, unlike us adults. They accept the situation because the true normality for children is their family. I observed that a child who grows up in a loving home, which isn't necessarily perfect, doesn't wish for much more. My children, like so many children, accept this life with less natural light, without the sky, and with only the "park" made up of their toys at home.

I remember another longer quarantine, in a hospital. My oldest son's cancer forced us to live in the Children's Oncology Ward for two years. In these circumstances, he did not complain either-- for two, three and four years. Those bald children exhibited a scandalous docility; they did not fight. And that attitude of discipline, so far from adult gossip, was an indelible lesson for me. Now I see that same acceptance again in him and his brothers. It's amazing. An acceptance that is not conformity but authentic consent. The child and the tree are alike: they accept each day as it comes and do not fantasize about what will happen. Their occupation is what is happening.

You are enough for us, they say. And they also say it without words, in the language of the wise: through actions. Life is about a return to this ancient wisdom that children flaunt effortlessly, focused on the present that we neglect. I am touched by my children these days, and sometimes I cry secretly for everything they give me without asking for anything in return. They are road signs for my soul, which sometimes is disoriented.  I believe that children are the proof that we’re not made for projects, but for loving and being loved. Only in this way does the contingent situation make sense, and does the present not collapse.


J. Montiel, The Objective, April 2, 2020.  Translated by CL and google translate.

A poem

The rain is my friend
  by Juliet - April 30, 2020

The rain is my friend
He welcomes me when I blink awake
with his rhythmic embrace

He shows me into my home
and tenderly encourages me
to stay

He may be loud at times
but is never unkind

He is soft and gentle at times
and still everyone takes notes he is present

Today he is steady and unrelenting
the skies change and stand in attention

and even the birds sing
When my friend arrives.

She was there. His mother was at his side.

"She wept, she melted. Her heart melted.
Her body melted.
She melted with kindness.
With charity.
Only her head did not melt.
She walked on as if against her will.
She no longer knew herself.
She no longer bore any grudge against anyone.
She melted with kindness.
With charity.
It was too great a misfortune.
Her sorrow was too great.
It was too great a sorrow.
You can't bear a grudge against the world for a misfortune that is greater than the world.
It was no longer any use bearing a grudge against the world.
A grudge against anyone.
She who in the old days would have defended her boy against wild animals.
When he was small.

Today she abandoned him to that crowd.
She let him go.
She let everything sink.
What can a woman do in a crowd.
I ask you.
She no longer knew herself.
She had changed a lot.
She was going to hear the cry.
The cry that never will be quenched in any night of any time.

It wasn't surprising that she no longer knew herself.
Because she wasn't the same.
Up to that day she had been the Queen of Beauty.
And she never again would be, she would never again become the Queen of Beauty except in heaven.
The day of her death and her assumption.
Eternally.
But today she became the Queen of Mercy.
As she will be forever and ever."

- Charles Péguy, The Mystery of the Charity of Joan of Arc

-- Way of the Cross, 2020 --

April 11, 2020 - Holy Saturday

During a zoom call a few minutes ago with some of my friends in my fraternity, one of my friends remembered this quote about Mary from Charles Péguy.  I had been talking about my experience listening to Pergolesi's Stabat Mater during the previous 45 minutes while running around my neighborhood.

Why does this music sound joyful?

     I compared the experience of listening to what seemed to be inappropriately joyful exultations there at the beginning of the hymn, particularly when the first words specifically state, 

     Stabat Mater dolorosa  -   Iuxta crucem lacrimosa  -    Dum pendebat Filius.   

     The grieving Mother     -     stood weeping beside the cross     -      where her Son was hanging.

This experience doesn't sound very joyful!  But I remembered watching Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ last night, and what was so profoundly compelling was Mary's presence.  Literally, jsut the fact that SHE WAS THERE!  She followed Jesus every step of his sorrowful path to Golgotha.  She was there.  This particular version of the passion even shows a seen of Mary asking John, "Can you get me closer to him?"  And John, the obedient, loving son, finds a way to get her closer to Jesus. 

