Scars



 
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
Isaiah 53:5

 

Years ago before I knew him, years before I would ever meet him, my husband had his appendix removed. He still has a scar, a very small, very faint scar. I hate it. It really is faded and small but every now and then I notice it and it makes me feel a flash of sadness, a little flicker of nausea at the thought of the pain he went through. He’s told me the story and it was a bit of an ordeal. Still, it was years ago when he was a teenager and as I said, I didn’t know him but because I love him and hate the idea of anything painful or even uncomfortable happening to him, I hate that scar.

I was reminded of that today while I was watching a worship music video. To illustrate God’s deep love for us the maker of the video used an image of Jesus on the cross. His head is dropping forward. He is covered in blood and of course his arms are stretched beyond what seems humanly possible. I felt no small flash of sadness, no tiny flicker of nausea, instead my stomach rolled over and my eyes immediately filled with tears.

Certainly it isn’t the first time I’ve seen an image like that. It was the juxtaposition of the words describing the huge, eternal, amazing love of Jesus and the image of what that cost him that just broke my heart. In an instant I was overwhelmed with equal measures of gratitude and grief.  The idea that Jesus literally laid down his life for us is beyond my ability to appreciate and at the same time there is the truth of the matter, which is, I put him there.

This is all very hard for me because at heart, I’m a fixer. If someone I love is hurting I want to make it better. Just hearing about my husband’s pain for so many years ago makes me want to do something to comfort him. While logically I know he isn’t in pain now, it’s just the way I react.

Looking at the Cross, at Jesus on that cross, I cannot stand it I cannot fix it. The hardest part is that we all still cause him pain. We reject him. We choose other things, much lesser things instead of him. We hear his name thrown about as if it’s worthless and we don’t defend him. That is not fixing or comforting and when I saw the image of perfect love pierced and broken, accompanied by words saying how much he loves us I just felt ill.

We know that Jesus died on the Cross for our sins.  The scars on his body may have been put there by the people of his day but we are just as responsible for them as they are. My husband scar serves no purpose in my life but Jesus’ scars are a reminder of how much was given for me, of how safe, secure and blessed I am, we all are because of the love of Jesus Christ. I hate them but I am so grateful for all that they represent, the long, wide, high deep, truly unfathomable love of God.

 

 

 

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