Show Me the Scars

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[Image of Mary Magdalene telling the disciples Christ was risen while they stand apart from her in silence.]

John 20:24-29

Reflections on the Resurrection at midnight on Easter because I have insomnia

When I was six years old, I got my first scar. My first grade class was lining up to go back inside from recess. I remember what jacket I was wearing–it was a pink and teal windbreaker because it was cold. And because it was the 90s. I had a red turtleneck and jeans. I remember that it was really cold that day.

As I ran to line up, my foot caught a crack in the sidewalk and I fell head first into a brick wall, leaving a gash on my head right above my right eye. My teacher Mrs. Bray freaked out and called my mother to come get me. As we held ice over my eye once I got home, my mom called my dad who took me to the emergency room where I got seven stitches. I still have a scar across my right eyebrow almost 23 years later. Scars have memories. We all have stories of how we got them and why. 

Coincidentally, also in 1st grade, The Lion King was my favorite movie and my family still calls me Scar every now and then. 

There was also this guy named Thomas who followed Jesus around. He was a little obsessed with scars too. When his friend Jesus died and all the disciples said he came back from the dead, Thomas naturally demanded proof it was really him: “Show me the scars.”

Scars are also a memory of trauma the body has endured. Jesus’ body had endured one of the worst deaths imaginable and he had the scars to prove it. The trauma didn’t go away just because he was alive again. Scars bear witness. 

When a trans person undergoes gender affirming surgery, they are proud of their scars. The scars bear witness of the lengths they have gone to in order to be themselves. I plan on having surgery to remove my breasts and have a flat chest. I can’t wait to have two horizontal lines across my chest that symbolize the journey I’ve been on. Scars show us who we are. 

[Image Description: The new Image {on the right} by Elisabeth Ohlson Wallin is of three people leaning in to look at the chest of a fourth person holding open their shirt. They are looking down at their chest which reveals scars from top surgery. The finger of one of the other people is pointing to/just touching the scars on the chest. This is a play off of the old “The Incredulity of Saint Thomas” painting wherein three men leaning in to look at the bare chest of Jesus post-resurrection. “Doubting Thomas” has his finger inside the wound on Jesus’ chest from a spear.] Originally seen on https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fenfleshedword%2Fposts%2F2534776473418721&width=500“>Facebook on enfleshed.

Thomas said he wouldn’t believe Jesus was really back unless he could put his hands on the scars Jesus had from being crucified. Jesus’ scars were still fresh–he was three days dead and newly resurrected scars don’t heal quite that fast, I’m assuming. But scars show us we are real. That our bodies can bear pain and survive it. 

The resurrection reminds us that the impossible can happen and that there is hope. It doesn’t take the trauma, pain, or scars away. I used to think the hope of the resurrection was that death is not the end. And it is. It gives us something to hope for but it sounds impossible. I think what we learn from Jesus’ scarred body is that the resurrection shows us that death still happens but it doesn’t destroy us. 

For every queer/trans person who’s ever drowned in a sea of doubt, who has ever left scars on their own body because they weren’t sure they could be loved for who they were, this story is for you. Jesus said “This is my body broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” We remember the scars that show us who we are and we remember that we are more than what has broken us. Amen.

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