Wounds [Easter 2C - John 20:19-31]

 The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

John 20:19-31

 

Wounds

Trinity, Gouverneur

 

The disciples needed to see the wounds.  They knew the stone was displaced and the tomb was empty – but that didn’t prove anything.  Some of the disciples, men in that very locked room, had even seen the discarded linen wrappings, but they did not see any life.  They had heard, and rejected, Mary’s startling testimony; she, they decided, was obviously sick with grief.  They could not deny that fantastical rumors were buzzing, but rumors are not evidence.  Impossible tales, unlikely explanations, were pestering their weary heads and their tender hearts – making things worse.  Their pain was fresh; their fear was real; they were trying to survive without Jesus – trying to get used to this sad, new normal.  They would not get their hopes up because high hopes crash hard.  And so, they decided to play it safe: they simply would not believe unless they saw some wounds.

 

Not even Jesus could convince them.  Even after Jesus mysteriously penetrated their defenses, they were hesitant.  Even after Jesus found a way into their fortified space, they remained skeptical.  The body that was killed on Friday was talking to them on Sunday evening, and still they were not quite convinced.  Because it was impossible.  It was unprecedented.  And while the evidence was mounting, and some stubborn hope was rising, death was a reality with which they were familiar, and resurrection was a stranger in their world.

 

But then Jesus showed them his wounds.  And I don’t know exactly what it was about the wounds – the pierced hands, mangled feet, and opening in his side – but that was what they needed to see to believe.  The disciples saw Jesus in those wounds.

 

Wounds are not the most obvious Easter association.  Easter is shiny and bright.  It comes into the calendar like a happy breath of fresh air.  Easter seems so pristine and perfect.  Church buildings are fragrant with blinding white Easter lilies.  Paschal candles burn bright with the light of Christ.  Alleluias fill the air with joyful vigor.  Everyone dresses in their best Sunday best.  The charming pastel pallet hints at the sweet beauty of Spring.  After the long winter, daffodils and crocuses promise sunny skies and warm breezes and new life.  The austerity of Lent gives way to Cadbury eggs and jellybeans.  The tremendous sadness of Good Friday is overwhelmed by happy hymnody. 

 

But under the glow of resurrection sunshine stands Jesus with those open wounds.  And they feel so out of place.  A stain of scarlet on the immaculate white linens of Easter.  They stand out as the one thing that was not made new.  The Risen Christ discarded the burial clothes and the crown of thorns.  He emerged robed in resurrection and crowned in glory.  His voice returned, the same voice that raised the dead; and his lungs were once again filled with the breath of life.  He left the tomb and he conquered death.  But Jesus, the firstborn of the dead, the Risen Christ, was still wounded.

 

It was Easter, but Easter did not erase the past.  Good Friday was over, but it still happened.  The cross was empty, but the wood was still stained with the blood of Christ.  Jesus’ body was pulsing with resurrection, but resurrection can only happen after death does its worst.

 

Good Friday was not a bad dream; it was not a mirage; it was not a quick and easy pit stop on the road to salvation.  It is a horrific impulse at the heart of the human condition.  Good Friday is a symbol of the violent urge to undermine peace.  It is a reminder that the powers and principalities of this world resent the gentle meekness of compassion, and despise the subversive presence of kindness.  Good Friday happened to Jesus because his love was too radical and his heart was opened too wide.

 

And for that, he was killed.  Jesus wears the wounds of Good Friday because Jesus was too good and this world has a deep-seeded need to destroy beautiful things.

 

But Good Friday was not the end – not the end of Jesus and not the end of our love story with God.  Easter is God’s powerful response to the worst urges and most evil deeds of the human species.  God meets our violence with love, our sinfulness with forgiveness, our rage with mercy, our hatred with kindness, our brokenness with healing.  God redeems even our attempts to destroy goodness.  But the manifestation of this Good News leaves scars on the divine life.  And those scars do not simply go away.  Jesus wears his wounds as a reminder of the tremendous cost of living and loving amongst this human race. 

 

Wounds are honest.  In this world, wounds do not disappear; they stay and they scar.  They remind us of the toll life takes.  Also, they remind us that, by the grace of God, healing happens in this world too.  Good Friday and Easter are both true and they occur in close proximity.

 

But also the beauty of God’s work in this world is that Easter gets the last word.  Jesus wears his wounds but not his death.  And because of that, we do the same.  We live with scars, but we do live.  And our wounds become our testimony – a witness to the God who blesses us with the eternal promise of new life.

 

We all wear some wounds.  We all have scars.  Life leaves its mark.  In these latter days, the last gasps of violence and evil are painful to experience.  We live in difficult times.

 

And yet our wounds, like the wounds of Christ, tell the story of Easter.  Our wounds testify to the audacious nature of our faith.  In the shadow of the cross, we are people of hope.  In a violent age, we dare to show mercy.  In the presence of punishers, we are called to love beyond the boundaries and divisions of our times.  In an age of despair and despondency, we know the joy of Easter.  We know that even the story that features Good Friday doesn’t end on Good Friday.  Our wounds speak to the power of life.  They tell the story of a God who heals the broken and plants Alleluias at the grave and walks wounded with the wounded.