Scripture Reflection, April 19, 2009: Risen With His Wounds

Scripture Readings:
Acts 4: 32-35
Psalm 118
I John 5: 1-6
John 20: 19-31

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Why didn’t the wounds disappear in the resurrection? The gospel passage for this Sunday is one of several resurrection narratives that we find in the New Testament. There is a dynamic of continuity and discontinuity that runs throughout these Easter stories. It is Jesus of Nazareth who has been raised up – the same one who walked the roads of Galilee, ate with his disciples and was crucified on Calvary. But the risen Jesus is also different – he has been transformed through the power of the resurrection. So, in this Sunday’s gospel the risen Jesus appears to the disciples even though the doors of the room in which they are staying are locked. The resurrection makes its impact on human history, yet it also entails God-empowered transformation.

One of the ways in which this gospel story speaks of the continuity between the risen Jesus and the historical Jesus of Nazareth is by pointing to the wounds of the crucifixion. The gospel writer tells us that after his initial greeting of peace Jesus “showed them his hands and his side.” When the risen Lord appears to them again a week later he says to the doubting Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side . . .” Even with the transformation that is wrought in the body of the risen Jesus the marks of the wounds remain. The risen Lord is the One who was crucified – the one who gave his life for his disciples in the ultimate sign of love.

But why the wounds? Why weren’t the marks of the wounds erased by the power of the resurrection? One would think that the glorified body of the risen Christ would be perfect in every sense, thus devoid of any scars from the past. Shouldn’t Jesus’ risen body have perfectly smooth skin, like the skin we see in television commercials for beauty products? Evidently not; the marks of the wounds remain – without any explanation. They are there as enduring signs of the faithful love of Christ and of his real participation in the suffering that marks the life of every person. The Latin word for “wound” is vulnus, from which we get our English word “vulnerable.” The wounds of the risen Jesus manifest his vulnerability – his ability to be wounded by other people and by life itself. Because of his love for us he became vulnerable to the response of other human beings. Indeed, in Christ God made himself vulnerable to us and to our response in freedom.

People who have spent a lifetime loving others do not usually have perfectly smooth skin. Often their skin is weathered – wrinkled because of the hard work that real love requires. Sometimes when I distribute communion at Mass I take notice of people’s hands as they receive the Eucharist, especially the hands of older folks. Often their hands display the marks of time and a lot of hard work. I know that many of these people have weathered hands because of the labor they have spent caring for their loved ones.

In order to love one another as Jesus taught we, too, have to make ourselves vulnerable to others and vulnerable to God. There is always the inclination not to do that – not to open ourselves to the concerns and response of others, not to open ourselves to the presence and invitations of God. It is tempting to try to stay in control and keep others at a distance. It is easier to walk around wearing an emotional “bullet-proof vest.” But if we do that we will never know the satisfaction of life-giving relationships and the joy of real love. Love is risky because it entails vulnerability, and we often find ourselves wounded in our efforts to love. Those wounds need attention and healing if we are to be able to grow in our ability to love. We have to attend to those wounds. But the healing that Christ gives us is not like the magic of a flawless plastic surgeon, who smoothes over a person’s wounds with such skill that no one would ever know they were there in the first place. No, the healing that Christ offers us is the ability to move on in freedom from the wounds of the past and to mature in our love, even if we continue to bear some of the scars of the past -- as did the risen Christ.

Julian of Norwich, the fourteenth century English mystic whose writings are so popular today, liked to speak of “wounds turned to honors.” The wounds of Christ – the marks of the crucifixion – were turned to honors in the resurrection. They became his “trophies” because they were signs of his boundless love for us – love given to the very end. For us, too, the wounds we suffer in our attempt to love others can eventually become our honors through the healing work of Christ in our lives. They can become signs of our commitment to imitate Jesus in his love to the end.

Fr. Robin Ryan, cp