Can you see the wounds?

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Clare L. Hickman

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale

April 18, 2021—Easter 3B

1 John 3:1-7; Luke 24:36b-48

           Jan Richardson begins her “Blessing in a time of violence,” with the words, “Which is to say, this blessing is always.” But of course, you all probably know that. Because I’ve felt called to stand in your midst and read it, pray it, weep it so many times. Because we live in a world through which violence washes, again and again. So that even if it is not our son called off to war, our daughter facing fists (and worse) raised against her in her own home, our streets that are shattered by gang warfare, our workplace that is suddenly riddled by bullets, our father who was presumed to be armed and shot dead during an encounter with police … even if we are that heart-poundingly fortunate that violence has not ripped a loved one from our arms … we still live in a world that is plagued by violence.

          There’s only so far we can place our heads underground, so this reality will find us. We know that there is anger and resentment, fear and hatred, greed and the desire to control in this world, in our nature. And it’s undeniable that this country is awash in guns, weapons that make it all too easy for hostility and despair to become deadly.

          The reality is there, the wounds are there, even if it hasn’t touched us personally. The reality is there, the wounds are there, even if the news cycle goes into an occasional quiet spell.

          The reality and the wounds have always been there. Even as the disciples gathered together, elated by rumors of resurrection, the reality of death and violence threaded the air with fear. Which means that’s the room the risen Lord walks into today: one filled with both hope and painful awareness.

          He walks into the room. And he shows them his hands and his feet. Unlike last week in John, Luke doesn’t make it clear whether his wounds are visible, though it would make sense as one more proof that he isn’t a ghost. But I like that Luke leaves it unstated. Because sometimes wounds aren’t as obvious. Sometimes we overlook them, or choose not to see. Sometimes we have to be told to look, to notice, to believe.

          In a world in which violence and death continue to ravage lives, the Risen One walks hope into our midst by urging us to look for the wounds. Because it is only when we have seen the wounds, that we can begin to believe in the healing. Resurrection, I believe, is an invitation to a greater ability to see. Which means it invites us into an expansive and imaginative kind of questioning.

Perhaps an illustration will help. An old friend of mine from Harvard Div recently shared a story on Facebook. “One day,” she remembers, “I noticed a bit of a commotion as I looked at dresses in a department store. An upset little girl was explaining that she had been looking at dresses, turned around, and she ‘lost’ her mother. The saleswomen asked what her mother's name was; the response, every time, was ‘Mommy.’ Then someone thought to ask ‘Well, what do her friends call her?’ The girl's expression changed to one of disdain as she said ,’THEY call her Joyce’. The announcement was made for "a mother named 'Joyce' " to come to Women's Dresses.

“Some days” she observes, “… I am like the saleswomen who kept asking the same question, over and over, hoping the answer would make itself known.

“I am happiest, though, when I am like the woman who asked ‘Well, what do her friends call her?’ That woman remembered that context and perspective make a difference in how we know the world… [and] I want to be one of the ones who remember that asking and hearing questions differently is often the opening to true understanding.”[i]

When it comes to the wounds of the world, our willingness to ask questions is the surest way to invite the Risen Christ to enter the room. To admit that we might not understand, because our experience is so very different, and it can be hard to imagine another’s life. To dare to look at things we would rather not see, rather not risk getting caught up in.

But resurrection asks us to see. The victory of life over death gives us courage to look and to ask and to believe the wounds of the world. Even the wounds we caused, directly or indirectly. We can see them, in that room that crackles with both painful reality and soaring hope. We see them, in that dream of God that is defined by both repentance and forgiveness. We are invited to see them, to look for them, and to ask questions that allow us to understand that the wounds are real. They are REAL.

Which is terrifying in so many ways. But the risen Christ is in our midst, assuring us that if he could survive death, then we can certainly survive a long, hard look at the ways in which we might ignore, allow, or even benefit from systems that promote violence in this world. We can survive, because we can repent. We can survive, because we are forgiven.

If we are willing to see the wounds. To look for the wounds. To hear people speak of their wounds, their pain, and their dying. Not to look away because it is too painful. Not to look away because we are afraid to hear about ways in which we might make that suffering possible.

To see the wounds from racism. To see the wounds from gun culture. To see the wounds from a system that has monetized prisons and weapons and war. To see all those wounds, and the smaller ones too. The quieter ones that every person carries. That we would know about, if we stayed to ask the right questions.

And in that moment, we would feel the risen Christ walk into our midst. In that moment, we just might take hold of what the community of 1 John knew: that letting the risen Christ live in us will allow repentance to live in us. Allow forgiveness to live in us. Allow love to live in us. So that we can be brave enough to atone. Gracious enough to forgive (even ourselves). And full enough of love to begin to heal the wounds of the world.

If we can just be willing to see and believe in those wounds, we can invite resurrection into the room! And the power of the living God, visibly wounded and yet truly reborn, will be at work within and among us, forming us into an instrument of healing for the entire world. May it be so. Amen.

[i] Linda McCorkle, Facebook post, April 7, 2021.