In the Jewish tradition we find the idea of tikkun olam which is usually translated as "repairing the world." The term is quite ancient, showing up in Jewish texts that are more than 2,000 years old. It is not found in the Hebrew Bible, but appears in the Talmud. In the 1200s, the phrase became a part of Jewish liturgy: "Let the time not be distant, O God, when all shall turn to You in love, when all the brokenness in our world is repaired by the work [tikkun olam] of our hands and our hearts, inspired by Your words of Torah."
Most Jews would not have been familiar with the term until modern times, when, through the influence of Kabbalah and Zionism, it gained common currency. Today, it is a concept that is significant to many Jewish people as an expression of what their mission, so to speak, is in the world (you can find a fuller discussion of tikkun olam and its evolution here.)
Personally, I find a great deal of meaning in the term. The idea that the brokenness in the world needs repair is self-evidently true. And much of my reading and understadning of the Christian tradition is consistent with this idea: the central focus of Jesus' ministry in many respects was healing people's brokenness. Whether we use the word repair or heal, it amounts to the same thing. In many ways, I understand my own ministry, such as it is, to be about healing.
Earlier today, I ran across a quote (which I cannot now find again) that expressed a concern about "religious narcissism": a religious impulse to focus on essentially growth and improvement of the self rather than focusing on the work of justice in the world. It is a concern and criticism which certainly has validity. Religion can sometimes encourage too much of a focus on the self, and it can also be used to escape the problems of the world.
My own experience has taught me that there needs to be a balance in our spiritual life between the work we do on ourselves and the work we do in the world. There is brokenness in both. In fact, most if not all of the brokenness in the world is a direct reflection of the brokenness within us. So if we wish to repair the world, we must begin by repairing ourselves. It is very personal for me: I witnessed first hand how my own brokenness caused so much brokenness in the people and the world around me.
However, I don't think this work is sequential. If we waited to completely repair our own brokenness before we do what we can to repair the brokenness in the world, then we would never get anywhere in terms of making the world a better, more just place in which to live.
A balanced spiritual life recognizes the needs that exist both within ourselves and in the people and world around us, and seeks to address both at the same time. As we do what we can to repair the world's brokenness, we must also be about attending to our own personal brokenness. And I think that our lives tend to move through seasons -- there will be periods where we must prioritize one over the other, and that's ok. As long as we don't reach a point where one is totally forgotten for the sake of the other.
To commit to this work of healing or repair, whether we speak of ourselves or the world, is to commit to a difficult journey. Just as we know how difficult it is to address inequalities and unjust systems in the world, it is equally as difficult to heal the brokenness within our minds and hearts. Both require sustained and disciplined work. And, both require hope.
Advent is, in many ways, a season of hope. It carries with it the idea that just as the Christ came visibily into the world in Jesus, so it can unfold in us, as well -- both for are own healing and the healing of the world we inhabit. To keep the spark of hope alive is its own work, for it is easy to despair in the face of so much that is broken.
Whenever I think about hope, and the difficulty of maintaining it, I think about Desmond Tutu, the heroic Anglican Archbishop of South Africa, who worked so hard at tikkun olam. In an interview once, he was asked if he were optimistic about the state of the world. Somewhat surprisingly, perhaps, he said that he was not. But, he said, he was hopeful. In elaborating, he noted that when he looked at what was going on in the world, he found little reason to be optimistic. But as a Christian, he had an obligation -- a commitment -- to being hopeful. For, as the Advent season reminds us, the Christ can break into our lives and into our world at any moment. In fact, it is breaking into the world in every moment, if only we are willing to have the eyes to see it.
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