It’s only a flesh wound… or is it?
I want to begin with a phenomenon that I have noticed with some hospital patients. Occasionally they will show you their scars and they are quite persistent and passionate about it. I suspect they want to do so for two reasons.
First, to prove unequivocally to the visitor and to themselves, that the operation really did happen.
The other reason is to prove that it really did happen to them. They seem quite unabashed by any squeamishness on my part and I always think that it is an enormous privilege to be shown something so personal.
As I thought about this I realised that there is a sense in which their scar tissue becomes a badge of their identity.
And this is what is happening in today's gospel.
At the start, the disciple's hearts are locked with fear just as surely as the doors are locked for fear of the religious leaders. It seems that the only way out is to confront Good Friday and even show it off a little. This is the key to banishing fear and unlocking the doors. They are also locked in by their disbelief.
But then ‘He’ appears and the disciples know who it is because of the scars. All doubt rushes out of the door.
And we learn afresh that it’s a physical, bodily resurrection
Thomas is invited to physically touch the scar tissue.
Dear Thomas,… when you read the story as a whole what conclusion do you come to? Surely it was not by chance that Thomas was missing in the first place? Or that on his return he heard, and in hearing he doubted, and in his doubting, he touched, and in that touching, he believed? I reckon that it was God’s cunning plan all along that things tumbled out the way that they did. When St. Thomas touched his Master's wounded flesh he cured the wound of his own disbelief and our disbelief.
So like the patient in the hospital bed, it’s imperative that Jesus puts his wounds on display. This is the proof that it is really him.. and the proof that the crucifixion really did happen.
And that is why, here today in our own upper room, on the first day of the week, we gather with all our fears and hopes and disappointments and the things that we have chosen to lock away. Somehow we know that it is the brokenness of the Eucharist, the busted bread and the wine poured out that make it truly Him. We know it is truly Him that we take into our very selves because we know that He was broken just as we are broken.
This is my body … This is my blood. Our brokenness is blessed and consecrated through His brokenness.
And when we go out from here, we will find that it is our wounds that make us most authentic. It is our piercings that make us who we truly are.
The acoustics of the theological college I attended meant that you got to know others not just in conversations but in the noises that echoed around the bricks of the building.
So one student walked with a profound limp and you always could hear him coming up the hall and you knew who it was. You learnt that whats-his-name was going to miss Morning Prayer … again … because you could hear them snoring 5 minutes before 7 as you went past their door and there were several other things that can never be mentioned, but you get a general idea.
For your reflection, you might want to think about what are the scars that make you who you are. What marks us forever are our deepest and most inward scars. They can be living badges of love and triumphant proof of a glorious resurrection to eternal life.
And our scars might be those hurts that are carried, of grudges that are nursed and held selfishly to ourselves and perhaps that is why we have this very important bit about forgiveness in today's gospel
Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”
And perhaps that is why the Master is so very persistent with His Easter greeting of ‘Peace Be With You’. Not to take away our wounds and pretend that the scarring experience never happened. But to use these hard knocks as agents of peace and reconciliation. That even when ghastly stuff happens to us, our lacerations can become the means of grace and the hope of glory.
Yes, this really did happen to me. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t pleasant, but now I am going to use my gashes to authentically be alongside someone else and I will be far more compassionate, far more loving and far more understanding because this very same experience happened to me.
The doors held fast by fear will be forced open by divine love, a conversation will begin and the gentle but persistent wind of the Holy Spirit will breathe new life into a mutilated corpse and a broken heart. Then we can say with our lips ‘Christ is Risen’ and finally one day, with every fibre of who we have become, we will be able to live His resurrection for our very own selves.