Meditation on Luke 24:36b-48
First Presbyterian Church of Smithtown, NY
Pastor Karen Crawford
April 14, 2024
I have a scar on my left wrist that is almost as old as I am.
There’s a story behind every scar, isn’t there?
I was thinking the other day how there’s only one person left in the world who really knows the whole story with the 3-inch scar on my wrist. That’s my mom, who will be turning 85 in June. I was maybe 2 or 3.
In all actuality, I don’t remember being injured. I don’t remember any pain. I only remember the story my mother has told me.
But there’s a picture of my dad holding me, not long after the injury. I have an ugly red scab on my wrist. And an ugly red scab on my neck, which has since faded to the point where I almost forgot about it—until a year ago, when I had my thyroid removed.
The surgeon made a cut right through the old scar. It’s barely noticeable now.
My mother told me that I reached for a pot of boiling soup on the stove. I didn’t want to wait for her to pour it into a bowl. I was at the age where I probably wanted to do everything myself and thought I could do everything myself. The pot of boiling soup poured down the front of me.
It was winter, and I was wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck, with cuffs at the wrists and collar. My mom, who was a nurse, worked quickly to remove the turtleneck, while I was screaming in fear and pain. She pulled my right arm out first and then the shirt over my head. The hot soup had soaked through the cuff on my left arm, at my wrist. I was seriously burned.
Mom took me to the hospital. There was nothing they could do for me. It was a burn in the 1960s. We could only wait for my body to heal itself.
Mom said she was told to soak my wrist. One day, the ugly scab came off—and there was new, pink skin underneath.
I was self-conscious about the scar on my wrist when I was in grade school. The wrinkly skin didn’t look like the rest of my arm. It had strange red and brown spots. The hair didn’t grow back normally. When I wore short sleeved shirts, sometimes my classmates asked me about it, thinking it was a fresh wound.
How ugly my wrist was, I thought back then. How I wish that I had never done what I had done—and then, I wouldn’t have an ugly scar.
This seemingly insignificant scar on my wrist comes to mind while I read this passage of one of the resurrection appearances in the gospel of Luke. This appearance happens right after the two disciples have been walking with the risen Christ on the road to Emmaus without knowing they are with Jesus. They are going home after a long, confusing, upsetting day that began with the discovery by the women of Christ’s empty tomb. What did that mean—the empty tomb? Did someone steal the body?
Meanwhile, they tell Jesus what happened that morning, and he opens the Scriptures to them, and their hearts are burning. They invite him inside their home. He blesses and breaks the bread, and their eyes are opened, and they recognize him. He vanishes, and they run back to Jerusalem that night to tell the other disciples what happened.
While the two disciples are sharing their story, Jesus surprises and terrifies the group by making another appearance, in today’s reading. He says, “Shalom! Peace be with you.” And even though the women shared the news of the risen Christ, and the two disciples shared the news of the risen Christ, the group can’t wrap their heads around what is happening.
People don’t just come back from the dead, do they? Especially those whom they have watched die in a cruel and terrible manner. And if people DO come back from the dead, well, doesn’t that mean they are ghosts? Just like some people nowadays believe in ghosts and relish stories of the paranormal on TV, they believed in ghosts in ancient times, too.
Jesus is saying to them, “Come on, I am not a ghost. Look at my hands and feet. Go ahead, do not be shy, touch me. You ever seen a ghost who looks like this? Didn’t think so. Anybody here got something to eat? I’ll have the broiled fish.” [1]
“The Jesus who repeatedly ate with his disciples, with sinners (and tax collectors), and with Pharisees now eats his last meal before leaving his disciples in the ascension. He does this… to prove that he is not just a vision or a ghost, that he has really conquered death.” [2]
The disciples look at his scars, touch his flesh, hear his voice, and are filled with joy, but, at the same time, they are disbelieving and wondering what is going on.
Jesus is doing two things that he does best—eating and teaching them, opening their minds, once again, to the Scriptures in a way only Jesus can.
The scars capture my attention, as this is the second week we have discussed the appearances of the risen Christ and his showing them his scars. Seeing the scars, they aren’t stirred to anger or want revenge for the injustice of Christ being crucified. The scars don’t bring hatred or fear.
The scars tell the truth, and they are stirred to joy because of what God has done!
I am seeing the 3-inch scar on my wrist in a new way, after studying this passage. The Lord doesn’t want me to remember a childhood error, grabbing a pot of hot soup off the stove. God doesn’t want me to remember the pain. And I don’t!
The scar is a reminder to me of the love of my mother, who acted quickly to remove the soup-soaked turtleneck and get me to a doctor, right away. She may have saved my life that day, and she would do it again in an instant. Just as we would do the same for all our loved ones.
What if we saw all our scars not as ugly, not as stories of injuries or surgeries, but instead as marks of beauty, further proof of the faithfulness of our God, who has a wonderful plan for each of us? Rather than sadness, shame, or grief as we recall injuries, surgeries, and pain, what if we are moved, instead, to wonder, joy, and gratitude for all that God has done?
I am seeing that black and white photograph in a different light, that one my mom or another relative took of me, with the ugly red scab on my wrist and at my neck, sitting in my father’s lap.
The expressions on our faces tell the whole story.
Dad is smiling, and my head is tipped back as if I am giggling from being tickled or from something funny that he said—or both.
The ordeal is over. The danger has passed. I have a feeling that we might have just finished sharing a meal.
Dear friends, “the one whose life the church shares in Word and Sacrament is not a ghost or a disembodied spirit. He is the risen Lord.” [3]
“The passage ends as a kind of ordination service,” says Thomas Long, professor emeritus at Candler School of Theology. “Jesus has done his work, and it is now time for the disciples—then and now—to do theirs. Jesus sends them into the world, not as soldiers, diplomats, program planners, or celebrities, but as ‘witnesses.’
“It is the thinnest of all portfolios. The church has no weapons, no credentials, no powerful allies, no fancy remedies, or quick fixes; it is to offer only what it has seen and heard in Jesus. …That, of course, is what the world most needs: honest and courageous disciples who will get on the witness stand and tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” [4]
Christ sends us out, with our scars and stories of redemption, miracles of healing, and the grace and love of our living, forgiving God.
The peace of Christ is with you!
He is risen! Hope is everywhere.
And WE are witnesses of these things.
Let us pray.
Loving God, thank you for healing us, over and over again, and the promise of eternal life by faith in your Son, Jesus Christ. We anxiously await the return of our Messiah, when we will finally live in resurrected flesh and blood bodies in a new heaven, a new earth. But until that time, help us to be your faithful witnesses—to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, courageously, without embarrassment, fear, or apology. Christ is risen! Hallelujah! In Him, our stories and our very lives have been redeemed. Amen!
[1] Thomas Long, “Third Sunday of Easter” in Connections, A Lectionary Commentary for Preaching and Worship, Year B, vol. 2, Lent through Pentecost (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2020), 232-233.
[2] Justo L. Gonzalez, Luke from the series Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 279-280.
[3] Justo Gonzalez, 279.
[4] Thomas Long, 233.
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