(Opinion) “Faith Matters” is a column that features pieces written by local religious figures.
My collection of scars grew this winter when I fell on the ice in my driveway and broke my right elbow. My scar collection includes that one, along with anterior and posterior scars on my neck from four cervical discectomies, a scar on my left knee from the removal of a benign cyst, and a scar on my left foot from a broken fifth metatarsal.
These misfortunes remind me of the story of the wife who told her husband, “Brian, you were there when my parents were ill and when the dog died and when we had that car crash. You know what, Brian? You’re bad luck!”
This Easter season my own scars reminded me that the Risen Christ shows his followers the scars of his crucifixion: to Thomas (John 20:27) and to all the disciples (Luke 24:40). Hearing these stories afresh, I wondered “Why?” Why would Christ be raised with scars? Wouldn’t God want Christ unblemished?
Within the resurrection stories, the answer appears to be, “So that his followers will unmistakably recognize him.” Pointing to his scars, Jesus declares visually as well as verbally to his bewildered followers, “It is I.” It is a reminder that the cost of unconditional love can indeed be dear.
Charles Wesley, the great Methodist hymnist, expressed it this way:
The dear tokens of his passion still his dazzling body bears;
Cause of endless exultation to his ransomed worshippers;
With what rapture, gaze we on those glorious scars.
Yet I also believe the retention of the scars of crucifixion was, and is, an expression of solidarity with humanity. We see the scars of living all around us, from substandard housing to food insecurity to economic exploitation to mental health crises to deportation without due process. A friend once observed, “No one gets out of this life unscarred.” Christ’s divinity is not above the fray. It is a divinity that brings heaven to earth and makes humanity holy, scars and all.
When I had my first neck surgery over 30 years ago, I complained to my physical therapist that the scar was stiff and uncomfortable. She asked me ‚“Have you touched your scar?” “No,” I replied, “I am repulsed by it.” Three decades later I still remember her reply: “You have to manipulate the scar.” She went on to explain that the layers of epidermis fuse together after surgery, and to loosen them and get them to slide again, one upon the other, you have to touch and massage them.
So too with scars of mind and spirit, as well as body. We have to see them, touch them, respect them, honor them. They point to life, to experience, to challenges that shape us and make us what we are. When they are our scars, we have to make our peace with them, learn from them and triumph over them. When they are the scars of others, we are invited to compassion — “to suffer with” — the pain of our neighbors. When they are Christ’s scars, we remember that the Lord of Life was not above our mortal travails: that, in the words of another hymn, “he feeleth for our sadness.”
“And shareth in our gladness,” as the verse concludes. Scars may shape us but need not define us. This scarred Christ yearns that, in knowing him and his way of love, we are galvanized to a life of joy, of gladness and of hope, found most especially when we care about and for the scars of others.
The Rev. Dr. Brian R. Bodt is Pastor of Woodbury United Methodist Church, Woodbury, Conn., and Pastor of Community Care at Greenfield Hill Congregational Church, Fairfield, Conn. He lives in Woodbridge.
Previous “Faith Matters” columns:
• Faith (Still) Matters
• Faith Matters: Gaza & Ramadan
• Faith Matters: On Passover & Redemption
• Faith Matters: Freedom Struggles & Holy Week
• Faith Matters: Welcome The Stranger
• Faith Matters: Beyond Neutrality