"He Has Holes In His Hands!"

I don’t know what you do when you are trying to drift off to sleep or find yourself awakened in the middle of the night.  I have found if I am not careful my mind can run to all sorts of places.  It can run backwards and try to relive the past. It can project forward and try to structure the future.  Both movements can lead to worry.  And I have found worry is generally not very helpful in drifting off to sleep or slipping back into a peaceful slumber.

The first chapter in the book of Psalms calls the man who meditates on God’s Word, day and night, blessed.  The author of Psalm 119 declares in verse 148, “My eyes stay open through the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promises.” It may have been written by David, because he echoes the thought in Psalm 63 when he cries out, “On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night.”  This seems to me to be a much better use of the time than reliving the past or worrying about the future, so it is where I endeavor to turn my heart when I find myself awake when I would much rather be sleeping.

A couple of nights ago, I was sleeping in a strange bed, in another state, in the wrong time zone.  Needless to say, I was having trouble drifting off to sleep so I turned my attention to God and what the Scriptures reveal about Him.  After a few minutes I landed on the topic of Heaven and chose to settle there.

To be honest, for as much hope as we put into heaven and for as big as I imagine it to be, the Bible doesn’t say as much as you might expect about the subject.  It does tell us there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, and everything will be made new (Revelation 21:4-8).  It says there will be no more curse, night or need for the sun.  God’s radiance will be enough light for us all (Revelation 22:3-7). No one will ever hunger or thirst (Revelation 7:13-17).  Scripture tells us that Christ will have prepared a place for us and that he will be seated at the right hand of the father (John 14:2-4, Colossians 3:1-7).  There will be angels singing, rivers flowing and one of my favorite things, a tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month (I like trees, Revelation 22:2).

These realities are much better to meditate on than the things I might be tempted to be worried about. Though the images we are given in scripture form a pretty impressive picture, in truth it is but a sketch at best.  

I kind of think of it like a package which has been wrapped and set under the Christmas tree. You can judge its size, weight and the sound it makes when you shake it, but you really cannot give an exact description of what is inside.  You must know, I have a long history of wanting to know what was in the package (that is an entirely different blog). Because I like to figure what is inside and I lay there in the bed thinking about heaven, meditating on the lines scripture has sketched out for us, and just holding these things in my mind to see what God might want to reveal.

As I did, my attention turned from Heaven as the place to the idea of what it would be like to meet Jesus there.  I had to think about it for awhile.  Which Jesus would I meet?  Would it be the Jesus who was seen at the transfiguration, clothed in brilliant white, shining like the sun? (Matthew 17:1)  Would it be the Jesus of Revelation 19 who is mounted on a white horse, His head covered with crowns, clothed with a robe dipped in blood with the words King of Kings and Lord of Lords written upon it?  Would it be Jesus sitting on the throne surrounded by angels singing Holy, Holy, Holy?  I gazed upon each of these images in my imagination and held them there for a moment, but none of them seemed to be the one on which I should fix my heart upon.

I had laid there for a few moments thinking about these things when another image of Jesus came to me.  It was the image of Jesus when he appeared to Thomas (John 20:24-29).  There he stood, compassion on his face, and his arms extended with his palms turned up. When I saw him in my mind all I can remember thinking was, “He has holes in His hands.”   

This shouldn’t have surprised me; I have read the stories of His appearing to the disciples many times. I knew Thomas touched His wounds and believed, so I knew they were there. It is just that when I read the Scriptures speaking of heaven being a place where there is no more pain, no more sorrow, where everything will be made new, I imagined Jesus’ hands having been made whole, perfect, without any scars.

The surprising thought "he had holes in his hands" made me stop and ponder why when all things had been renewed and restored, would he still carry the scars from these wounds?  It also made me wonder if we too would carry with us into eternity any marks from our suffering, and if so why?

I thought about how Jesus was wounded.  I imagined the nail pressed against his skin just before the hammer blow drove it through His flesh.  I imagined Him screaming out in pain as the spike pinned his hand to the cross. I thought about what it would have felt like to have the crossbar slowly lifted up the post, the weight of His body slowly pulling his tissue and bone tight against the iron pins. It was one of the most painful forms of execution and he endured it.  He endured it because He trusted His Father was doing something far greater than the pain he was experiencing.  He trusted to the point of death.

Then I thought about what it must have been like for Him to experience resurrection, to find life where there had been death.  There have been moments in life where I have had to trust, points at which I have had to believe, wait, and see what the outcome would be. In times like this, when the crucial moment passes, and I discover that my trust has not been ill placed, joy rushes in.  I imagine you would have to multiply that feeling by a million or more to capture what Jesus must have felt. The critical moment having passed, the victory over sin and death having been won, He knew full well His trust in the Father had been well placed.  There must have been joy upon joy upon joy!

I thought about how different those holes in His hands must have looked to Jesus then.  Whereas, His wounds had been marks of rejection and evidence of His is adversary’s best effort to kill and destroy, they were now proof that His Father had not abandoned Him. Looking at them, understanding what these wounds had accomplished, Jesus knew His Father was trustworthy, powerful and present.  They were reminders of His Father’s grace, mercy and love, and His willingness to set aside His desire to do the Father’s will.  They told of the lengths to which love will go to rescue, redeem and restore all thing. They were blemishes on His flesh for sure, harsh wounds which spoke of pain and suffering, but they were also beautiful. Jesus was afflicted but not crushed, and because of this fact, the holes in His hands now speak a better word, one of victory, life and freedom. 

I wonder if it will not be the same with the wounds we experience.  While their cause may be horrifically painful and leave permanent marks upon us, if they drive us to turn to the Father in trust, if they enable us to experience His presence and power in ways which are unimaginable with them, if they cause us to know in our deep His mercy, grace and love, might we not find ourselves seeing them as beautiful?  And because they are not simply reminders of the wounding we experienced, but the One we encountered, might we not want to enter into eternity bearing their marks, not to remind us of the pain, but as a testimony to the power of the resurrected life and as an opportunity give glory and honor and praise to the One who heals? 

Meditating on that image, I drifted off to sleep.