Reflection on John 20:19-31

 

There is so much that is surprising about Jesus’ resurrection appearance to his disciples, who remain shut away from the world out of fear. 

Jesus appears despite the doors being locked. 

Jesus breathes on them the Holy Spirit. 

Jesus gives them the ability to forgive sins, a job relegated to God alone previously. 

But, of all of the surprises, the one that caught me and stopped me dead in my tracks was Jesus showing his healed wounds to his disciples. 

Though we have seen countless images of Jesus showing his wounds to Thomas in art throughout the years, and heard the story countless times, it struck me just how counter-cultural this simple act is.  How many of us share our deepest wounds with others?  How many of us share the time we were on the point of suicide; or share the time we were out of control on alcohol; or share the time we acted recklessly in the car; or share the time we were out of control, anger dripping from our lips at our children, and they were afraid; or share the time we broke our own little toe on the stool by the kitchen island because we were mad and stomping around the house?  That last one was a little too specific, wasn’t it?

You see what I mean?  In shame, we hide our wounds.  In shame we hide our failures.  But, in hiding those failures, shame also causes us to hide the healing. 

You want something to be shameful about?  How about the government putting you to death in a very public way, with your clothes stripped from you, while leaders of the community spit at you and taunt you as passersby going into town gawk at your exposed body?  You do not parade wounds like that.  I have not even shared with anyone the one time during my entire elementary school career that I was sent to the principal’s office.  It was not even my fault, but you are the first to hear about it.  Yet, the Bible says this about Jesus appearance to his closest followers: 

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side.

And again, a week after Thomas shouts out “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.” the Bible tells us: 

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.”

It seems that for Jesus there is no shame in wounds; quite the opposite.  Somehow, sharing his deeply shaming wounds with others brings along with it peace and healing.  And, in my experience anyway, we all need that sort of healing.

Did you know that my grandpa ended his own life?  The guy that took me fishing, would take me for Sunday rides in his jeep, and who caught minnows one day and in no way dissuaded me from the belief that the fish sticks that we ate that evening were the very minnows that we caught; that guy that I loved dearly chose to leave us.

It was not in any way taboo in our family to talk about grandpa’s death, but I did not.  Shame is a strong thing.

This happened while I was in elementary school, and for years after I struggled with the fact that I beat him at cards the night before.  Maybe I should have let him win and he would have been happy?  Did I give him a hug before he left?  Was I angry when he got after me?  Did I say something nasty?  I couldn’t remember.  The questions dripped from a wound that would not heal. 

Heather is the one Jesus sent to bear his likeness to me.  Heather was a friend from the first days of my college career, and one day while we walked to our dorms from the lunch hall, she mentioned, out of the blue, that she was bummed that day because it was the anniversary of her brother’s death.  He too had taken his own life and she too struggled, wondering if she had any part in the tragedy.  She talked about it so openly.  She talked about it with no shame.  She talked about how she had forgiven him.  She talked about it. 

“My grandpa took his life also,” I suddenly mentioned.  I was just as surprised by the admission as she. 

“Really?  Tell me about it,” she said. 

And, so I did.  I told it all, for the first time.  I told about the horrible find.  I told about my guilt.  And, in the same way that loosening a tight belt relieves the uncomfortable tension, but exposes the truth of your belly, the story that she listened to brought the relief of holy peace, even though the truth was out there, bearing its ugly presence. 

“It’s nice to know I’m not alone.  Thank you, for sharing with me,” she said with a smile. 

But, it was she who needed to be thanked.  She was the one who followed Jesus’ lead and exposed her healed wounds.  She was the one who pointed a way beyond the shame to healing.  She was the one upon whom Jesus breathed the Holy Spirit of forgiveness and allowed me the freedom and conviction to utter that evening into the night sky, “I forgive you grandpa.”

Everyone’s hands look different.  Some hold the greasy stains of daily struggle.  Some hold the healed wounds that come from broken bottles.  Some hold the healing photo of the one who died.  Some hold the healed wounds of disagreement and hard-heartedness or the dark, healed bruises of abuse.  Everyone’s hands look different, and everyone’s hands hold scars. 

The key to what the Bible is trying to preach to us is that Jesus did not put his hands in his pockets.  He did not buy designer gloves to cover them up.  Instead, Jesus chose to show up in that fear stricken room, he stretched forth his hands and he intentionally showed his healed scars to the scared and disoriented disciples. 

After-all, the message that we desperately need to hear is not that our imperfections are something shameful, to be hidden so as not to entice death.  Rather, we need to hear the message that wounds can be overcome. 

Death does not get to win the day.  The fear of one’s shame does not get to control one’s world.  Rather, the good news of Jesus Christ is that our shame is healed and overcome in his death and resurrection.  The scars become a part of who we are, just as they became a part of Jesus’ saving work.  The healing that Jesus brings us becomes a vital part of our faith story. 

“Jesus 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!’” 

Do you not you see?  Thomas can believe because he sees the healed wounds.  How many people feel alone in their struggles all because they have never been shown the healed wounds that Jesus provides?  How many people are stuck in the past, staring at gaping wounds that could have been healed long ago had someone shared their own healed wounds? 

The wounds are a part of your story.  It’s OK.  Nobody’s story is perfect.  Nobody’s.  We are humans.  We are not gods.  And the scars that prove you have been healed are what make you a part of Jesus’ story of redemption.  Jesus has brought you healing.  Jesus has made you whole.  Jesus has redeemed you from sin and death.  The scars prove it.

So, do not fear showing those healed scars.  You never know who Jesus will bring your way, whose wounds are still bleeding and in need of healing.  You never know who Jesus will bring your way so that they can hear the good news of new life and second chances through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord.