Touching Wounds

Thomas gets a bad rap. Just because he doubted what the other disciples were saying and wanted to see Jesus for himself - to touch his wounds - he’s been known as “Doubting Thomas,” ever since. 

I’ve always liked Thomas. He gave me permission to have doubts of my own. When I look back on my spiritual jouney, I can see that the times I allowed my doubts room to breathe, instead of disguising them with false certainty, have been among the most authentic.

Thomas’ greatest legacy, however, is not his doubts, but the way he came to know the risen Lord, personally. Reaching out his hand, he sought to touch Jesus’ wounds. When he did, he exclaimed, “My Lord and my God.”

I’ve always wanted to know Jesus personally, too. With two thousand years separating us, though, I can’t reach out my hand and touch his wounds. What I’ve found is that when I reach out and touch another’s wound, it’s as if I’ve touched Christ’s wounds, and the result is always a closer relationship with God.

• When I sit by a bewildered soul who had just entered the rooms of AA and listened to her story that’s hauntingly similar to mine, it as if Jesus has pulled up a seat and joined us.

• When I walk with a friend who’s going through a divorce, and we share how hard it is to live apart from our children, our common sadness transforms our walk. There’s no burning bush, but the ground becomes holy.

• When I am working with my therapist and she makes me touch an old wound of mine, one I’ve denied for years or didn’t know existed, I leave feeling God’s presence in ways I never have before.

Thomas came to know God by touching wounds. The good news, we can too.

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Also, Spiritual Java, a 365-day meditation book, was published in December. It’s available through Amazon.

Tourists

“We run a risk of staleness if we close ourselves off to fresh experience. Each day must remain an exploratory expedition. We must remain tourists on our home terrain.” Julia Cameron

When I lived in New Orleans, friends from near and far would come to visit. With wide eyes they would walk the streets and take in everyone and everything they saw. They listened to jazz as if they’d never heard it before and ate as if each meal was their first. It was fun to watch such tourists suck the marrow out of every moment of their visit. I was reminded of when I first arrived and felt the same way. Over time, however, I grew to take the city for granted. 

The same has been true of many chapters in my life. I enter them with wide eyes and fervent enthusiasm, but, in time, begin to take them for granted. Whether it’s a job, a friend, or a shiny new possession, the same thing happens. My eyes grow dim, my heart becomes complacent, and my soul gets dusty.

Rather than beat myself up over a human tendency I seem to have perfected, I can use my awareness to “awake my soul [and] stretch every nerve,” as the hymn suggests. In other words, I can wake up and become a tourist again. I can open my eyes and see my life as the temporary gift it is. I can perform a job as if I’ve never done it before, look at someone as if we’ve just met, and hold a possession in my hand as if it has just been given to me. 

In 12-step recovery circles, they remind me I’m not a human being having a spiritual experience, I’m a spiritual being having a human experience . . .  and my time is limited. I’m a tourist, after all. I need to make the most of each day of my visit.

“Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?” 

Mary Oliver

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If this has been shared with you and you’d like to subscribe to Brushstrokes, you can do so right here.

Also, Spiritual Java, a 365-day meditation book, was published in December. It’s available through Amazon.

Easter Feet

“Look at your feet.” Frederick Buechner

This Easter, it’s time to look at our feet. That’s right, our feet. They’re the key to any spiritual journey, particularly one set out to discover the risen Lord.

On the first Easter morning, Mary and others needed to do something. They could no longer sit around in the darkness of their fear and sadness. They walked to the tomb and found it empty. More than that, they found Christ.

Two followers decided to leave town. Emmaus was not all that far away, and the walk would help them make sense of all the events that had happened recently. As they walked, they were joined by another and soon found that Christ was beside them. They didn’t recognize him at first, but eventually their eyes were opened.

Heading home made all the sense in the world for the disciples. Their souls were troubled, and the idea of fishing again made them walk more quickly. They spent the night fishing and smelled smoke from a nearby campfire when they pulled their boats ashore. “Come have breakfast,” the stranger said, and soon the realized he was no stranger. He was Christ.

The disciples didn’t find Easter in a church, or in some elaborate religious theory. They allowed their feet to carry them into the world and, in doing so, found Christ. Fred Buechner once wrote that to know who we really are, we need to look at our feet. Forget all our clever words and elaborate disguises we use and look at our feet. They tell us who we are. I think the same can be said of our life of faith. Where we let our feet take us determines what, or who, we’ll find. 

Are we sitting around or walking this Easter? 

If we are walking, in what direction are we headed? Toward Christ or away?
Are we walking by faith or our own cleverness? 

Do we have the courage to head toward the darkness of a tomb, the strength to walk to another town, or longing to head home? 

I believe if we walk in faith, our feet will carry us to Christ. He may appear in ways and places we couldn’t have imagined, but that part’s not up to us. We’re only responsible for our feet. This Easter, the question is, in what direction are our feet headed?