Scars of Victory!

 

Watching the Remembrance Day march-past at the UK Cenotaph in Whitehall, London, once again today, I am moved by the faces of the veterans in parade. Regathered after last year's pandemic shutdown, the serried ranks of the comrades, men and women, showed faces beaming with a sense of achievement. As the bands of the Coldstream Guards played wartime tunes they marched past in their thousands, medals jingling, berets askew, arms swinging, chests thrust forward with pride. Yet, for many, the march was a test of endurance. I saw several double amputees in full regalia tottering forward on their artificial limbs but keeping in step with their colleagues. There were guide dogs for blind veterans and several young people in uniform accompanying others. Some marchers were bearing their scars of war so bravely it seems that they were almost decorations, not disabilities.

In my book Through the Storms I describe this scene at the start of a chapter about bearing our scars with pride and not shame. So many of us do have scars from our encounters with pain, disappointment, trauma or battles of all kinds. I have many, both physical and emotional, from my own two decade long struggle with acute and chronic pancreatitis and the many long stays in hospital and appalling pain I endured. When I bared my torso for a medical examination recently the nurse exclaimed 'wow - that's not a scar; that's a shark attack!' The trauma of more than one 'near-death encounter' and long spells in intensive care has left its mark on my sub-conscious, and still affects me occasionally. But these veterans of war marching today by their thousands have reminded me again that our scars are not shameful - no, they speak of our overcoming, our victories.

If you are badly marked or impaired in some way either outwardly or within due to to trauma, hold your wounds up as badges of honour, not signs of disgrace. When Jesus overcame even death itself, his resurrected body still bore the marks of his traumatic death on the cross. They did not disappear in the glory of his victory precisely because they describe his triumph so clearly. Those wounds also become a sign to me of the way he enters into my own suffering so completely. They qualified Jesus as the perfect man as well as God, able to enter into our own battles and sufferings with complete understanding, and total victory.

So, scarred warrior, march on with pride, and when the devil reminds you of your past - just remind him of his future!

As I prepare to leave for London again on Monday, the tenth such trip for medical help and hospital visits in the last 12 months, I can't help reflecting on the fact that it is the start of Holy Week. My particular battle is with physical pain so that for me, the cross of Calvary is very pertinent, and the sufferings of Jesus there for me seem stark and real like the sudden death of a close friend or loved one. It is amazing that my God should plan it that way so that the maker of the universe was made subject to the most appalling pain on my behalf. There was no accident about this.  Jesus did not stumble into taking my bullet - like the Indian clerk who takes the shot for the lead character in television's Indian Summers - no, he chose to go that way and experience that pain because he loves me and cares so deeply about my destiny.

For that reason alone my pain becomes more bearable.  But there is more. This Jesus did not stay dead. Against all scientific reason and historic precedence he rose again on the third day. Now by his death and bodily resurrection Jesus becomes the means of my own redemption from sin and death. My pain is temporary.  It may be extreme at times, and I long for it to be over, but even if I am not healed this side of eternity, and I pray ever day that I will be, I know where I am going when I do die. Not for me the 'hope so' uncertainties of balancing scales or trying to climb a crumbling pile of good works to see over my skip loads of mistakes and regrets, no!  Because he lives then we who trust him will also live!  His empty grave is our visa and his book of life our passport.

So in this momentous week for every Christian I set off to face the uncertainties of a delicate and dangerous surgical procedure knowing that all will be well. Easter changes everything. 'Calvary covers it all'.

Lighten our Darkness

It is so appropriate that in our part of the world Christmas comes at the darkest time of the year. Displays of light, whether consisting of candles or LED's, abound as we make the most of this dark season to proclaim the coming of 'the light of the world'. But in another sense this reminds me that every year, almost without fail, the most appalling acts of darkness, natural or unnatural disasters, seem to take place at or around Christmas. Even in my own short memory I recall events like the Penlee lifeboat disaster from 1981 in which 8 volunteer life-boatmen gave their lives to rescue the crew of a sinking freighter at Christmas. Then there was the dreadful downing of the Lockerbie PanAm flight right near the special day, and of course, 10 years ago, I was in London for hospital treatment when Diane came back from a Boxing Day carol service to say that thousands were feared dead in a terrifying tsunami. By the time that particular horror had run its course nearly a quarter of a million people had perished - what a Christmas! And then this year we have wept at the savage, inhuman slaughter of the little ones in Pakistan.

But then, like it or not, that's how Christmas started out. We love to idealise the stable scene with its kneeling wise men, adoring shepherds and hushed animals all worshiping the baby in the manger, but the reality included much less savoury facts. The young parents in Bethlehem were very soon to be engulfed with the most appalling sorrow as every child under 2 years of age was put to death by evil King Herod. The young Jesus with his Mum and Dad escaped as refugees like thousands of others in Jordan and Syria today, leaving behind them mourning and crying as the prophet Jeremiah described so powerfully, "Rachel crying for her children and not able to be comforted".

Why is there this dark side to Christmas?  Just co-incidence?  Maybe if you subscribe to the co-incidence view of history, but I prefer to recognise that the coming of Jesus was the greatest threat to the powers of darkness that they had ever faced, or would ever face. Just as evil King Herod feared that this baby had come to take away his kingdom and power, so there are forces in our world that tremble at the sound of the songs of Christmas. The birth, life, death and resurrection of Jesus are the hinges on which the door of human history hangs. As we celebrate his coming this Christmas let's not lose sight of the dark side but rejoice that the light has come! "Joy to the world, the Lord has come.  Let Earth receive her king!" Amen to that!