Scar stories. I am guessing that most of us have a scar story to tell. You know, one of those scars that you can trace all the way back to your childhood, or perhaps a more recent one. Some youth groups use scar stories as ice breakers. It’s a great way to get to know one another. Some scars are filled with pride, like the one I have on the wrist of my right hand. It has long faded and is hard to see, but it will always be there, reminding me of a certain 12-year old who chased his older brother through the entire house, up and down the stairs, until older brother slammed the door of the shared room in younger brother’s face. The problem was: the center of the door was made of glass and I had my arm and fist stretched out in hot pursuit. Arm and fist went through the glass door, which shattered into a hundred pieces. I was extremely lucky because the shards pierced my skin in the immediate neighborhood of the main blood vessel, the one we use to take our pulse. I was fortunate indeed. There was only a moderate amount of blood, it could have been so much worse. The scar should be a scar of stupidity, really, but in the 12-year old’s mind, it was always a scar associated with pride, younger brother chasing older brother, nice, silly stuff.
I bet that many of you could talk about scars you acquired over the years. If you are like me, you could probably tell the story of your life by your scars. I could tell you a scar story or two for every decade, no problem. Some of those scars bring back fond memories of things you can laugh about today; others, not so much. Some scars may remind you of times in your life that were difficult. They bring back memories that still resonate after so many years, stirring sadness that is stored deep in the memory bank of your soul. Everybody carries scars around, visible ones and invisible ones. But the visible scars are less troublesome. I mean, what’s a broken collarbone at the end of the day? After a while, it grows back together, leaving a little bump under your shoulder, that’s all. The scars that will bother you much more are invisible, hiding under your chest, troubling your feelings, disturbing your sense of peace, messing with your sleep. It’s about things which hurt you on the inside for nobody to see, only for you to feel. How do we deal with those scars?
The first Sunday of Easter deals with scar tissue. Most of us will be familiar with the story. Jesus’ friends are locked in a room somewhere in downtown Jerusalem, afraid to come out, afraid for their lives, unsure about their future, traumatized by the death of their leader. They are a hot mess. Jesus breaks into this zone of fear and greets them with the customary Shalom. The risen Christ identifies himself by his scars. His hands and his feet bear the marks of the cross. By showing them off, he is saying, “It is me, it is really me!” But he also knows darn well: there are other scars in this room, invisible to the human eye, suppressing faith, stifling hope, paralyzing the very people who were supposed to be the church. The shock and fear and grief that had held them in captivity for days had left a mark on their souls… How to deal with those scars?
Looking at this story from the outside, one might say: why did Jesus have to bring back these ugly scars? I mean, if God can raise him from the dead, a little cosmetic surgery shouldn’t be a problem, right? There must be a reason why these wounds were left in place, half healed, with dried blood stains on his hands and feet. To me the reason is this: they were scars of hope, signifying God’s power to transform our injuries into new life. “Shalom,” Jesus says, and it wasn’t just a Shalom of the soothing, calming variety, to bring their blood pressures down; it was the kind of Shalom that meant, “I have plans for you.” Or, in Jesus’ own words, ”As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
The story of Easter and of the resurrection of Christ, understood properly, has the power to turn our scars into scars of hope. Think of some of the things life has put you through, – the marks it has left, the troubles it has caused, the felt-isolation it created. Isolation is one of the biggest issues people are dealing with when they go through extreme hardship, whatever it is: chronic illness, persistent depression, raw grief, you name it. The feeling of isolation emerges because people cannot fully relate to you, as much as they may try. That’s why support groups are formed. You want to meet with people who can better understand you, who go through similar stuff. You want to break the isolation. That by itself provides a measure of hope. Jesus breaks the isolation of this small group of so-called followers. He shows them his scars, and they become immediately scars of hope. These scars speak. They say, “Death was calling my name, but by God, I was brought back to life.” When support groups meet, people will say things that in the end boil down to the exact same message: “Death was calling my name, but by God, I was brought back to life!” When Jesus came into that room, the fog of depression that had descended upon this place and filled it in thick layers, lifted and cleared. Fear turned into courage.
Sometimes we have to show off our scars, talk about them, talk about how we overcame the troubles they represented at one point in our life. It can mean the world to others who are still in the grip of doubt and fear and perceived helplessness…
I missed this year’s AA anniversary meeting in March. Well I didn’t miss it entirely. I had lunch with the folks and they asked me to say a few things, and I let them know how important their ministry is to us, the church. But I had to go somewhere, and I missed the speaker. They always invite someone from among their own ranks, sometimes an AA member from another chapter, to be the keynote speaker, to talk – about what? Their scars of course, their scars of hope. That’s what half of their ministry is about: sharing their scars, their wounds and frustrations and mistakes and sins and embarrassments, – and turning them into scars of hope, something you can laugh about now, even though it wasn’t funny at the time. But now it is (funny), because it doesn’t have the same power over you anymore.
Bernie and I went to Puerto Rico on Thursday and Friday to prepare for our mission trip next month. And certainly, the island still has many scars from Hurricane Maria. A crew from Georgia Electric just wrapped up their work as we left. They restored power to the area of Dorado six months after disaster struck. There are still downed trees on the camp property where we will be staying. All those scars and visible reminders of the worst natural disaster in many decades can become scars of hope, if people make the right decisions. It is one of those unshakable promises of Easter, it is part of the Shalom Jesus extended to his disciples and to the church and, in fact, the entire world. Will we let him transform our scars? Will we allow him to speak his Shalom into our lives? Will we permit him to send us out? I would like to say, and I would like all of us to say in our hearts, “Of course we will!” It is Easter, and our Lord is risen. How can we not follow him, who bears the scars of hope? As the Father has sent him, so he is sending us!
Amen.