Two years ago I chose to have lower back surgery. I was at the end of a very long list of options. The signs were clear. God had spoken. Yet I still had to walk into the hospital with my own two feet. I authorized the surgery and paid the Doctor to cut me open. I literally signed up for the pain I would bear to be healed. There was no easy way around it. One anesthesiologist, two surgeons, several hours of surgery, a back brace, physical therapy, and four months of recovery. I chose it, not easily, not without trepidation. But I made the conscious choice. And I have the scars to remind me—of the chronic pain I endured for nine years, of the surgery, of the sacrifice to be healed.
Two thousand years ago Jesus made a choice—not because He needed healing, but because we did. In the Garden of Gethsamane, Jesus, with blood for sweat, chose to go to the cross, not easily, not without trepidation. He walked the path alone, watching his “friends” flee or betray. There was no easy way around it. A kiss, a flogging, a cross-bearing walk, a crown of thorns, and nails. God called. He answered. A world needed Him and He made the conscious choice to pay the ransom. His scars remind us—of the pain He endured, of the sacrifice.
I realize it’s almost laughable for me to associate my comparatively minor scars to Jesus’. I can’t fathom the anguish, the physical pain, the cost. However I know God uses the physical realm to penetrate my tiny brain and provide a minute peek into Who He is and what He experienced. Paradoxically, while nothing I experience remotely touches what Jesus suffered for me, Jesus can relate to everything I experience.
Sometimes we must purposefully walk through a painful occurrence to be healed. I’m so glad my Savior purposefully chose the cross. My scars are a tangible reminder of His scars.
What tangible reminder of His scars do you have?