Wounded Healers: the Mystery of Suffering
Homily for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
February 7, 2021
Today I want to focus on a very difficult subject, introduced by our first reading from the Book of Job, namely, why do innocent people have to suffer? Job started out doing quite well, having a wonderful family, a nice home, plenty of land, flocks and herds, lots of friends. Then, in a moment everything changed: people started to die, robbers came and stole things, Job develops a repulsive skin disease—it’s a giant soap opera in biblical story form. But the question is quite serious: why do innocent people, like Job, have to suffer.
- To begin, three friends visit Job, and they have these long monologues in which they try to convince Job that he must have sinned, even in some small way that he may have forgotten, and that God was punishing him as a result. I want to make clear right at the start that this argument is rejected by the author. Jesus himself would similarly reject this kind of thinking. In John’s gospel story of the healing of the man born blind, the disciples ask whose sin caused the blindness, the man’s or his parents, and Jesus completely rejects that (John 9:3-5).
- For some people, unjust suffering is what makes them reject the faith and to question the goodness, or even the existence, of God. All of us probably have experienced something similar. When I think of beautiful, innocent children having to deal with cancer, or abuse; when I think of innocent people wiped out by a typhoon; when I think of people who are killed by an act of violence, often because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time: I have to admit, that shakes me and makes me angry.
- Some people, however, go in a different direction. My grandfather, for example, worked, I believe it was in the cotton mill here in town. A beam or something hit him on the head and he developed epilepsy. The company’s insurance company would no longer allow him to work. As an immigrant, what could he do? In addition, he developed many other health issues. I remember an elderly friend of his visiting one day and asking him, “How can you deal with all this suffering?” You know what my grandfather answered? He said, “Compared to Jesus, this is nothing.” Now, he was eighty at the time, and it might have taken him a while to sort things out, but his suffering actually made his faith stronger.
- Did you ever feel uncomfortable going to a wake and not knowing what to say? Several years ago, we had a murder of a teenager by a teenager, and many of the town’s young people showed up for the wake. I decided to go and just stand by the door. I asked those coming in, “Do you know what to do?” Most said they had no idea. I told them, just tell his mother you’re sorry this happened, and if you feel you can help the family out in some way, let them know.
- By the way, we know that Jesus took suffering and death very seriously. For example, when his good friend Lazarus died, we are told that Jesus was very moved by it (the Greek is something like kicked in the gut). And, as he stood outside the tomb, St. John’s gospel gives us the shortest sentence in the Bible: He wept (John 11:35). Jesus wept! Later on, the night before Jesus died, he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. It says he was so disturbed by what was coming that he sweat blood. And he prayed, “Father, let this cup (of suffering) pass me by (Luke 22:42).” But in the end Jesus went to his death, much like the person described in the book of Job: an innocent man, unjustly condemned, tortured, and put to death.
- One of my favorite spiritual writers, Henri Nouwen, wrote that we who are in ministry, and really all of us, are wounded healers. Suffering can be a terrible, horrific experience; yet suffering can make us more compassionate, more humble, more gentle with others. Often, those who have never suffered can be arrogant, dispassionate, quoting the rules, pointing out the sin, and laying on a lot of guilt. I don’t believe that is what Jesus called us to be.
- Most of you know that I’ve had some pretty serious bouts of illness myself—first a stroke, and then a life-threatening infection. Let me tell you, if I wasn’t a wounded healer before, I am now! I learned a lot about being helpless, needing the compassionate help of others, relying on their strength when I had little of my own. Those experiences taught me a lot—lessons I probably would not have asked for if I had a choice, but lessons that have been a gift. We’re all in this together: the nurses were like angels; cards and messages and prayers made all the difference. Underneath it all, I felt a strange calm and discovered that I was not afraid to die. I also felt a solidarity with people all around the world who suffer, often without the hospitals and other resources we have. And I guess I inherited my grandfather’s faith. He was my pal, my hero, my wounded healer.
- The Book of Job, by the way, doesn’t really give a theoretical answer about suffering and death—other than to suggest that there is a Mystery about it that we will not understand. Jesus doesn’t give us a theoretical answer either. Instead, he became part of the whole thing. Here’s what I mean. Let’s go back to that wake for a minute. Those kids standing in line at the funeral home didn’t know what to say. I believe that, in the presence of a mystery it’s probably best not to say anything, much less something lame. Rather, showing up is what it’s all about. By being there, we are saying: I don’t know what to say or what to do to take away your pain, but I want you to know that you don’t have to go through it alone. I am here for you.
- And that answer, lived rather than theoretical, is what Jesus did. He showed up. He became part of it, part of the Mystery, right along with us. He wanted us to know that we do not have to go through it alone, because our God is with us—our God, the wounded healer, our God, the unjustly suffering innocent one. Our God is saying: Take my hand, walk with me, I’ve been down this road before. And in the end, you will find that suffering and death no longer have the final say. You are not alone. I am with you, and the community is with you. When you are weak, let us be your strength. And when you are strong, be there for those who need you, just as they were there for you.
- Finally, I don’t know if you’ve noticed the new sign in front of our church. It’s a quote from Pope Paul VI. Very simple, but very profound: “If you want peace, work for justice.” It’s a reminder that there is some suffering we can do something about; we can’t just let people wait for heaven in their misery. There is a lot of injustice, hatred, anger and sinfulness in our world. It robs us of peace at every level. Jesus has given us the teaching and the tools to stand up for what is right, to defend those who are weak, and to work for a more just society. In our own small way, we can make life more just, more livable, and more in keeping with God’s will. We are called to be wounded healers.
You might also like
Father's Homilies
Building Bridges, Not Walls. Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.
