Easter 2. His Wounds are our Wounds.
It was a very simple business card, and its simplicity is what made it so striking. There was no gloss on the card; there were pretty pictures or elegant curly whirly script.
Just the person’s name, their role and some basic contact details. The absence of dizziness and complications was what made it so powerful and attractive.
It gave me pause to think. If Our Lord had a business card, then I wonder what it might look like. You could go all out with all his titles, Messiah, Lord, Friend, Brother, Saviour and add some nice crosses around the edge of the card for special effect. The contact details might prove a little trickier, though. To the best of my knowledge, I have never discovered an email address, Google account, fax or mobile phone number.
Instead… maybe something like this could be printed.
“For all enquiries, sit still, listen and if you need to … then speak. The things you have to say are important to me, but not nearly as important as the things I have to say to you.”
But I believe that today’s gospel gives us a clue as to what The Master’s business card would look like.
‘Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” After he said this, he showed them his hands and side.’
The wounds that were inflicted so brutally are actually transformed into symbols of loving peace. Yes, you can string me up. You can drive big rusty nails through my hands and feet, you can pierce my side, but I will not be sucked into your petty and heinous trap, the unending, vicious cycle of retribution, retaliation and revenge which can only disappoint and must result in death.
Instead, I will meet you behind your locked doors of fear and questions. And instead of showing you a clenched fist pumping in the air, I will gently open my palm and show you where the nails went through.
And it’s the same with Thomas. Here Thomas.
Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side.
His business card has the imprints of my wounds. The graphics of love and the simplicity of those scars make them so potent and so irresistible.
In my little time as a parish priest, I have discovered that the most spectacular folk are those who carry their scars with panache and grace. There’s little or no fanfare; they just get on with the very serious but enjoyable business of loving others into his nearer presence.
So for reassurance to his jittery disciples, who want to believe but who understandably can’t quite believe …Our Lord says look at my wounds.
He doesn’t say Look at my eyes, or my hair, or face, but look at … my wounds.
I invite you to meet me in my wounds. And yes, there are times when I will meet you in the dancing and wine and eros and joy of the wedding at Cana, but when the chips are depleted, and the bottle is empty, and despair ensnares you, and you are wounded in whatever way you happen to be, I will meet you exactly where you are. I will reach out my wounded hand and gently hold your wounded hand.
Let me tell you how I have a tiny sense of this. One of the loveliest things about being in a parish for longer than 30 seconds is that you come to know some of the wounds of those who you serve. Those who have selflessly and with limitless generosity invited you, like Our Lord, to gaze upon their scars and scrapes. And when I come along the altar rail and place the broken Him on the palm of your hand it’s almost like I am saying
“I know your brokenness; here is he who was also broken. The pierced one longs to heal you.
And even after more than 40 years, when my hair has turned a different colour, and my jowls are … umm… jowelly. All of this is still an undeserved, humbling and thrilling privilege.
Part of the message of today’s gospel is simply this.
We discover each other at our finest and best when we discover each other not just in that winning smile, but when we discover each other in our wounds.
When we hear him say with gentle, tender clarity. When you are looking for me
You will find me in my wounds
And I will find you in your wounds.”
Then the doors of fear are unlocked. The walls of doubt crumble, and the light of the resurrection can flood our lives, our community and our world.
His wounds are our wounds are my neighbours' wounds are His wounds. They always were. They always will be forever and ever, Amen.