Some years ago, the stitching on a favorite pair of slippers let go. I noticed when I nearly stepped out of it while carrying the laundry. “Damn!” I thought, “I need to get some new slippers.” I stepped out of the slippers, put the laundry basket on the bed and began folding the laundry. Then I remembered something. “Wait! I don’t have to throw the slippers away. I can mend it! And I did. Instead of creating trash and spending money on slippers, I kept the slippers and spent a few dollars on a set of needles and various types of thread. This was my first opportunity to take up a spiritual practice I had learned about a few weeks prior at a workshop called “Mending Church,” led by the Rev. Laura Everett at a Unitarian Universalist Christian Fellowship retreat at First Unitarian Church in Worcester, MA. Rev. Everett had spoken about mending as a spiritual practice and made connections to church, faith communities, and ministry, noting “the metaphors are rich and tactile.”
And indeed they are. I need mending, you need mending, the church needs mending, the country needs mending, the world needs mending, just about everything needs mending. And all of us have the ability to mend. We can all learn to mend. Rev. Everett explained that just as we have actually lost the art of mending clothes in our culture, we have in many ways also lost the art of mending ourselves, our relationships, our families, and our communities. Rev. Everett writes (https://religionnews.com/2019/04/10/the-spirituality-of-mending/):
We learn to look for the places that need repair. We discover holes at the elbows and fraying at the cuffs. We see stress at the seams. We notice the places of friction and instability often need the most repairs. Sometimes we find that the garment was not well created to begin with and thus, prone to tearing. We learn to look carefully and ask, “Is this worth fixing?” I find myself asking this often about my neighborhood, my city, my church, and my country.
The act of physically stitching my slipper back together brought me to that place where the Spirit teaches me lessons. I couldn’t find an exact matching thread, so I used something close in color. My life is like this, I thought, I am not always a perfect match and I repair myself as best I can. I am not like I used to be. I am worn and used – I’ve been through parenting, divorce, depression, and cancer. I’m full of patches and mends that don’t perfectly match. I am not the shiny new shoe or garment I once was, but who is? Like my slipper, I am worth repairing. Heck, I loved my odd little slippers, they were warm and cozy and broken in to fit my feet. I loved them the way they were, even with the repair stitching that didn’t quite match. Those slippers finally fell apart to the extent that no more mending would hold them together. It was then I got some new ones. And now I mend those!
Sometimes I get mad at myself for not being a famous designer brand three piece suit. Over and over I have to get used to the fact that I am an off the rack jeans and cotton T-shirt. That’s who I am. And not a top brand at that. But I’m me and me is enough. Worthy. Lovable. And when I break down, I am worth fixing. “Mending,” Rev. Everett says, “is a validation of worth.”
The looming presidential election rents our minds and hearts with anxiety. Civil discourse is ripped apart and needs mending. The supreme court needs mending. Congress needs mending. The constitution and democracy need mending. Health care needs mending, reproductive freedom needs mending, education needs mending, the social safety net needs mending, immigration policy needs mending, Gaza needs mending, Ukraine needs mending. So much seems ripped apart, worn out, and broken.
But it’s worth mending. All of it. Just like you and me. I can’t afford to buy new things all the time. I need to mend and repair. I can’t make a new me when I feel broken, I must work on mending and repairing myself. I can’t afford to tear down my country and culture and start from zero, so I am going to go about mending it as best as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
Shine on,
Rev. Tony
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