     The song which joyfully sings out "The grieving Mother stood beside the cross..." somehow is joyful, but ow I understand why.  SHE WAS THERE, she accompany him, she wiped up his blood, she felt his presence and would never leave him.  She knew he had to do his father's will, but like a true mother, could not abandon him.  She wanted him to flourish; she recognized in her joyfulness AND in her sorrow that his flourishing lay in his obedience to his father's will, and therefore, obedience to his criminal, unjust death.  So how could she be joyful?  It's the same way a mother is joyful when she attend her child's wedding, or when she learns her child has been accepted into the college of the child's desiring, or the child has achieved a well-earned accomplishment.  She could be joyful because she knew her Son was fulfilling his purpose for being sent to the Earth.  The only words on her mouth were precisely the words that changed the history of the world: "Let it be done according to your word."  Somehow, accepting an unjust, violent death for her dear Son could be a source of joy because it was done out of pure obedience and unity with God the Father.

Two voices

     Another thing that struck me about Pergolesi's Stabat Mater were the moments there were two women's voices meant to sing the one voice of Mary.  Why two voices?  One could argue that artistically, having a soprano and alto voice are so beautiful complementary; together they help elevate our experience of the music and attune our attention, fascinating us and awakening our heart's desires the way all beauty does.  However, I cannot help but think there is a second, more theological reason for the second voice.  Most of the music sounds relatively joyful and the soprano line follows the joyful attitude.  Maybe the alto line instead is meant to communicate the deeper sadness-- that is, what the words themselves really are communicating.  It's the lower, more solemn and serious alto line whose voice is more believable when singing, 

     She saw her sweet child     -      die desolate,     -     as he gave up His spirit.

The two voices are necessary because Mary's heart in front of her suffering, victorious son embodied yet another paradox which we experience in our Christian faith: the word became flesh.  The poor in spirit shall inherit the kingdom of heaven.  He has filled the starving with good things; the rich he has sent away empty.  Mary offered her cousin Elizabeth a litany of paradoxes when she stated her Magnificat.  Now she is experiencing one in her own flesh: I am so happy and proud of my son, and yet my heart mourns, my "soul weeps" at seeing my Son crucified.  I can walk, I can accompany my son because I am so confident He is doing his Father's will-- this brings total joy to a Mother!  And yet, she is "sad and afflicted," because no matter what, at the end of the day, that is her Son, her baby boy, her source of joy, her reasons for living-- her very flesh, she she carried for nine months, gave birth to, and ultimately nurtured for 30 years.  That was her Son.  But He was also God.  Mary understood her Son was also God, and God had a task on Earth.  He had a task that only He could do, even if it seemed violent and tragic and sad.  In Mary's heart she pondered her Son's task.  And in this I believe lies the genius of the soprano and alto.  The soprano voice echos Mary's elation at her closeness to her Son and he sense of joy that He is indeed accomplishing his life's work. Meanwhile the alto voice communicates Mary's grieving, weeping, human sadness in front of her Son's pain.  How beautiful a paradox!  Only such a paradox can explain Mary's gaze on that Good Friday as she accompanied her Son and loved Him-- both in torment and in gladness.

Pro-‘life in abundance’

Pro-‘life in abundance’

‘I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly’ Jn 10:1

Juliet Joly
Jan. 29, 2020 

    I consider myself pro-life. But what does it mean to be pro-life?  Why are babies’ lives worth protecting, and for that matter, why should the old, the sick, and vulnerable individuals’ lives be defended at all costs?
    I work as a religion teacher for freshmen and sophomore classes at Bishop O’Connell High School in Arlington, VA. I love my school very much because God is answering a desire of mine: my colleagues and I have reached a very serious, beautiful level of judgment in the milieu in which we collaborate and educate.  In short, I have found friends among my colleagues, and this has given me great joy and filled me with gratitude. 

     In the week leading up to this year’s March for Life on Friday, Jan. 24, which was a day without classes for O’Connell to encourage everyone to attend the March, the school held an assembly featuring two women who are both renowned pro-life speakers. Both have had abortions, and both are recovering from the trauma and pain that accompanied the procedures. Their witnesses were profound and true, and further confirmed my awareness that the culture that surrounds abortion in our country is often one of lies, associating the decision to abort with a sense of false empowerment for women, neglecting to acknowledge the deep, tragic suffering experienced by most women in the aftermath of abortion.
    In an assembly that revealed so much truth, exposed so much deceit, and suggested the profound healing power of God’s forgiveness even after abortion, why was I left so unconvinced? What was it about the witnesses of these women that left me desiring even more? I felt uncharacteristically rebellious, like a teenager rejecting everything my parents had taught me.  I became almost visibly disgruntled by the preachy obviousness of the women’s arguments.  Moreover, I recognized that among my students who are teenagers, most of whom are struggling profoundly with the Church’s views on morality as communicated by the catechism (and unfortunately also falsely by the popular culture), many at best most certainly felt their questions to be unrepresented in the dialogue on stage. 

