Common Wounds, Common Good--November 8, 2022

Common Wounds, Common Good--November 8, 2022

"If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it." [1 Corinthians 12:26]

Look, I'm not gonna lie to you--we deal with a lot of "owwies" in our household.

You know, boo-boos, bumps, bruises, scrapes, rug-burn, road-rash, and a mess of other small injuries. [Yes, I am a part of that high tally of injuries, just due to my own clumsiness, but we do have two elementary-school-aged kids who are always running, jumping, rolling, biking, climbing, and pogo-sticking on things. So that means we have to keep a pretty sizable stock of stick-on bandages--with characters ranging from The Mandalorian to "Forky" from Toy Story to Disney's Frozen--at all times.]

We are also in the phase (my goodness, I hope it is just a phase) where it is tempting for said children to treat these cartoon-covered adhesive bandages as fashion accessories. That means I have to be pretty vigilant with my daughter to make sure that she doesn't put on three or four band-aids all over her body for a single scrape on her knee. And I have to make sure my son doesn't try and go through our whole box opening bandages until he gets a character that is "cool" rather than "baby-ish". This is an ongoing issue we are working on in our house.

But the refrain that I keep telling my kids over and over again, whether it's a skinned-knee or a scratched elbow, is this: the bandage is for the part that is hurting. Makes sense, right? Seems obvious, right? Whatever the means of daddy-administered first aid might be, from Baby Yoda [I know that's not his name--it's Grogu] band-aids to ice packs to just taking a moment to acknolwedge, "I bet that hurts, doesn't it?  I'm so sorry you got hurt," you apply care to the part that's injured, and that makes the whole body feel better soon enough. That's not just a matter of trying not to go broke to pay for bandages, but it's really just basic biology: you don't need to put the bandage on the part that isn't injured, because the bandage isn't meant to be a prize or a fashion accessory, but a help for what hurts.

My kids have to learn that still, but grown-ups should get it: putting a band-aid on the scraped knee isn't meant to be a slight or disrespect to your elbow or your earlobe. It's just that the hurt is on the knee, and so that's where the attention goes for the moment. As long as your earlobe and elbow aren't also bleeding (and if they are, how did THAT happen?), you just need the one bandage, and you put it where the cut is. That's just how we are made.

Paul sees that, too. That's part of why the apostle found the imagery of the human body to be such a handy way of thinking about our life together in community. And the metaphor has a couple of important points to it: first off, we are all connected to each other. To be a Christian is to be in community; it is a contradiction in terms to imagine that you can be a follower of Jesus without being drawn into relationship with others. There may be many in your circle, or just a few; you may relate to them face-to-face, or, as so many of us learned to do during the worst of the pandemic, you may be connected through remote means like phone, letters, or the internet. But we are all inseparably connected to each other.

And as Paul sees it, that means that when one part of the body hurts, we all hurt. Just like in my body--when my daughter comes to me in tears because she's taken a tumble off her scooter, she is usually a hot mess of tears, and it takes a little while to see what part of her body is hurting, because in that moment, it's all hurting. In Christian community, we don't have the option of ignoring someone else's suffering because, "Hey, it's not my fault, and it's not my problem." We belong to each other, and so when someone else tells me they are hurting, I don't get to say, "Well, I'm not in any pain, so you must be fine." Just the opposite--we are called to show up and share the pains of others, because we are all part of something bigger than any one of us individually. And so just because things are feeling fine to me doesn't mean that someone else in the body of which I am a part isn't also suffering.

That's an important learning for me, day by day: you know what? It just isn't all about "me." If I am comfortable and unbothered, good for me--but if someone else tells me they are suffering, I don't get to ignore that because it doesn't affect me directly. And I don't have to make a big deal needing to get attention for myself when someone else gets the attention they need for what they are suffering. The band-aid--Star Wars logo or otherwise--goes on the part that is hurting; the rest of the body doesn't need to be covered in them.

