broken world baby, broken world

My friend and colleague Rick often uses this phrase “Broken world baby, broken world” when things feel so horribly jacked up in life and in the world.

Since the bombing in Boston it’s been running through my mind and is coming out in beatnik-type poetry. Feel free to give some cool-kid snaps at the end of my attempt to poetically process pain. Or just amuse yourself by picturing me reciting this while looking like chicly-baby from Pee-Wee’s playhouse.


I see pictures of friends cheering runners on in Boston.
Hours later cheering has turned to screams of terror
bombs exploded, lives are ended and the city mourns

I bake bread, check email, read NPR updates because I can’t stop.
What is happening in our cities? What is happening in our hearts?
Broken world baby, broken world.

Lingzi Lu dies in the blast, her InterVarsity friends are shocked
How could this be? A sweet grad student taking part in an annual marathon,
running will turn into remembering you and the others who have died

I  gained 5 pounds yet choose to eat a doughnut after my son spent the morning screaming.
Lack of self-control seems like a small distress compared to the grief of others.
Broken world baby, broken world.

Friendless Tamerlan Tsarnaev what drove you to violence?
My heart breaks for the darkness in your life that has now consumed others.
Will racism and hate emerge towards people seeking a way out of pain?

I read about how Shalom is possible through Jesus- how he is making all things new.
I picture a world restored, tears wiped away, cities renewed. We need it now Lord.
Because we live in a broken world baby, broken world.


Shalom dreams. God’s dream for us in this world. I hold on to the promise of a dream.
Ora et Labora– work and pray as my boss Fred says. I’ll do my part,
Because we are all called to heal this broken world baby, broken world.




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