When I was a little girl, I remember my mother keeping a tin spice container of meat tenderizer in the cabinet next to the stove. I truly have no idea what ingredients made up that powder, and I never saw my mother use it for cooking. I only remember that it was what she grabbed if one of us got stung by a bee. She would frantically root around for that old, and even a bit rusty, tin on the highest shelf and make a paste with the powder and water. Then she would apply that paste onto the skin to “take the sting out.” I cannot remember how well it worked, but I do recall that there was comfort in the ritual and in the thought that this constituted the correct course of action.
I have often wondered about the origins of that home remedy. It certainly wasn’t something my mother invented. I know that my paternal grandmother relied on it as well. She was a nurse and seemed especially competent in dealing with the minor bumps and mishaps of life. So, she probably taught it to my father, and that is how it made its way into my childhood home.
After many years of living on my own, I have speculated about, although never inquired, whether that tin of meat tenderizer still resides in the back of my parents’ cabinet. It probably does. I’m not even sure if people still use it for medicinal purposes in addition to treating their steaks. Do others rely on it to “take the sting out?” I will attest that I do not stock it in my cabinets. I leave the meat tenderizing to the butcher, as their machines make quick work of it. When Plan A isn’t possible, my tenderizing mallet suffices.
Today, when I reflect on the necessity of a tenderizer, I consider the spiritual implications. I acknowledge how our hardened hearts need to be tenderized, a work that must be accomplished by the Holy Spirit. God spoke to Ezekiel about a divine intervention that would incise our hearts. “A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ezekiel 36:26). God desires to soften the stony places in us.
But walking around with a tender heart isn’t easy. Our world rarely rewards the tender-hearted, often preferring the flinty who can push others aside on the path to what success looks like on a “fame and fortune” storyboard. Many years ago during my student teaching semester, my mentor teacher said, “You will have to grow a thicker skin if you are going to teach in public school.” She was right. I took to heart every hateful comment by a middle school orchestra student, or a parent, or fellow educator. Kate Bowler says, “Being fragile in the midst of a world of hammers takes courage.” Indeed.
American minister Rev. Robert Pierce knew something about navigating the difficulties of this world with a tender heart. In the late 1940s, Pierce traveled to China and other countries in Asia, where the poverty and hunger he witnessed, especially among the children, laid his heart bare. On the island of Amoy, he met Tena Hoelkeboer, a missionary in desperate need of help to feed the children. Hoelkeboer lifted a little girl named White Jade into Pierce’s arms and asked, “What are you going to do?” Pierce handed her the last $5 in his pocket and then in 1950 founded World Vision, an international charitable organization dedicated to providing relief. Later in 1970, he established another faith-based humanitarian organization— Samaritan’s Purse. Both organizations continue the mission of supplying aid to those suffering around the globe. World Vision describes itself today as “dangerously soft-hearted,” and I believe that reflects well the spirit of its founder. Throughout his ministry, Pierce continued to be guided by the prayerful words he had written in the front of his Bible during his early years in Asia. “Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God.”
So, if God desires that we grow softer instead of tougher, how does that metamorphosis take place? Is a hammer or blade the only useful implement?
Sometimes loss and suffering can tenderize us, make us humbler and more empathetic. But I love how the beauty and kindliness of nature, music, words, and art are all conduits the Spirit can use to break down the stony walls and fortified barriers we erect. These simple means of grace can soften and make tender the places we have hardened. Writer Ursula K. Le Guin reminds us that loving hearts cannot operate from a static state. “Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, new”
Jesus calls himself “the bread of life.” Throughout the Gospels, Jesus displays a heart of great compassion and tenderness for all who are suffering or marginalized. He rebukes the religious leaders whose thoughts and actions reveal the callousness of their hearts. And so, only by presenting a Spirit-softened heart can we truly fulfill Christ’s call to love one another as He has loved us. Jesus teaches us to pray for our daily bread, and we also can pray for hearts that, as the poet Mary Oliver describes, “…break open and never close again / to the rest of the world.”