Jesus Still Bears His Wounds
Jesus Still Bears His Wounds
Why shouldn't we?
I’d like to think that my faith has evolved past some of the messaging of my youth—that in my walk with the Father, I’ve learned to both acknowledge and respect suffering.
But then suffering happens, which is really inconvenient, and I realize I’m not nearly as evolved as I thought.
Despite the b(B)ody of evidence to the contrary, the American Church still regularly touts the belief that all we have to do to call ourselves faithful is follow the formula. We believe If A, Then B, no matter how many times that formula has failed us.
If I Just Do This, Then Life Will Be Good.
If I Just Follow The Path, Then I Will Receive My Reward.
If I Just Make This Choice, Then I Will Avoid That Pain.
I don’t know much about math (the last class I took was College Algebra in 2003), but I’m pretty sure that if you try to solve a problem the same way every time and the answer never comes up right, then you should probably tweak your approach.
Here in the United States, we’ve made big business out of solving problems. Too inconvenient? Just click this button. Too hard to wait? You can get it tomorrow. Too painful? Here are a million ways to ignore it.
We’ve got solutions for every problem, no matter how made-up or miniscule.
Sometimes, though, we don’t need solutions.
We just need the truth.
Pierce and I are in a strange, challenging season. The details are ours alone, but I will share that he lost his job about a month ago—a job he’d had almost our entire marriage—so we are facing some of the biggest unknowns we’ve ever experienced as a couple. There have been a lot of questions, conversations, and prayers for patience in this house lately.
Each morning, we ask the Lord to give us just this day, just this bread. Here and now. We’re tempted to jump forward to springtime and make plans for the what-ifs, but we can’t get to spring if we don’t trust in the steps God wants to reveal to us today. This is the beauty of faith and the challenge of it, too. We all want to experience big moments with God, but we won’t get to those moments at all if we aren’t willing to say “yes” to this one.
I keep thinking back to the months after I had Theo when I thought postpartum depression would kill me. I couldn’t even imagine the future because the mere thought of trying to survive another day felt impossible. I begged God to change my circumstances, to give me hope again on the other side of my wounds. The idea that in five years I would look back with wonder at what God had done was laughable. (I understand Sarah1 a little more now.) Joy was a luxury too distant to contemplate. I couldn’t even breathe.
But here I am, almost five years later, and all around me is the evidence that God works things together for the good of those who love Him. My children are healthy, happy, and kind. Mentally, I’m the healthiest I’ve been in a decade. My husband is still my favorite person. I have books, cozy blankets, coffee, and warm meals. We’ve found a church that feels like home. We laugh, play, and take delight in one another. There is so much goodness here if I open my eyes to it.
That future I couldn’t even contemplate once upon a time is now my present.
The day Pierce came home and told me what had happened, we both felt wounded in different ways. He, as the breadwinner, was concerned for our very real material needs. I, as the home manager, was thoughtful about what would require change and sacrifice. It was painful, and—like any injury—that pain was our entire focus for a time. It took up all the energy we had just to try and make sense of the aftermath. It seems unfair, but when things break open there is always so much work to be done.
Assess the wound.
Stifle the bleeding.
Treat with medicine.
Bandage carefully.
Check for infection.
Wait for healing.
How long would this wound take to heal? Would it heal at all? Maybe those were the wrong questions to ask.
In Luke’s gospel account, Jesus appears to His disciples after the resurrection and they are stunned to see Him in the flesh. At first, they think He’s just a ghost. (The fact that Jesus doesn’t dispute the existence of ghosts is super interesting to me, but that’s a whole other post.) Jesus rebukes the disciples and presents His wounds as proof that He is more than just spirit. He calls their attention to the broken places and compels them to look, touch, and see.
It’s where Jesus bled and suffered that the truth is revealed…and it’s in those same wounds that He is finally recognized.
After all, who would He be without them?
Something mysterious and wonderful happens to us when we offer our hurts to the Living Savior instead of trying to scramble together our own solutions to the pain. The temptation is strong, I know. But (back to the math metaphor) how has that equation worked out for us, so far?
Pierce and I didn’t know how much we needed this time together—to talk through our days and walk our neighborhood streets and remind one another of the goodness of God—until we got it. For years, he worked all day long and into many a night during football season. Later, soccer matches and every major event at the stadium were added to his schedule, too. (During the fall, this meant Pierce would sometimes be gone until past midnight multiple times a week.) We were both stretched thin by what it required of us—as individuals, as parents, and as husband and wife. Once the job was gone, disappointed and confused as we were, we finally had the chance to look at each other and take a damn breath.
Maybe this loss feels like a wound. But is it possible that it’s actually a gift?
Is it possible that yours is, too?
In the upside-down Kingdom of Heaven, our brokenness is the place where God gets to reveal His strength. The kind of strength that carries a bleeding, suffering Man up a hill and onto a cross. The kind of strength that looks sorrow in the face and doesn’t hide. The kind of strength that raises the dead to life.
I find it so tender that the first thing out of Jesus’ mouth when He appears to the disciples is “Peace be with you.”2 He knows they’re frightened by what’s in front of them and He honors their emotions. At the offset, He offers them His peace—shalom—and prepares them to experience what is good, true, and beautiful in the scars His suffering left behind. In Christ’s nail-pierced hands, our wounds find purpose.
Sin is never ordained by God, but suffering might be. That’s a scary statement if we just leave it there and never consider what suffering might bring forth in our lives. But we must face what Scripture shows us, what Jesus showed His friends, and that is that sometimes redemption is only possible inside the vulnerability of the wounded. God is not a sadist; He’s a realist. He knows all too well the brokenness of this world, and He knows that when our free will bumps up against another’s we might get hurt. So He makes a way through our wounds, starting with His own.
I wish I knew the answers to what lies ahead of us. I don’t. There are so many ways the next few months could go, and not all of them are comforting. But I do know what lies behind us: thirty-eight years of God’s enduring faithfulness, even—and most especially—when it didn’t make sense.
May we be brave enough in this season to bear witness to His wounds and be given courage enough to endure our own.
Shalom.
The job uncertainty and feelings of “what next?” are so hard. Praying that God shows up (and I can say from my experience that I trust he will — maybe not how or when you wish — but in the ways you need).