     With my mind full and racing, I hurriedly walked to my fourth period class that immediately followed the assembly, aware that those rowdy, uninhibited 24 young people of diverse backgrounds would certainly raise questions in the wake of the dialogue we’d just witnessed. Scenarios started rolling through my mind of how to address their questions, and what to cut out of my lesson to make space for them to process the assembly. I even thought of reminding our administration that after such a provocative assembly, we must be aware that students would be full of questions and to allow space in our schedule with our fourth period classes to allow for this. 

     I love my fourth period class.  Many of them are good friends and I see how they support one another.  As soon as I walked in, though I’d planned to discuss the differences between “expiation,” “satisfaction,” “redemption” and other key terms related to Jesus’ work of salvation, Jason immediately questioned me, “Are we going to talk about the assembly?”

      What ensued was a 45 minute dialogue during my 85 minute block, only interrupted by the bell that broke up the class with lunch. Some amazingly beautiful observations, questions and attempted answers ensued. 

Photo courtesy of the Seattle Times.

     Margaret, a very curious young woman who attended public school until high school, was never baptized and doesn’t identify with any religion, made an interesting comment about the perceived need for abortion, especially for women and families who cannot take care of a child. She remarked on the horribly limited success of our American foster care system and that it is an abomination that children have to suffer through it. My response surprised me. I commented on the fact that human life presents challenges. Everyone undergoes profound challenges and injustices in life. Even people who grow up in generally easy circumstances with loving and supportive families face heartache, tragedy, and injustice. Who are we to deprive others of the experience of growth, maturity, and the need to depend on others (and ultimately Another) provoked by challenging life circumstances?  I was essentially suggesting it didn’t make sense to abort as an act of mercy, neither for the child nor the family.  I made it clear that the foster care and other social systems that make human flourishing difficult need profound renovation— we literally need to re-novat, “make new again,” and also re- innovate the way we design and run these systems. And we, as Christians, what ideas do we have?!  Does our encounter with Christ and our “figliolanza,” our belonging, to God our Father as members of his family, seriously generate a new creativity in us?  Can we claim to be co-creators of his kingdom on Earth?  I thus implored my students: we need sincere, generous, thoughtful people loving our children and working in jobs to achieve this end. Because the end of life after all is to be loved and thus in turn learn to love. In that moment I invited my students to be open to pursuing careers that would enable them to proffer the sort of widespread social change that would give all children the chance to be loved deeply. We need to beg Christ to convert our own and everyone else’s hearts, open them to experience the joy of embracing life starting with our own, and create a world in which everyone is welcome and loved. Who if not Christ advocates such radical conversion?

    I asked my student Margaret, “In your opinion, would it be better if the homeless, if impoverished men and women, whose mental health may be comprised, who maybe hold no job and drain our welfare system and receive free ER treatment— would it better if such individuals never existed?  Would our world be better without them?  Is our world even a little better that they exist, that they give us opportunities to be generous and open our hearts and wallets to others, and bring us so decisively outside of our heads when we encounter them?”  My own questions struck me deeply and left the class silent for a moment. I am reminded of Jesus’s reproach of the disciples, “the poor you will always have with you” (Mt 26:11). Maybe Jesus was saying that as long as our systems of social services remain inadequate, but if we embrace all life, we must look at all people as belonging to us, they are us; they too are part of His body.   

Photo courtesy of cnn.com.

     Another student, Nathan, raised the question of rich white men in certain states who are passing legislation to make abortion illegal— a move he lamented would negatively affect the lives of impoverished, usually minority women who need access to abortion. I realize that legislation cannot heal the evil of abortion nor educate the human heart, though certainly it would guarantee that more children would be born. Is it enough that all children are born?  Is killing children really the evil of abortion?  I am reminded of the witness of the Holy Innocents— children who we remember every December 27 as martyrs, children whose mission was achieved by the mercy of God allowing the fulfillment of his incomprehensibly mysterious will.  Why did Christ embrace the children who surrounded him, the lepers, the possessed, the poor, the adulteress, the woman, the blind?  He ate dinner with Zaccheus the tax collector and even Matthew, another publican, was handpicked to be among his best friends. Jesus’s very life was the reason the lives of the publican, the adulteress, the woman in general, the physically disabled, the leper, the child, even the dead—mattered. I dare say Jesus’s very life, a life of pure love, forgiveness, and hope—a human life of a loving God in our midst—is the only reason any of our human lives matter. Though it might help save lives, making abortion illegal doesn’t help us learn why life is beautiful. Legislation doesn’t change the human heart.    

