Expressing Hope While Broken by Greg Burch
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . . I have fear. Is that how it goes? Brokenness is hard to embrace. It is hard to live in the shadows of both my own pain and the pain of others. At least for me it is. Shadows represent darkness, uncertainty, evil and often pain. Despair is often associated with these shadows, and I fear living in the shadow of death. Perhaps this is not the best way to start a conversation about brokenness, but the reality is that brokenness is not something we often seek out intentionally.
After almost seven years of working with street-living children and youth, I flew back to Pasadena, California, to begin a doctoral program. I was exhausted. Most days I sat near the playground where my children would play in our apartment complex. Neighbors from around the world would often ask, “don’t you have anything to do today?” The truth was, I had plenty to do. I was beginning a doctoral program, slammed with assignments and due dates, but I wasn’t in a position to really accomplish much. Our marriage had taken a beating from the challenges of living in a very dangerous city and the relentless demands of a compressed schedule. I was resting from both our accomplishments and failures.
Death happens in more ways than one. The shadow of death is a shadow that exists both figuratively and literally. Brokenness for many on our team came as a result of seeing young people who lost their lives to drug abuse, daily violence and even at the hands of officials who were supposed to protect them.
Learning to sit in the brokenness
without allowing it to overwhelm
you is something that I have seen
glimpses of, but certainly haven’t yet
learned to fully embrace.
After several years of academic work and some healing, I had the opportunity to return to the city I both loved and despised.
After wrapping up some training, I had a day to spare before flying back to Pasadena. I decided to go for a walk back to those familiar streets – Saint Augustine is known for saying Solvitur Ambulando— “It will be solved through walking” – so there I went, seeking to solve my despair.
I revisited the city streets where we spent most days talking with kids, encouraging them to pursue healthier lifestyles and decisions. Each spot I came to reminded me of a story, a life, or a scare I once had. I came across the corner where my friend and director was arrested for telling the local police to stop kicking a boy. I walked by the restaurant where the owner once told a child to find poison and drink it. I saw the high-rise building where children would huddle under covering to stay warm, sniff glue and sleep. I visited the site where, as a college intern, I first made contact with a group of kids on the street. Over and over, I reminisced about our work on those city streets, but I still didn’t see what I was hoping to find— looking for God in a violent city can be hard at times.
“Wait, is that God?”
I stopped and watched a group of kids, no older than twelve, approach a McDonald’s. They seemed to be trying to beg, find leftover food, or who knows what. Just as they crossed the entryway, a guard stepped in the way to block their path. Watching from a distance, I was immediately reminded of similar moments in the past and the perplexity I would feel about what to do. Then, I saw the guard gesture for the kids to wait. “What is he going to do?” I wondered. A few minutes later, he emerged with a handful of hamburgers, whispered something to the kids, and handed them the food. I stood in shock. Had I spent so much time over the years reflecting on the pain and the injustices that I had lost the ability to see hope? To see the generosity? To see God show up?
I kept walking. A few blocks away I spotted a familiar face. “Wait, that can’t be…” But it was. José. He’d put on weight since I’d last seen him, and he smiled and said in a loud voice, “Gregorio.” He came over and gave me a hug. I was in shock. The last time I saw José he was high and appeared lost in a different world. Now, here he was, standing behind the counter of an ice cream stand, scooping cones.
He began telling me his story. The shop owner had taken him in and helped him. “Wait, what?” I thought. All I could remember were the horrendous run-ins I had over the years with local business owners in this same area.
God shows up in the least expected ways. I said goodbye for the last time and continued on down the pedestrian walkway.
I came to another spot where one of the first young boys I ever met in that city used to spend much time sleeping, sniffing glue and causing great mischief. Remembering the day he was desperate, sick and asking us to get him off the streets, I thought about how the years had passed and the transformation that had taken place in that young person (married, with a beautiful family, these days he can be found directing a wing of the very organization I use to work with).
Other signs of hope hit me that day.
Where despair seeks to command our attention, hope reminds us of the healing that comes through the brokenness.
Walter Brueggemann writes, if we want “to engage in glad, risky, missional work, then it must be unfrozen from our habitual denial and despair that are the currency of our dominant narrative.” Was this what was happening in me as I revisited those streets? Disconnecting despair in our brokenness is critical for our work. Finding signs of hope will release us to hope again. Brueggemann goes on to say,
“There can be no resurrection if there is no crucifixion. There is no genuine praise if there has been no honest lament, protest, and complaint.”
So, complain. Lament. Certainly protest the reasons that lead to our brokenness, but remember to look for the signs of hope in the midst of that brokenness, for God himself is present there.
God shows up in the midst of these narratives we tend to create from the brokenness we both witness and experience. Brokenness is still something I fear, but I now realize (on most days) that Christ himself is present.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . . I am learning not to fear the anguish of brokenness in those dark valleys. I still don’t enjoy the shadows in this life, but recognizing that some of the suffering we experience in hard mission contexts will point to hope encourages me. Breaking the cycle of despair in my brokenness is a life-long pursuit— one that I refuse to give up on.
About the Author – Greg Burch, Advocate
WMF Advisory Council, Advocate
Greg has worked in several roles supporting children at risk since he was a college student, including seven years of ministry with street-living children in Caracas, Venezuela. He now teaches and directs the Graduate Program in Global Development and Justice at the Multnomah Campus of Jessup University in Portland, Oregon. You can find more from him at https://developmentandjustice. com/