By His Wounds

When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability…To be alive is to be vulnerable.  Madeleine L’Engle

I was struck during worship this week when our pastor, in challenging us to be generous during these uncertain times, spoke about the generosity of sharing our needs with one another. For me, vulnerability rarely feels generous. It reminded me of a tough period in my life. 

Some years ago, a moral failure caused me to step down from leading a fellowship group. I put myself under the authority of my pastor (one of my worst fears) and we agreed that I would ask one of the other participants to lead our all men’s group. I had been leading the group for about 18 months. In explaining the change of leadership, I shared everything with these friends. 

Our men’s group crossed an invisible barrier that night, on the other side of which, somehow, we could all be vulnerable with one another. We shared our fears and failures, open wounds and scars in a way we had not before. Decade-long friendships that now persist across time and geographical divides are evidence of how God transformed us through our shared honesty.

This week’s sermon was about “Doubting Thomas”, to whom Jesus proved his Divinity through vulnerability. Jesus’ scars were his calling card. And they were well earned when He opened his arms to His father’s will and carried out the unthinkable assignment of death on a cross.

It leads us to a mystery. Vulnerability, sharing our wounds and scars, somehow re-orients us to one another. But more than that, it re-orients us to God. In seeing Jesus’ scars, Thomas was convinced of the resurrection - God’s power. I think there’s even more there for us. When we see his scars we see both his love for us, and his willingness to enter into our wounds with us. 

Thomas asked, but we all need to touch Jesus’ wounds. And as his love for us, demonstrated  by those wounds, seeps into our hearts we are able to love others in like fashion. I am convinced that appropriate vulnerability with one another does not come back empty.  

If God on the Cross is God shamming a human tragedy, it turns the Passion of Christ into the Farce of Christ. The death of the Son must be real. Father Martin assured me it was. But once a dead God, always a dead God, even resurrected. The Son must have the taste of death forever in His mouth. The Trinity must be tainted by it; there must be a certain stench at the right hand of God the Father. The horror must be real. Why would God wish that upon Himself? Why not leave death to the mortals? Why make dirty what is beautiful, spoil what is perfect?

 Love. That was Father Martin's answer.  

- Yann Martel, Life of Pi