A Devotion for the Wounded Healers
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| Art by Emily McDowell |
This is the third time in 4 days I’ve been here.
Before that, it was another cold plastic chair, this one in the waiting room at an urgent care doctors office. I left with a flu diagnosis, a prescription for Tamiflu, and orders to rest and drink lots of fluids.
Mincing zero words: Our family has had the week from hell. Our new puppy fell sick, had emergency surgery and then complications from that surgery. Meanwhile, I also got sick and felt the helplessness that comes when you want to do more than your body will allow.
I’m not writing you any of this to say “woe is me,” or to elicit pity parties.
I’m sharing with you, my friends, my team, because i know you’ll understand.
I know you’ve been here, if not this week, then another. If not this year, in the recent past.
There was a time in my life where I was very hesitant to share about the struggles in my personal life. Sometimes, I felt that they paled in comparison to the seemingly more difficult struggles of others, or felt uncomfortable with any concern or sympathy directed my way. Other times, I wonder if my lack of desire to share came from an unwillingness to be seen as vulnerable or weak. Sometimes i didn’t want to share simply because i couldn’t bear to recount or rehash the pain. In my suffering, I would hide, even from God, hoping that somehow, if I didn’t acknowledge a grief, it would disappear.
There are certainly times where it is appropriate and healthy for us to process alone, to give ourselves time to grieve or cry or even contemplate before we share with others.
But what I’ve learned about the ongoing pains and struggles of life is that they are not meant to be borne alone. Our hardships and troubles are not something we can or should shelve before we go about our daily work. Even in the recovery work that we do. Especially in the recovery work that we do.
To be sure, our role in helping others to recover through disaster means that our survivors are our primary, central focus. But to become emotionless robots, unaffected by their pain, or our own, strips us of our most powerful gift: the ministry of presence.
Henri Nouwen names this practice of ministering to others as being a “wounded healer.” Nouwen, a theologian and Yale professor, also spent much of his life in service to L’Arche, a community where people with intellectual disabilities and those without, live and work together. His reflections on what it means to give up our own power in service to others are profound. He writes:
“Nobody escapes being wounded. We all are wounded people. The main question is not "How can we hide our wounds?" so we don't have to be embarrassed, but "How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?" When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers."
(The Wounded Healer, Henri Nouwen).
Jesus is God's wounded healer: through his wounds we are healed. Jesus' suffering and death brought joy and life. His humiliation brought glory; his rejection brought a community of love. As followers of Jesus we can also allow our wounds to bring healing to others.
We are able to serve as these wounded healers not despite our own struggles and pain, but through them.
This week, I am working through my own pain and grief. But in the midst of this, I am not left ineffective or unable. Neither are you, whatever may fill your plate, or break your heart in this season. Through Christ, we can listen and serve, wounds and all.
“But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies.” – 2 Corinthians 4: 7-10 NRSV
May the life of Christ shine in you!
Chaplain Amy
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