As the followers of Jesus, we are
wounded . . . “wounded healers”.
We all bear wounds. We all have scars. We limp.
We have them because life can be difficult and can knock us around at
times. We have all been dealt our fair
share of wounds, scars, and limps from our journeys through life. None of us can escape it. Writer Henri Nouwen in his book, Wounded Healers, writes: “Nobody escapes
being wounded. We are all wounded
people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not, ‘How can we hide
our wounds?’ so we don’t have to be embarrassed, but ‘How can we put our
woundedness in the service of others?’
When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of
healing, we have become wounded healers.”
Way too often we view woundedness as a
weakness . . . a state of being far from complete or perfect. We hide our scars because we see them as
ugly, thus we see ourselves as ugly.
When we limp we are viewed as disabled . . . useless . . . as
nothing. Our wounds, scars, and limping
embarrass us . . . fill us with shame.
Oh, how wrong we are.
Song writer and singer Leonard Cohen in
his song, Anthem, tells that it is
through these wounds . . . these cracks in our lives . . . that we become
enlightened, aware, and empowered by the Holy.
He writes:
Ring the
bells that still can ring
Forget
your perfect offering
There is
a crack in everything
That’s
how the light gets in.
Cohen alludes that it is through
woundedness that the Holy touches us and the light comes shining in. In another song he wrote, The Favorite Game, he alludes once again
to the Holy: “Children show scars like medals.
Lovers use them as secrets to reveal.
A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.”
Through our woundedness we encounter the
“Holy” . . . we encounter the “Light” . . . the word becomes “flesh”. Our intimacy with God grows. It becomes a part of who we are . . . a mark
of our faith . . . and, there is no reason to be embarrassed or to be
ashamed. It is not something to keep us
out of the dance of life . . . no, it is who we are and we “learn to dance with
a limp” as author Anne Lamott writes.
Consider Jacob from our reading out of
the Book of Genesis. You remember
Jacob and his twin, Esau? You remember
how he tricked Esau out of his birthright and then later steals the blessing
that is meant for Esau? You remember how
angry Esau was with Jacob . . . how he swore revenge . . . how he was going to
kill his brother? And, you remember how
Jacob hightailed it out of there, lived and prospered, and avoided his brother
at all costs? Surely you remember all of
that . . . and, you probably remember what we heard this morning . . . Jacob
wrestling with the Holy, wrestling with God.
The wrestling match takes place as Jacob
is preparing to meet Esau. He has sent
gifts to his brother in hopes of slowing him down. He has split up his wealth, livestock, and
family and sent them across the river in order to protect them. And, he has settled down for the night to
prepare himself for his reunion with his brother the next day. There is a lot of stress and anxiety running
throughout the story, so it is no wonder that he did not sleep well . . . nope,
he tossed and turned . . . he wrestled all through the night.
Of course, he had a lot to wrestle
with. With his short-changing and
stealing from his brother . . . well, there was a lot to deal with from past
actions. Jacob was probably feeling some
regret, some remorse. Though he is the
hero, there is not much about his past that makes him heroic. This wrestling takes place with the Holy . .
. with God. Back and forth through the
night the struggle continued with neither one gaining an advantage . . . until
the man touches Jacob’s hip and wrenches it.
The man, God, asks Jacob to let go, but Jacob refuses.
We are told:
“I will not let you go unless you bless me.”
The man asked him, “What is your name?”
“Jacob,” he answered.
Then the man said, “Your name will no longer be
Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have
overcome.”
Jacob said, “Please tell me your name.”
But he replied, “Why do you ask my name?” Then
he blessed him there.
So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “It
is because I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.”
Jacob received his blessing but not
without cost . . . he was wounded, he was marked. We are told: “The sun rose above him as he
passed Peniel, and he was limping because of his hip.” From here on out, Jacob is a different person
. . . limp and all!
When we come to God and really wrestle
with who we are with all of our strengths and weaknesses . . . where we lay it
all out in the open . . . wounds and scars . . . we no longer have a need to
hide our true selves. We no longer need
to act as if we are someone else. We can
just be who we are . . . we can accept ourselves . . . warts and all . . . and,
we learn to dance with a limp. That is
how God sees us, how God receives us, and how we should see and receive
ourselves. Through our woundedness we
find strength to help others. We become,
as Nouwen says, “wounded healers”.
Which brings us to our second scripture
reading this morning . . . Jesus feeding the five thousand—which is titled
incorrectly as it was probably closer to ten thousand who were fed when we read
it correctly (The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women
and children.) Whatever the
case, we know this as one of the miracle stories.
Jesus is preaching and has compassion on
those who were gathered healing their sick.
As evening approached the disciples were beginning to get hungry, so
they tell Jesus to send the people away so that everyone could eat. Jesus tells the disciples that the people can
stay and that they should give them something to eat. Well, that just kind of defeats the purpose
of sending them away . . . now the disciples were going to have to work and
pretty much give away what meager rations they had for themselves—five loaves
and two fish. Surely not enough to feed
the masses.
At this moment the disciples revealed
themselves . . . they flashed Jesus their wound . . . they doubted. They doubted that they could ever feed such a
huge crowd—after all, all they had were five loaves of bread and two fish. Their woundedness was on display for Jesus to
see. Still Jesus persisted. He had the people sit, then he took the
loaves and fish—blessed them, and sent the disciples out to feed the masses . .
. and, they did. In the end, there were
twelve baskets filled with the leftovers . . . twelve! More than they had started with.
We all recognize in this story that a
miracle takes place. Depending upon
which commentator you read, the miracle magically happens when Jesus blesses
the loaves and fish, and poof . . . suddenly there is more than enough food to
feed everyone gathered. Or, the miracle
takes place when the people witness the disciples struggling with the
situation, realizing that they did not have enough to feed themselves but are
willing to share what little they had.
Seeing such an act the people had compassion and they begin to
contribute what they had until there is enough to feed everyone. Either way . . . a miracle takes place . . .
God is revealed.
As I see it, it is out of their
woundedness . . . their doubt, possibly their laziness, or even greed . . .
that the disciples are able to minister to the crowd that is gathered. In that moment the wound is exposed, the
light breaks through, and the word becomes flesh . . . the miracle occurs. The hungry are fed and the disciples find
their faith growing.
It can be the same for us as the
followers of Jesus. If we are willing to
honestly look at ourselves . . . to look at what is good and bad within us . .
. to see our light and dark sides . . . to acknowledge our wounds, see our
scars, and accept the fact that we do have a limp . . . then we can begin to be
the “wounded healers” necessary to bring about God’s Kingdom. We can begin to learn to dance . . . with a
limp . . . the dance of life God calls us to.
Faith is learning to accept ourselves as
we are . . . warts and all . . . wounds and scars . . . the good and the
bad. In accepting ourselves we shed that
which impedes us from fully embracing the truth . . . we have no need to be
embarrassed or ashamed. Remember the
truth sets us free . . . the word becomes the flesh . . . the reality sets
in. We are God’s children just as we
have been created. And, that is more
than good enough for God to change the world.
We learn to dance . . . limp and all.
God loves us for who we are . . . wounds
and all. If we can accept and embrace
that in ourselves then we become the living word of that grace and love to
others . . . we become the word in flesh.
With that we can make a difference in our lives, the lives of others,
and in the world in which we live. Henri
Nouwen says: “In a world so torn apart by rivalry, anger, and hatred, we have
the privileged vocation to be living signs of a love that can bridge all
divisions and heal all wounds.”
So, let us dance . . . even with a limp! Amen!
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