THE BLEEDING HEART

THE FLOWER THAT HEALS WHILE BLEEDING

When asked to name a favorite flower during an immigration group meeting at Creekside Church, UCC, Minneapolis, I found myself hesitating. There are so many—each with its own beauty and grace. The vibrant burst of wildflowers in a meadow, the quiet dignity of lilies, the bold joy of sunflowers, the intricate artistry of orchids, and more in our flower garden—the morning glory, peony, rose, petunia, lavender, geranium, hydrangea, Shasta daisy, Mandeville, veronica, phlox, aster, goldenrod, bougainvillea, etc. How could anyone choose just one? Each carries its own story, its own season, its own way of bringing delight.

But this time, in this moment of history, with all that is happening in the world—I could only answer: my favorite flower is the bleeding heart.

I see how the poor are scapegoated, as though their very existence is a burden. Budgets are slashed for education, healthcare, and the programs that weave the safety nets of compassion—while military spending grows and the wealthy are handed more. And there are the victims of genocide in Gaza, whose cries pierce the conscience of the world. From refugee camps to war-torn cities, from rising seas swallowing island nations to authoritarian regimes tightening their grip, the same pattern of cruelty and indifference casts its long shadow across the earth.

Yes, my heart is bleeding. And the bleeding heart flower—delicate, vulnerable, yet enduring—feels like the truest emblem for this moment. Whose heart would not bleed when faced with such cruelty? Whose heart would not break at the sight of neighbors turned into strangers, of strangers turned into threats?

But a broken heart need not mean a fractured heart. There is a breaking that destroys, and there is a breaking that opens. When the heart breaks open, it becomes a larger vessel—able to hold more pain, yes, but also more love; able to carry both grief and hope without losing either.

To live with a bleeding heart is to refuse numbness. It is to keep feeling when it would be easier to turn away. It is to hold sorrow and still extend one’s hands toward healing, even while wounded—even while bleeding.

So, my heart bleeds—and in its bleeding, it is breaking open. Not to wither, but to water seeds of justice. Not to close in self-protection, but to open in defiant tenderness.

Because, perhaps, the only hearts that can truly heal the world are those that are bleeding.

ESF

August 22, 2025