Apologetics

Community of the Broken (Life is Short. Live It Well.)

At a Switchfoot concert, Pastor Kent Keller found himself seated among strangers with disabilities who moved over, made room, and grabbed hands together when asked. A small picture of church.

Jeff Reed Sunday, May 24, 2026 6 min read

Quick answer: For one Sunday night at a Switchfoot concert, a handful of strangers in the ADA-accessible row — a young man with cerebral palsy named Korey, a woman with a breathing apparatus, a man with vision loss, and one Presbyterian pastor — became a community of the broken. They moved over for each other, made way, grabbed hands when Jon Foreman asked, and the bond between them tightened. It was, for a few hours, a foretaste of the world Scripture says is coming, where no one will need a wheelchair, where every tear will be wiped away, and where we will all grab hands effortlessly and sing forever.

[Note: This was written in March, 2019.]

Last Sunday night I did something I rarely do anymore. I went to a concert by one of my favorite rock’n’roll bands, Switchfoot. I’ve listened to their music for almost twenty years but never had a chance to hear them in person, so I hauled my carcass up to Revolution Live in Ft. Lauderdale for the show. Even though my date (a twenty-year-old redhead who shall remain nameless) canceled on me at the last minute, it was well worth the trip.

To my surprise there were two warm-up acts, a solo artist named Tyson Motzenbocker and a band called Colony House. (The website that advertised Switchfoot’s appearance at Revolution Live said the concert started at 6:30 PM, but made no mention of anyone else performing. Oh well – bonus music.) Both were good, if very different in terms of style and genre. I mention this not just as background information but because it had an impact on something that happened later than evening.

Speaking of later … it was just after 9:00 when the main attraction took the stage. Revolution Live is a very intimate venue, and I had a great seat, maybe twenty feet from the stage, stage left. About twenty years ago I joined a fraternity very few of you will ever gain entrance to – I hope – and I have acquired a body of knowledge very few of you ever will. The fraternity consists of people with significant disabilities, and the knowledge has to do with how to negotiate the world while coping with those disabilities. I was with a handful of other people who needed ADA-compliant accessible seating.

A young man with cerebral palsy (CP) was sitting right in front of me, along with a caretaker. He had an extremely sophisticated wheelchair, sporting more gadgets and telemetry than I’ve ever seen – including a license plate that said “Rock Star,” a mirrored disco ball on the back and a plastic gadget labeled “Flux Capacitor.” Gotta love that. A young lady with major disabilities of another kind was to my right, along with her caretaker. She had a breathing apparatus that literally breathed for her, and also allowed her to “speak” with a very breathy, mechanized voice – think Darth Vader, but without the menace. A seeing-impaired man came in behind us along with his caretaker (wife?). There were a couple of others in that little section with disabilities I couldn’t identify specifically.

Between bands I had a chance to talk with the young man with CP, Korey and his caretaker, Chris, both terrifically nice guys. They had done all the modifications to the chair themselves, no small feat. Throughout the night all of us in that section moved in, moved over, moved back, whatever we needed to do to accommodate each other as needed. At one point Jon Foreman, lead singer and spokesman for the group – who spent about as much time singing and playing guitar in the midst of the packed audience as he did on stage – asked us all to reach out and join hands with the people on either side of us. No big deal for most people …but for those in our section, quite a challenge. Somehow we managed to accomplish the task, making an even tighter bond between us.

Now – this is where the later start for Switchfoot comes in: somewhere around 10:00 Chris, Korey’s caretaker, turned around to me and said, “I didn’t know this thing would go so late. We didn’t know there’d be anyone else playing tonight.” I told him I hadn’t either.

Then he said, “We took the train here. I hope this doesn’t make us miss the last train tonight. It’s at 10:40.” I asked where they had come from. “West Palm Beach,” he said.

“What part of West Palm?” I asked.

“Downtown,” he replied.

Looking at Korey’s very large chair, I said, “I drive a Ford Explorer. I think once I’m locked in we could get Korey’s chair, and you, in. I’ve gotten stranded before. I’ll make sure you guys don’t get stuck in Ft. Lauderdale tonight.”

