I saw an old war movie once. In it, there was a scene that depicted a make-shift hospital. Wounded and injured soldiers were aided into the medic tent as bombs and gunfire could be heard raining in the background. I have never been to war, but I have seen many movies with similar scenes. I cannot imagine that the movies come close to depicting the gruesome realities of what was experienced by so many brave men and women across the world during times of war… and I cannot give enough thanks to those who have served in our military.
But these scenes… the scenes full of casualty and pain and the nurses and doctors doing all that they can to bring relief and healing… these scenes seem to play over and over again in my mind – but not when you might expect them.
I have been in many churches over the last few months, and each experience is similar. We are greeted by happy folks who shake our hands and give us a printed piece of paper full of announcements and the order of service. We sing songs of praise and worship as a body of believers. We take the opportunity to give with our tithes and offerings. We pray corporately and listen as the pastor prays representatively on our behalf. We listen as the Word is presented in various translations and passages. We fellowship briefly. We go home.
But as I sit in each tidy service, I often find my mind drifting to those scenes – gunfire in the background – wounded soldiers desperate for relief from the pain – exhausted doctors and nurses – hurt and broken people eager for some sign of hope or healing.
I look around at the faces of those near me and wonder, “If I could see past the nice clothes and polite handshakes… if I could see past the upbeat songs and 30 minute messages… if I could see what was really taking place in the hearts of those around me… I have to imagine it would look much more like a hospital and much less like donuts and coffee.”
I have to imagine I would see husbands and wives desperate for hope that their marriage will survive the week. I have to imagine that I would see a young woman full of shame pleading in her heart to know that she can be forgiven. I have to imagine I would see a young family desperate for the healing of a child. I have to imagine I would see a son broken by the relationship with his father. I have to imagine I would see a widow abandoned by her children. I have to imagine I would see a deacon who questions his faith. I have to imagine I would see a young mother angry at the loss of a pregnancy. I have to imagine I would see an addict, an abuser, a victim, an adulterer all pleading to know that they can be loved – all desperate for the healing that can only come through Jesus.
If only I could see what was really happening in our church services…
The truth is, life is messy. Christian life is messy. When we agreed that we were in need of a Savior, we admitted to ourselves and to the Lord that we were broken. We admitted that we needed Him in order to be whole, to have hope, and to find healing, but we decided that we needed to do that quietly – silently – so that no one would know the realities of what we were facing.
We limped into the building afraid to admit to others that we weren’t okay.
But what if Church was a place where we felt safe bringing broken people? What if Church was a place where the limping and wounded weren’t just accepted – they were expected – they were sought out?
I’m not perfect. It is truth. There are days that I’m very broken. There are days when I feel hopeless. There are moments when my flesh wins and my spirit must repent. There are moments when I get it completely wrong. There are encounters with others that I don’t handle well. I run out of grace. I run out of patience. I run out of gentleness. I run out of love. But I am a Christian.
I am in desperate need of a Savior every single day.
I am in desperate need of a Heavenly Father to forgive quickly and heal quickly and restore quickly and fill my heart again with His Spirit and new mercies.
The most dangerous thing that I could do would be fail to admit that any of these things are true.
But in my admission of my need for a Savior, and in my steps that I take towards healing, the most unfortunate thing that I could do would be leave those behind who are wounded. The most unfortunate thing we can do as a body of believers is require those of us who are hurting to pretend as though they are not.
Jesus died, was buried, and rose again – but He kept the scars on His hands. He allowed others to touch and see them as a witness of His own life and the power of His Heavenly Father. What if our own scars weren’t hidden, but were used as testimonies of God’s healing?
What if we weren’t afraid of getting dirty? What if the wounded didn’t intimidate us? What if Church looked more like a hospital where pain could be addressed and healing could begin?
Wouldn’t that be something? It is definitely worth thinking about, and you know, it might even be worth discussing. What do you think?
Will you keep the conversation going?
