Wounded healer…

Chester Hill in the 1960s.  Not a bad place to grow up.  Lots of families.  Lots of fun.  Safe.  But not always.

I don’t know why I didn’t run.  Perhaps I didn’t realise I was supposed to?  Perhaps I didn’t hear my brothers?  Perhaps they didn’t say anything?  I don’t remember.  I was quite young.  It was what my brothers did do that mattered.  Queen’s Birthday weekend.  Cracker night.  “Let’s light a cracker and put it in that jar… and see what happens.”  Apparently, I didn’t run.  I don’t remember.  But I still have a scar on my ankle to remind me.

Another story.  One day a power line near our place came down.  Lots of sparks.  Lots of interested kids.  Lots of interested adults.  Everyone stood back.  A safe distance.  Sooty didn’t.  Our dog.  A black bitsa.  Bits of this and bits of that.  A delightful pet for us kids.  What else should a male dog do?  In he walked.  Checked out the wire on the ground.  Lifted his leg and marked his territory.  He only did it once.

Stuff happens.  Sometimes we are left with scars.  Sometimes we learn not to do that thing again.  Perhaps I was blessed not to remember getting that particular scar.  I guess we wish the cause of many of our scars could be easily forgotten.  Physical.  Emotional.  Spiritual.  Sadly, not easily achieved.  Tough lessons learned tough ways.

Jesus walked amongst his friends a few days after his crucifixion.  Thomas needed to learn something.  Jesus showed him his scars.  Were these scars so Jesus would never forget?  No.  They were so we would never forget.  Jesus was wounded so we could be healed.  Jesus was broken, so God can wipe away every tear from our eyes. Revelation 7:17  Jesus did it for us.

Something else not to be forgotten.  The now but not yet to our existence.  Our scars and mistakes can receive healing now.  Even before the ‘not quite yet’ of the absoluteness of eternity.  Just let Jesus touch them.  He is our wounded healer.