His Scars, Not Mine

I’ve lived long enough now that my body has taken a few hits. I’ve broken a couple of bones, had benign cysts removed and my skin bears scars from clumsy mishaps I’m too embarrassed to even talk about. Everything has healed by now of course and any pain I felt at the time of injury has long since subsided. But that doesn’t mean you can’t see where I’ve been hurt. One long hard look at my face and you’ll see my nose isn’t straight, the skin under my forearm is discolored, I have scars on my thumb and back, and I have to sleep with a pillow between my knees to keep a decades-old back injury from flaring up. Each physical remnant is a reminder of the life I’ve lived, the inevitable mistakes I’ve made, and the accidents I’ve had along the way. I am sure there are many more to come.

I’ve been actively attending church my entire adult life, and for most of that time, I’ve been serving in some capacity. From the time I turned eighteen I have been part of five different churches. I have worked in youth ministry, led Bible studies, hosted community groups, directed a mom’s ministry, helped with women’s retreats, and taught children’s Sunday school. I even helped lead a dance team for vacation Bible school one year and earned major cool points with my kids. Basically, I’ve done everything short of singing in the worship band. (My inner child, the one who dreamed of being the next Mariah Carey, still hopes I’ll have my chance one day.) In addition to all of this, I’ve been married to a pastor for the last fifteen years, so suffice it to say I’ve spent a LOT of time in church and around church people. As such, the wounds I’ve acquired are numerous. I’m betting this doesn’t surprise most of you. Anyone who has been around the church long enough knows it’s filled with broken, imperfect sinners just like you and me. I’m sure I could sit down with many of you and we’d reach our fourth cup of coffee before we finished showing our scars. They are reminders of hurts inflicted on us by members of the body of Christ. Some are faint, barely noticeable anymore, and certainly not still painful. Others are not so faint; they are still fresh, deep, and tender to the touch. Thankfully our relationship with Jesus is not determined by our relationship with people. Jesus doesn’t inflict wounds, He heals them.

I have witnessed conflict between friends rise and come to a boiling point. I have stood by, helpless, as beloved friends and partners in ministry have been pushed out of their job, their church, and their community over seemingly irreconcilable differences.

I have stood in the middle of a church split that left us blindsided and questioning our decision to be there in the first place.

I have been called to the carpet by trusted leaders, told my authenticity was helping no one and my lack of faith was downright sinful. I have been told I was no longer being prayed for.

I have felt unwelcome, unseen, unheard, and unaccepted by our church.

I have been accused of inflicting hurt, betraying, and not trusting when I should. I have been accused of not following God’s will.

I have been dropped by friends over a conflict of interest, a shifting of ministry leadership, a disagreement, a misunderstanding, a perceived hurt, or a location change. I have felt out of sight and out of mind. I have been made to feel relationally disposable.

I have shared things in confidence only to have that confidence betrayed.

I have been judged for my choices of drinks, words, and friends.

I have watched my husband endure all of the same, so much more, and so much worse.

Maybe some, (or all) of these resonate with you too. Maybe you’ve had it easier than me. Maybe you’ve had it far worse. Maybe you read this list and wonder how on earth I’m still standing, still serving, still associating myself with the church, with Christians. I’ll tell you what I see when I read this list. I see scars; yes, so many scars. But I also see Jesus. He was betrayed by those closest to Him. He was abandoned by His friends. Jesus was misunderstood. He was unwelcome and unaccepted. He was judged for His choice of words, actions, and friends. He saw conflict tear apart friendships. Jesus was accused of wrongdoing when He was only following the will of God. If you’ve been hurt by the church, by the family of God, I get it, and so does Jesus. If you have scars, I get it. I do too. So does Jesus. It’s His scars that cover it all. His blood paid the price for the sins of the world; this includes the sin of the church. This also includes your sin and mine. You see, I’m on someone's list too. So are you. I know I’ve inflicted wounds on others, left scars, and caused them pain. (If that’s you, I am sincerely sorry.) So have you. However unintentional it may have been, it’s still the truth. I’m grateful Jesus’ scars cover me too.

I have grieved long and hard over the loss of relationships. I have lashed out in anger. I have sat in my bitterness. I have vented frustrations and spewed words of vengeance. I have reacted from a place of deep pain. None of it helped. None of it healed. Only Jesus could do that. Once I recognized that my pain was all too familiar to Him, that He understood my suffering, I was able to surrender it. I knew my pain was safe with Him. He could redeem it. He could turn it into something beautiful, and He has. I don’t read that list with a clenched jaw or whitened knuckles. Instead, I look at all the ways Jesus has taken my pain and turned it into a story that glorifies His name. I look at all the opportunities I have to show compassion to those who are still tasting bitterness in their mouths after a church experience gone sour, to remind them to love one another deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins (1Peter 4:8).

These scars will always be part of us. We can choose to revisit them over and over, reopening the wounds and rubbing the skin raw. Or we can choose to let the scar tissue heal, harden, and protect us from future hurt. We can choose to head back into battle, head held high, experience to show and wisdom gained. We’ll never forget how we got each scar, and we won’t forget what we learned from them either. Grief, time, forgiveness, and reconciliation; all help in the healing. But more importantly, surrendering our hurt to the only One who can heal, to the only One who understands the depth of our pain; that’s what brings true healing. That’s what turns the scars from tender sores to faint reminders of loss. That’s what turns our bitterness and resentment into empathy and wisdom.

Not long ago we sat across the couch from dear friends who had experienced deep hurt from trusted leaders and friends in their church. The lump in my throat rose and the tears trickled down my cheeks. Oh, how I understood the sting they felt. Oh, how easy it would have been to open up my own wounds and let the anger and frustration come to the surface again. I chose to remember Jesus. I chose to hold our friends’ pain in my open palm and lay it at His feet on their behalf. I chose His scars, not mine. You can do the same.