Again, this was a Sunday night. Sundays are pretty long days for me without throwing in a late concert in Ft. Lauderdale. To be honest, I really, really hoped I wouldn’t have to back up that offer … but if I had to, I was going to. I’ll spare you the details, but I have been stranded in another city, late at night, wondering how the heck I was going to get back to where I needed to be. If it was within my ability I was going to be sure Korey and Chris didn’t have to face that prospect.

Around 10:20 they decided to leave (the Tri-Rail station is just a few blocks from Revolution Live), so I moved aside, shook hands with Chris, fist-bumped Korey and wished them well. Then I let the young lady with the breathing apparatus move up into the space they vacated. They asked if I didn’t want the space, as I was closest, but I could tell seeing Switchfoot live was probably Bucket List material for her, so I said, “Nah, I’m close enough.”

Joke’s on me: a couple songs later, Jon Foreman, singing “Live It Well,” climbed up onto the platform right in front of our seats and grabbed hands with everyone there, except me … which would’ve made a cool evening even cooler … but I can live without that. (I did get some pretty sweet, up-close-and-personal video.)

*Life is short I want to live it well

One life, one story to tell

Life is short I want to live it well

And you’re the one I’m living for

Awaken, oh my soul!

Every breath that you take is a miracle

Life is short I want to live it well*

Please, please, do yourself a favor and watch this YouTube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZcyOrNLlho.

Sunday night I had a rare, wonderful opportunity to participate in a community of the broken. We lived it well, if only for a few hours … a foretaste of another, better world where none of us will need ADA-compliant seating. And we’ll all grab hands effortlessly and sing even more beautifully than we did with Switchfoot that night. Forever.

Kent

If that clip whets your appetite for more of Switchfoot, and I hope it does, check this clip of “Love Alone Is Worth the Fight,” probably my favorite song of theirs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rk9Pj3ID0UE

For more on the band itself, visit their website: https://switchfoot.com.

Frequently asked questions

What is a 'community of the broken'?

In this reflection, Pastor Kent Keller describes a community of the broken as a group of strangers who, even for just a few hours, accommodate each other's weaknesses, make room for each other, and share something deeper than what surrounds them. At a Switchfoot concert at Revolution Live in Ft. Lauderdale, Kent found himself in the ADA-accessible row alongside Korey, a young man with cerebral palsy and his caretaker Chris; a woman with a breathing apparatus that breathed and spoke for her; a man with vision loss; and a couple of others with various disabilities. Over the course of the night, this little section moved in, moved over, moved back, and made way for each other — and when Jon Foreman asked the crowd to grab hands, they managed it together. That kind of mutual care under shared difficulty is what Kent calls a community of the broken: not a self-help group, not a support meeting, but a real, present-moment fellowship of people who know they need each other. For Christians, it is a glimpse of what the church is meant to be week in and week out.

What does 'life is short, live it well' mean from a Christian perspective?

The phrase comes from the Switchfoot song 'Live It Well,' which Kent quotes in the post: 'Life is short, I want to live it well / One life, one story to tell / … And you're the one I'm living for / Awaken, oh my soul! / Every breath that you take is a miracle.' From a Christian perspective, living life well is not about chasing comfort or maximizing experiences. It is about recognizing that every breath is a gift, that we have one life and one story to tell, and that the 'you' worth living for is the Lord Himself. Kent's experience in the accessible row that night was a small picture of it: ordinary people with real limitations, refusing self-pity, refusing isolation, choosing presence, choosing kindness, choosing to grab hands when invited. Living well is making your life count for God and for the people around you in the time you have.

Why does the church talk about brokenness and disability as a window into the gospel?

Because Scripture promises a coming world where no one will need a wheelchair, no one will need a breathing apparatus, and every tear will be wiped away. Kent describes the evening at Revolution Live as 'a foretaste of another, better world where none of us will need ADA-compliant seating. And we'll all grab hands effortlessly and sing even more beautifully than we did with Switchfoot that night. Forever.' That is the hope Christians hold. The brokenness we carry now — physical, emotional, relational — is real, but it is not final. The resurrection of Jesus guarantees the restoration of all things. So when Christians sit alongside the suffering, accommodate the weak, share rides home so a friend in a wheelchair doesn't get stranded, and grab hands across disability lines, we are not just being nice. We are rehearsing the future Christ has promised. The community of the broken now is a foretaste of the community of the redeemed forever.

Jeff Reed

Pastoral writing from the team at Christchurch Miami — a faith family on mission in Kendall, Miami.