There’s something powerful about a heart that’s been broken open. Not crushed by life’s circumstances, but opened—made tender and receptive to both pain and joy.
I recently read one of my favorite authors (Terry Hershey) as he shared an ancient Hebrew phrase: “Lev Basar.” It means “a heart of flesh,” and comes from the beautiful promise in Ezekiel where God says, “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh” (Ezekiel 36:26, NLT).
What strikes me about this imagery is the radical transformation being described. A heart of stone—cold, closed, protective—becoming soft, warm, and alive. This isn’t just poetic language; it’s a profound spiritual reality that many of us – especially this guy – need to experience.
Rabbi Dr. Ariel Burger captured this beautifully when he wrote: “There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart… In these traditions, you cultivate a broken heart which is very different from depression or sadness. It’s the kind of vulnerability, openness, and acute sensitivity to your own suffering and the suffering of others that becomes an opportunity for connection.”
I love how he references the wisdom of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov: “There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart.” At first glance, this seems paradoxical. How can brokenness lead to wholeness? Isn’t that contradictory?
The more I think about this idea, the more I see it in my own life. When I’ve felt the most connected to others, the most compassionate, and the most spiritually alive, it’s usually after I’ve gone through a tough time or felt vulnerable.
Research confirms this spiritual wisdom. Studies in psychological resilience show that people who allow themselves to fully process grief and pain—rather than numbing or avoiding it—often develop greater emotional capacity and deeper relationships. Dr. Brené Brown’s research on vulnerability reveals that our willingness to be seen in our imperfection actually strengthens our connections with others.
This isn’t about glorifying suffering or staying stuck in pain. Rather, it’s about allowing our hearts to remain tender instead of hardening them against life’s inevitable wounds.
Jesus modeled this “heart of flesh” perfectly. He wept at Lazarus’s tomb (John 11:35). He was moved with compassion when he saw crowds of hurting people (Matthew 9:36). Far from being emotionally distant or stoic, Jesus lived with a heart fully open to both joy and sorrow.
In our culture that often prizes toughness and invulnerability, embracing a “heart of flesh” is counter-cultural. We’re tempted to protect ourselves, to build walls, to numb our pain with endless distractions. Yet the invitation of scripture is to allow God to soften what has hardened, to make alive what has grown cold.
The Apostle Paul captures this paradoxical strength-in-weakness when he writes, “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” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NLT).
What might change in our lives if we stopped fighting our vulnerability and instead embraced it as the pathway to deeper connection? What if our broken places became our greatest points of strength and ministry to others?
This transformation from stone to flesh isn’t something we can manufacture on our own. It’s God’s work in us. Yet we participate by being willing—willing to feel, willing to grieve, willing to hope again.
Today, I invite you to join me in praying a simple prayer: “God, where my heart has grown hard or numb, make it soft again. Where I’ve built walls, help me build bridges. Give me the courage to live with a heart of flesh, open to you and open to others.”
In our broken-open hearts, we may discover what Rebbe Nachman knew centuries ago—that there is indeed nothing as whole as a heart that has been broken and made tender by love.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18
Go in Peace, Chuck