     Some students expressed the horrors of abortion and the tragedy of lives cut short.  What’s fascinating, I shared with my students, is that if we know of Christ’s loving presence in our human lives, not even abortion has the final word for individuals whose lives are cut short by abortion. I cited the women’s witnesses and conversion experiences. Their aborted babies changed their mothers’ lives in a permanent way, spiritually giving them a reason to heal and return to God, and very practically giving them a new career direction— to preach the truth of life and the horrors of rejecting life— in other words, the goodness in accepting God’s will and the desolation in rejecting it. I asked my students: if we measure our lives based on how much we change others’ lives for the better, can’t we see just how profound an impact those women’s children have left on them, on us, and on everyone who hear their witnesses?  Can any of us the living say we’ve left so great of an impact in the world? And these are people who never breathed a breath of earthly air!  It’s worth noting here that even aborted babies who are forgotten by the world’s memory carry a value and meaning we can’t begin to identify or quantify. God loves his children, knows them, and wants them even if they die young.  God’s measure of the value of a human life is so gratuitously, perfectly greater than our puny measures of what brings meaning and purpose to our lives. 

Dr. Elvira Paraviccini is director of a neonatal hospice in New York City.  Photo courtesy of bioeticanews.it.

     After our lunch break I wanted to share with my students examples of hope in the world today, which was my original lesson.  Before dividing them into groups to study the work of Elvira Paraviccini, the work of Rose Busingye, Fr. José’s judgment on technology, and Marco Bersanellis’s judgment on the value of studying, I shared my final thoughts on what I mean when I say I am pro-life. I expressed that images of aborted fetuses left me feeling repelled by the very movement whose pro-life message was attractive. I recall discussing with friends in the CL movement years ago how fighting violence with images of violence seemed to generate indignance and even hatred toward the other, further widening the chasm between the cultures of life and death, and confusing what we mean by a culture of life.  So what IS a culture of life?  Why should life be lived fully?  Why is everyone’s life worth living?  I shared with my students that only an exceptional, undeniable experience of Christ incarnate today— an infinitely beautiful, loving, compelling encounter with the divine though frail human flesh— is the only thing that can profoundly educate us as to why giving birth to a child is an objectively good thing, a blessing to the child’s parents, a gift to the child’s family and a boon to the entire world.  I hope my students could perceive a continuity between our abortion discussion and the examples they studied of people living challenging circumstances with hope!

      What moved me about our conversation last week was multi-fold. I was moved by my own freedom in front of my students, humbly admitting when I didn’t know an answer, acknowledging their deeply help beliefs, and communicating the value of life as Christ through His Church has shown it to me.  I was moved by my students’ freedom in a class in which they weren’t afraid to ask hard questions and they accurately perceived their thoughts and experiences to have value. I was moved by my provocation at the beginning of our discussion to really listen with openness to one another, to acknowledge we come from different backgrounds, but to remember the truth that each one of us has a human heart: that is, we can have a conversation in unity and love because I’d taught them that each of us is seeking truth, justice, beauty, goodness, and love.  I thank Fr. Giussani for teaching us a language to discuss in a way that in grace brought our class community together— I am acutely aware that such a dialogue would not occur in most places, and would have instead further deepened the divide between those holding such divergent beliefs. 

     I am humbled and deeply grateful to have witnessed a day in which Jesus Christ invited a culture of true life in Him to generate something new and attractive among my students and me.  The beautiful culture of His life has begun in our classroom at Bishop O’Connell High School. 

Note: Students' names changed for privacy. 

"What did the serpent looked like it was before it was forced to slither?"

Thursday, October 24, 2019

My students never fail to amaze me with their questions.

A student emailed me tonight at around 10:00 PM saying she was with another student from the class and they were "thinking about theology."  The question that kept gnawing at them was, ""What did the serpent looked like it was before it was forced to slither?"

