Sunday Musings

Wounds

On the Sunday following Easter, many Christians read the story known as “Doubting Thomas” about the disciple who just couldn’t believe that Jesus had appeared to his friends after the crucifixion:

But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

The emphasis of this text is on on seeing and believing. On this particular Sunday, however, I’m struck by the touching of the wounds. Perhaps the heaviness of the world right now draws my attention toward those wounds. Jesus, the one whom Christians believe to be the Son of God, is wounded. Still. After death. Beyond resurrection. We have a wounded God, a vulnerable God, who bears brokenness even on a spiritual body.

The wounded God and the wounded world touch.

It is a stunning theological idea — the wounded God. Sharing our woundedness takes us from doubt to belief, from fear to trust. To peace.

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INSPIRATION

Stand in our midst
again, today
enter the circle of our fears
penetrate the darkness of our doubts
meet us where we are

May we listen your sung Shalom:
‘Peace be with you … Peace be with you’.
May we see your hands and your side.
May we feel the warmth
of your holy breath
softening the hardened clay
from whence we come.

Invited,
curious like a little child,
we place our trembling hands
not only your wounds
but on ours too,
and on the lovely
brokenness of others

breathing in, forgiveness
breathing out, forgiveness

wounds becoming the sacred place
of mutual compassion,
and the springboard to an intimate song
of communion and possibility
crafted in the heart:
‘our Lord, and our God.’
— Philip Chircop, SJ, “Invitation”

We must feel
the pulse in the wound
to believe
that 'with God
all things
are possible,'
taste
bread at Emmaus
that warm hands
broke and blessed.
— Denise Levertov, “On Belief in the Physical Resurrection of Jesus”

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;
We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow,
We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars. 

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars, we claim Thy grace.

If, when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;
We know to-day what wounds are, have no fear,
Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak;
They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;
But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,
And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.
— Edward Shillito, “Jesus of the Scars” (1919)

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