“But why did he keep the wounds?”
That is the question I asked myself as I sat in the American Cathedral in Paris having heard the story of Thomas, also known as “Doubting Thomas” for perhaps the hundredth time. I had come to Paris in springtime on the heels of one of the most painful periods of my life, hoping to find healing in distance, solitude, and self-care. I had come to Paris hoping for God to meet me there and help me move forward with peace and joy instead of disappointment and grief. I meandered the streets that afternoon and wandered into this cavernous sanctuary for what I immediately felt was an unexpected gift, an evening jazz vespers in celebration of Easter with music and poetry on the theme of life after death.
Somewhere in the middle of it, I realized that the service, as beautiful as it was, was only the wrapping paper for the real gift, my wounded heart glimpsing Christ’s wounded hands as if for the first time. Surely, it occurred to me, the divine power that raised Christ from the dead could have erased all evidence of his suffering, leaving his palms and side smooth and unscathed. But instead the divine chose to display his wounds to these men he loved, not to exhibit his divinity but to identify with them in the frailty of their humanity. Christ’s wounds opened a door to healing for me that spring evening. I wept and worshiped in awe of the loving intentionality of the embodied God.
The wonder I experienced in that moment revisits me each time I stretch out my hands to the hurting and discover the divine grace that flows through my wounds. Our humanity guarantees that woundedness – whether physical, emotional, mental, relational, or spiritual – touches us all. I am a chaplain, and in that role I have learned and am learning to function as wounded healer. That is, after all, who Christ is. During his earthly life and now as our intercessor, he enters into our suffering with empathy and compassion.
As we care for others, let us remember that our words are not more valuable than our wounds. With these wounded hands, we are able by God’s grace to comfort and support those we love and are called to serve. May we accept the commission to care for the wounded as a challenge to uncover and stretch out our own jagged edges so that others might believe and be made whole.