The scars that remain

Weaving the sacred thread of resurrection and wounds

Blessed Easter morning, my friends.

As many of us will be celebrating the resurrection of Jesus today, I can’t help but ponder the scars that remained on his body. Why? Why go through all the trouble of dying and rising again to keep the scarring of his crucifixion? I wonder if Jesus, at times alone after his resurrection, looked down at his hands and remembered, perhaps even a shiver would roll down his spine as he recalled the torture and pain he endured. And don’t we all do that? The scars we bear are portals that send us both backwards and forwards; A pain remembered, a wisdom gained.

The author of Women Who Run with Wolves, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, reflects on how we should tell our age not by years but by our battle scars. I am 11 battle scars old. We often mention Jesus’ short life of 33 years, but the scars he bore while on this earth far outweigh those decades. Suffering will age us quicker than any 365 days will. As I look back over my scars of skin and soul, I recall the darkness I’ve endured, the shame I’ve felt, the pain and anger and betrayal; all road markers, all Descansos - a white cross on the side of the road that marks the spot when life changed forever. Today marks a day when life changed forever and yet, much has stayed the same; a testament that scars and resurrection can co-exist.

Many of us will gather around tables to celebrate this day. Roasted lamb, Easter egg hunts, and baskets bursting with sweets will fill this day with joy. But how do we also honor the scars that remain? A loved one missing at the table, declining health, a lingering grief. If Jesus can reveal his scars after resurrection, perhaps we can too.

This last week, I had a biopsy of my right breast. The weeks leading up to the procedure, I mostly ignored - filling my days with the usual mix of work and play. But as I sat in the waiting more, the fear came like a flood. Is this a new battle scar to add? Another descansos to place on the road? Even as the good news came a few days later that I was cancer-free, I still have the wound to keep clean as I wait for the slow healing to eventually become a scar. This scar will remind me of that waiting room and of the table I laid upon, but it will also extend outward to the many women who didn’t receive good news. On this Easter day, many will feel sick and exhausted after a round of chemo. Scars have a way of stringing us together; they are the sacred thread that runs through sinew and soul, weaving together a community of the wounded.

Perhaps this is why Jesus’s scars remained: the thread ran from him, through Mary’s tears, through the fear of the disciples, a weaving that continues today through your scars and mine. Battle scar to battle scar, life to life, a tapestry of death and resurrection. We often focus on the empty tomb, the victory won but ignore the marks left behind, the evidence of pain endured. Is there room for both? Can we gather the thread and then hold it out for one another?

On this blessed Easter morning, may we feast and weave around one table. As we pass the dishes and pour the wine, may we also honor the scars that remain and the ones yet to come.

Peace and every good,