Our Easter joy continues. Last week was a big week of Easter – celebrating Jesus’ resurrection, hope, and new life. But also, Jesus went through a lot – from betrayal, mocking, and pain.Even when we are at the other end of a difficult journey, we still have some memories, hurts, and even scars. It may be Easter, but there’s still trauma. Our memories of Easter include both sorrow and joy.
Wounds are the marks of the resurrection that Thomas sees on Jesus’ body.
To be human is to face trauma of one kind or another: physical or emotional abuse, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job or a home, the loss of faith, the loss of a dream, the loss of hope. These traumatic memories get lodged in our bodies, in our brains, and even in our muscles and organs.
For the most serious kinds of trauma, healing comes with therapy. Traditionally, people from Northern Europe and here in North America manage distress with alcohol or pills. There are many ways we try to manage life’s stresses.
We can only begin to imagine the trauma the disciples, friends, and followers of Jesus faced after his torture and death. The memories of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection were lodged in their bodies. Even for those wrestling with some hope and doubts, the question remained of what would become of the Jesus movement. As the decades passed, as a body they experienced the risen Christ among them as they read scripture and broke the bread. And they passed on these accounts of new life and healing.
Today, we have the story of Thomas. When everything you ever believed in is called into question, it’s a kind of trauma. Some psychologists are using a new term of moral injury, noting that the pain we witness and feel can have physical effects on our bodies. It may lead to greater faith, as it did for Thomas. But when you’re in it, when you don’t know what you believe anymore, or whether any of it matters anymore, we can experience stress and emptiness. Most of us have been there at some time or another.
And the last place you want to go is to the bodily memory of the trauma, or the agonizing feelings of abandonment, or violation, or betrayal. Yet that is where Thomas went. He would not believe unless he could see the scars, unless he could place his hands in Jesus’ wounds.
Thomas, like us, at various phases of life, have our questions, wonders, doubts, and beliefs. We all come to this place with our own doubts and fears. We each have our hopes and hurts.
Some scars are not always seen right away, but deep within. Some of us struggle with depression, anxiety, or addiction, some of us have lost economic security or failed to get the job we’d hoped for, some haven’t had children they’ve longed for, some have experienced spiritual or sexual violence, some of our romantic relationships are hurting. The list goes on. We all carry scars, even open wounds, with us every day.
We have systemic scars, too. Racism is an open wound for all of us, no matter the color of our skin. Climate change isn’t just an environmental issue – it’s a civilization issue.
Norman Bussel survived the destruction of his B-17 bomber during an air raid over Berlin in 1944 and endured a year in a German prisoner-of-war camp. Others in the camp were shot dead for the slightest infractions. Red Cross packages, protected by international law, rarely arrived, intercepted by desperate German soldiers.
Food included small slices of black bread, thin soup, and an occasional potato. Sergeant Bussel went from a weighing 165 pounds to just over 100 pounds.
When released, Norman returned home to Memphis that summer. To look at, he was healthy, if still a little thin. Inside, he was a wreck: He suffered from nightmares, claustrophobia, and survivor’s guilt, all of which he tried to medicate with lots of alcohol. Norman feared getting on planes or being in the subway. Every April 29, he found himself hit by waves of self-loathing. His family suffered.
“Survivor guilt was my constant companion,” he wrote in his memoir, “My Private War: Liberated Body, Captive Mind: A World War II POW’s Journey” (2007). In 2007, he testified before Congress about reforming veterans assistance and the inner turmoil of former P.O.W.s. Norman Bussel passed away this past week at the age of 101.
PTSD — post-traumatic stress disorder — isn’t really a disorder. It is a natural, very human response to life’s greatest tragedies. We all carry injuries in need of healing.
I hope that the church is a safe place where we can share our doubts, name our fears, and tell our own stories of loss, of distress, of terror, of trauma . . . a place where we honor the injuries and scars that we carry.
We bring to Jesus all of our wounds, and Jesus sees us, touches us, and makes us whole. Caravaggio’s painting of Thomas and Jesus shows Jesus pulling Thomas into his wound to accompany and show him. The resurrected Jesus still had scars. The risen Christ comes to us with wounded hands, saying, “Peace be with you.”
“Reach out your hand,” Jesus says to Thomas, and to all of us. Whatever our doubts may be, wherever we’re holding back, Jesus invites us to community, truth-telling, and healing. Today at the altar rail, we stretch out our hands to receive the body and blood of Christ, just as Thomas stretched out his hands to touch Christ’s wounds.
Dr. Bessel van der Kolk studies trauma and makes this observation: “Trauma really does confront you with the best and the worst. You see the horrendous things that people do to each other, but you also see resiliency, the power of love, the power of caring, the power of commitment, the power of commitment to oneself, to the knowledge that there are things that are larger than our individual survival. And some of the most spiritual people I know are exactly traumatized people, because they have seen the dark side. And in some ways, I don’t think you can appreciate the glory of life unless you also know the dark side of life.”
The risen Christ continues to breathe the Spirit on us and all creation — declaring, “Peace be with you,” we hear Sunday after Sunday. With open hands, we receive the body of Christ. And we remember. Our body remembers. And we hope, we heal, and trust new life and God’s peace.