Admittedly, this question isn't my favorite, but since I wasn't asked it with 30 seconds left in class but rather through email, I actually though about it for a second.  Here is how I answered.

I love questions like this, because it is hard to say if anyone knows the answer, but we can read into it a bit symbolically and learn some things. 

First, I will answer your question with two paintings of different artists' representation of what they thought the "serpent" might have looked like:

1) The fall of man and the lamentation. Hugo van der Goes, 1479.

2) Fall and expulsion from Paradise.  Michelangelo, 1512.

Keep in mind, the story is a myth, and the punishment the serpent receives is meant to symbolize the punishment Satan will receive when Jesus comes to save the world.  So whether he was an angel whose wings God is cutting off, or a former lizard whose legs God removes, or a man who he reduced to a slithering serpent, Satan loses an "essential" aspect of his identity (sin and death) when Jesus comes and dies, thereby conquering sin and death.  The snake having to slither symbolizes, or rather prophecies, Satan no longer having power over sin and death.

Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done (p. 17)

Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done (p. 17)

Sept. 1, 2019     by Juliet Joly

I read Bryan Stevenson’s memoir Just Mercy during my snow days starting in Nov. 2018 and finishing it over the summer in July 2019.  I was very moved by the way Bryan learned to look at his “clients,” most often men and women on death row or otherwise wrongfully accused and sentenced, with a gaze of complete attention to them as whole persons.  He began to see patterns of systemic poverty, mental illness, and race as prime players in those who are incarcerated and end up on death row. 

As an African American criminal justice lawyer, Bryan was exposed to countless injustice in our ironically named American criminal “justice” system.  The way Bryan looked at these men and women was profoundly human and truth-seeking.  Even after discovering and defending the truth for many of them (often meaning the defendant’s innocence or other reasons validating a milder sentence), his task involved using civil and legal processes and arguments to try to convince various appellate courts and other officials of the truth—the men and women’s innocence or their deserving a lesser sentence than the death penalty. 

               I walked away from this memoir deeply convinced that the death penalty is simply never the best solution to heal broken relationship, to heal a horrific crime, or to remove a dangerous person from society.  A culture of murder generates more murder.  Bryan encountered various persons whose loved ones had been murdered and who expressed they did not feel a sense of justice and calm after the death penalty had been used to “avenge” their loved ones’ murders.  It is so evident from these examples that murder does not avenge murder.  Instead, Bryan realizes, hope and love and forgiveness generate healing and revolutionize our broken culture of death.  What can defeat murder?  Forgiveness, rehabilitation, and second chances. 

               Bryan Stevenson muses toward the conclusion of the book the following paragraphs that I find to be a profound conclusion to his deeply insightful, important experiences:

“I guess I’d never fully considered that being broken is what makes us human. […] But our brokenness is also the source of our common humanity, the basis for our shared search for comfort, meaning, and healing. […]

               “We have a choice.  We can embrace our humanness, which means embracing our broken natures and the compassion that remains our best hope for haling.  Or we can deny our brokenness, forswear compassion, and, as a result, deny our own humanity.

“I thought of the guards strapping Jimmy Dill to the gurney that very hour. (p. 289) I thought of the people who would cheer his death and see it as some kind of victory. I realized they were broken people, too, even if they would never admit it. So many of us have become afraid and angry. We’ve become so fearful and vengeful that we’ve thrown away children, discarded the disabled, and sanctioned the imprisonment of the sick and the weak–not because they are a threat to public safety or beyond rehabilitation but because we think it makes us seem tough, less broken. … We’ve submitted to the harsh instinct to crush those among us whose brokenness is most visible.

“But simply punishing the broken–walking away from them or hiding them from sight–only ensures that they remain broken and we do too. There is no wholeness outside of our reciprocal humanity.

“…there is a strength, a power even, in understanding brokenness, because embracing our brokenness creates a need and desire for mercy, and perhaps a corresponding need to show mercy. When you experience mercy, you learn things that are hard to learn otherwise. You see things you can’t otherwise see; you hear things you can’t otherwise hear. You begin to recognize the humanity that resides in each of us. (p. 290)

“The power of just mercy is that it belong to the undeserving. It’s when mercy is least expected that it’s most potent–strong enough to break the cycle of victimization and victimhood, retribution and suffering. It has the power to heal the psychic harm and injuries that lead to aggression and violence, abuse of power, mass incarceration. (p. 294)