5. THE UNMISTAKEABLE THEOLOGY of beauty in the midst of brokenness
This reflection marks Part 5 of a seven‑part series drawn from our visit to Lebanon and Syria. Please visit the home-page to view the others.
As we walked into the Christian centre in the Beqaa Valley, home to nearly 140 refugee children, we were immediately met with an artwork displayed on the wall of the school. It read as follows:
“God does not hide our broken places — He fills them with gold and redeems them.”
The quote referred to Kintsugi art[1], an ancient Japanese tradition involving the repair of broken pottery and porcelain. The cracked pots were fixed by filling the broken areas of the Japanese Kintsugi bowls with powdered gold, platinum, or silver. Kintsugi pottery, as a philosophy, views shattering and restoration as a natural part of cracked pots’ history, instead of something which should be hidden. The Kintsugi meaning quite simply refers to the term “golden joinery”.
Japanese gold cracks are viewed as aesthetically pleasing rather than ugly. Japanese Kintsugi art, in fact, frequently makes the restored object more attractive than the original, renewing it with a new aesthetic and giving it a fresh lease on life. Exquisite Japanese gold cracks gleam in the visible fractures of Kintsugi bowls once finished, providing each reconditioned piece with a one-of-a-kind character.
This beautifully restored image of a once broken vessel speaks profoundly into the reality of Lebanon and Syria.
In war, people’s lives are shattered: homes destroyed, families scattered, faith tested. Yet the gospel insists that brokenness is not the end of the story. God does not erase the cracks left by trauma; He fills them with His glory, turning wounds into witness.
In these nations, the Church itself bears those golden seams. Every act of mercy, every prayer whispered in ruins, every meal shared with refugees becomes a line of redemption — proof that beauty can still shine through the fractures.
Like Kintsugi pottery, the redeemed life doesn’t pretend the break never happened. It says:
“This scar is where grace entered.”
One of the precious workers at the centre, Vera, had her leg amputated from the knee downwards. The pot had broken, and the pieces were scattered, ready for gold to mend it together. In the midst of Vera’s heartache and fear, she wrote the following message:
Dear Pastor Mike. I’ve lost a lot—it seems like everything I love, I lose…and am still losing. This time the foot. But even though I don’t understand anything and have many questions to God, I said to Him, “You might take away everything I have, or allow it to be gone, but I’ll never give you up, or let anything cause me to lose you. Whatever will happen to me, even death, I will still love you. Maybe this is my cross that’s meant to be. I have no choice except to choose to carry it every day, until I meet You”.
Vera confessed that maybe this is God’s consecration allowing her to identify with those who suffer the heartache of being “amputated” from home, family, and security. Just like Jesus was consecrated for a cross, she understood that consecration always comes at a price. To display the beauty of a broken Kintsugi pot, we first need to be broken.
If we only seek release, healing, and perfection we will miss the golden threads in our lives. Vera’s reconstruction came through brokenness. Her imperfection will radiate the beauty of a God who makes new, restores, and redeems. For the refugees in Lebanon God has sent an angel, and that angel carries with her the golden traces of grace.
To a large extent this was exactly what Paul was trying to communicate when he said:
(2 Corinthians 12:8) Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take the thorn in my flesh away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
Tomorrow we explore the unmistakeable theology of intentional resilience
[1] https://artincontext.org/kintsugi/