Wellspring UMC; Fifth Sunday in Lent; March 25, 2007: “Transforming Wounds”:

-Mark 15: 12-20; Isaiah 53: 1-9

It has been three years now. Three cycles of the Christian Year passing since the debut of the movie, The Passion of the Christ. The response at the time was all over the map. From staunch supporters to vehement opposition, the depictions of Christ’s final days became headline news. Central to the commentary was the brutality...the woundedness which emerged from Mel Gibson’s mind and theology. Whatever your views of that movie, the suffering of Christ was lifted up before the world, and for many the mental images of the flogging and crucifixion of Christ became permanent memories to be repressed or released depending on where we are at the time.

That movie had an affect on me, and ever since it was released we’ve shown it here on Holy Saturday morning. When I saw it the first year, I was overwhelmed that Jesus would suffer such pain and death for us. The woundedness of Christ bowled me over. But when I saw it the second year, I was surprised that what hit me hardest was the resurrection scene. God added to the equation, not just the suffering and that that suffering was for you and me, but that God overcame that suffering and death and transformed suffering and death into life! I was bowled over by the Truth of that Grace. We’ll watch that movie again in two weeks, and I’m interested to see what God will reveal this year.

One of the things I have discovered is that I need to see this film the last day of Lent. It is the culmination of the Journey for me, and in fact, I can’t write the Easter sermon, until I’ve journeyed with Christ through the suffering of Holy Week and seen again what one person depicted as Christ’s Journey to the Cross.

I have asked myself, “Why?” Why is that so important?” I have realized that before I get to the resurrection, I need to remember and gaze upon Christ’s wounds. I need to see for myself again the suffering of Christ for the world. As we journey through Lent and before we get to Easter, we all need to remember and look at Christ’s wounds.

Some of you might be thinking, “But aren’t we a week early? Shouldn’t we deal with the punishment of Christ during Holy Week? NEXT Sunday is Palm Sunday, not today. What’s the deal?” You are correct that we have another week, and we will journey that week through the stark reality of Christ’s death, but there is something about gazing at the wounds of the Savior...something about deliberately fixing our eyes on the suffering servant, which brings into stark reality life and death, hope and despair, Easter and Lent.

We heard read earlier Mark’s account of the trial, beating, and mocking of Christ. Christ prepared for the march to the cross...prepared for his death. It’s odd that as we hear these words our insides are divided. We want to listen, need to listen, and in some ways want to hear all the details, yet at the same time we try to close our ears, shut down our hearts, block out the mental images, which are impossible to squelch. Like society’s incessant desire for pain and struggle depicted in movies, primetime, or in the news, we cannot turn away. We are drawn in by a need to know. We need to see. We need the wounds of Christ.

I find it interesting that there is this innate aspect of our humanity which draws us toward pain and intrigue. Whether rubber-necking on the highway, paying money to go to a violent movie, or staying up too late to watch SVU reruns, there is something about pain and suffering which affects us, moves us, invites us to see and experience the pain of the other. And yet there is a desire to turn away.

Remember the first time you saw a horror movie? Heart pumping, mind racing, hands went up in front of the face...but one eye peering between the fingers to see what was happening. The desire to watch stands in stark contrast to the desire to turn away. It is human to deal with the dichotomy of suffering in such a way, but human can be odd.

Hearing Isaiah this morning can be a little less painful, because these are the words of the prophet speaking of Israel, and yet we live on the other side. We see that this is the prophecy of what is to come. We connect this to the story of the Messiah, and see that God’s plan was made long before it was carried out. “The servant grew...a scrawny seedling. He was despised and rejected. A man of sorrows who carried our pains. He was disfigured, crushed, bruised because all have strayed. He was tortured and slaughtered, for all have sinned. And it was all for us.” This is the story of Christ’s love revealed hundreds of years before His death.

In hearing that story for the first time, I’d imagine that the Israelites would have their interest piqued. They would have wanted to know more about this One to come, and they would want to see and hear all the details. They’d have been drawn into the pain and suffering, for they would have recognized the sacrifice, even for them.

Today, and throughout this season of Lent, we’re invited to gaze upon the One wounded for our transgressions. What does that feel like for you? When you see a crucifix, rather than an empty cross, do you turn away? Do you want to turn away but cannot? Have you ever taken the time to sit with the wounds of Christ? To remember them and gaze upon the wounded healer? Such a discipline can be powerful. In fact, it can be transformational, because it brings life to focus, for those wounds are for you and for me.

Part of the tradition in the Catholic and Episcopal churches is the practice of “Eucharistic Adoration,” which simply stated is the reflection of and gazing upon the blessed Elements of Holy Communion. The Elements are blessed, but instead of receiving them, the congregant kneels before the bread and wine, gazes upon them, and prays. They do not receive. They simply reflect upon the power that is found upon that communion table. They gaze upon the wounded Christ, knowing that through bread and wine Christ transforms brokeness, transforms lives, and moves us from death to life.

It may seem an odd practice to us, but how often do we intentionally reflect upon the wounds of Our Lord? What will it take in order for us to consistently remember and gaze at the wounds of Christ? If we did, we might discover that those wounds, Christ wounds, can transform us, preparing us for death and resurrection. But how? Why?

There IS a human side of us that seeks out suffering and pain, but when we seek to receive the wounds of Christ there is a different dynamic at work. In gazing upon His wounds and reflecting upon His sacrifice, that which draws us in is less the human side of life as it is the heart. To be drawn to see and sit with the suffering servant is to see and sit with the one who changes our hearts, and in a powerful way, our hearts already recognize this need, and when given the opportunity draws us closer to Christ. In doing so, we live vicariously through Him, but even more powerfully, He then transforms us into His Body on Earth.

My guess is that you have not heard of Keisha Thomas, but a decade ago she was in high school and participated in a counter-demonstration to a Ku Klux Klan rally in Ann Arbor, MI. At one point during the rally a KKK member walked by, and members of her group grabbed the man, drug him to the ground and began beating him with their fists and with sticks from their protest signs.

Keisha dove to the ground and covered the body of her enemy, taking upon herself the blows of her friends, begging them to stop. When asked why she, and African-American teen, would sacrifice herself for a white supremacist, she said, “He’s still somebody’s child.”

If I were to guess, I’d say that Keisha was one who had gazed upon the wounded Christ, and in doing so, recognized the extreme grace of God given for all. I’d say that her heart had been changed by Christ, her life transformed, and she became Christ to this one everyone hated. She’d seen that our sin was beaten into Christ’s back, encrowned his head, and nailed through his body upon a cross, and in fact, I’d venture to say that she’d recognized that Christ did that, even for her. In gazing upon the wounded Savior, she received the Truth of God’s love, and in turn became the Truth of God’s love.

What might it take for us to remember Christ’s wounds? What change needs to take place within us that we dare to gaze upon those wounds and sit with Him in His pain?

In a few moments we’re going to come to the table for Holy Communion. We come to receive the Holy One, the wounded One, the Christ who suffered and died for us. As you prepare to come forward, I invite you to focus yourself upon the broken Body and blood poured out for you. Reflect upon what it means that we are humbly privileged to receive such a gift, and receive Him praying that this gift will change our hearts and lives.

We are rounding the bend toward the cross. Just one more week, and we step on that final stretch. As we walk with Him, may we gaze upon and receive Him. In doing so, may we be transformed, by the One wounded for us and for the world. Amen.