And that leads to the second learning to get from this community-as-body metaphor. When you help the part that is hurting specifically, the whole body starts to feel better. When I have a headache, a couple of ibuprofen will help relieve the pain there... and before long I notice my temper isn't so touchy, and my whole demeanor improves. When you've got a knee or hip that's hurting, you get the help needed for that part of the body, and watch how your posture improves, your energy levels rise, and probably your amount of exercise increase because it won't hurt so much anymore to move the joint.

And it is the same in our life in community, too. In the course of my work, I may go to the hospital to see someone who is sick, and everyone else in the congregation understands that's where I need to spend my time. I don't get messages on the church machine from perfectly healthy folks saying, "I hear you visited Mr. Smith today before his surgery--well, what about me?" People know that you spend the time and energy where the hurt is. And when someone from the congregation makes a pot of soup and brings Tupperware containers of it to the church members who are either alone or not as able to cook for themselves, they don't get berated by other church-folks who are perfectly able to cook their own soup demanding a bowl of beef vegetable, too. This is so obvious that it doesn't need to be explained in ordinary church life, or in your family, or among your neighbors.  We share common wounds, and we seek a common good.  That's just how life is.

So maybe we just need to take a moment to make the connections to other parts of our lives, too. Because other community-as-body connections are everywhere. And the same underlying idea applies: you put the bandage where the hurt is, and that makes the whole body more fully alive. It's obvious in so many places in our everyday lives:  Of course EMTs only go to the addresses of the 911 calls, rather than stopping to check on the neighbors across the street who are doing just fine. Of course the ones who need the shelter for the night are homeless people—the people with king-size beds and stainless steel refrigerators don’t need to stay in a church Sunday School room for the night. And of course firefighters are spending their time at the houses that are on fire—everybody’s house matters, but the ones that are burning are the ones that need the hose and ladder trucks.  And if they are hurting, then that's where the band-aid goes. You put the bandage where the wound is, so that the whole body can be brought fully to life and health again. The uninjured elbow doesn't need it, but the skinned knee does. It's not divisive to only put a band-aid where the cut is--that's exactly how you make the whole body feel well again.  Sometimes we just have a hard time recognizing that we are all made whole by helping the parts that are hurting the most, rather than each one of us fighting for "my share" of the benefits.  

That seems especially important to remember on a day like today, when many are going to polls and voting in mid-term elections.  And look, it's not my job to tell anybody what party or which candidates to vote for.  I will not pretend that I have any sway or influence on anybody but myself anyhow.  And I'll fully admit that I have been constantly disappointed and let down by every candidate I have ever voted for, in both parties, over the years.  I'm not here to rally for a party--but I am convinced that I have to ask a certain set of questions that I think are vital for all of us to ask on this day.  I can't outrun the question brought to us by today's verse from First Corinthians:  Who are the folks who are hurting, and how can I share their sorrows and burdens--even if they are not my own, personally--so that together, we may be made whole and well?  Where are wounds in our collective body, and how can we attend to healing them... so that all may be made well?  Because if all I can ever think of is, "What's in it for me?" or "What gets the most for Me and My Group?" then I am ignoring the unavoidable truth that we are all bound up together in this life, and that we share both common wounds and a common good.  Asking that question doesn't necessarily give me easy, pat answers for who to cast a ballot for, but it does reframe the question away from mere self-interest to a Christ-like way of using my privilege of voting to seek the good of all, rather than just myself.  It does compel me to see that you direct the relief to the parts that need it the most, because we are all one body, and helping attend to the wounded place will make the whole body well again.

If my kids can learn than about actual band-aids, so that they only apply first aid to the parts of their bodies that actually have been injured, maybe I can work on learning to do the same in the rest of my life. Maybe I can start every day looking for who around me in this vast community called the body of Christ is hurting, and even if I'm not affected by the things that are hurting them, maybe I am being called to stand with them... to listen to them and trust what they have to say... and to help apply the bandage where the wound is, so that all of us may be made fully alive.

Maybe then we will discover grace at the places we heal each other, and, like the old Persian poet said, that the wound is where the light enters.

Lord God, open my eyes to the pain of others, even if it is not my own, so that in healing others, we may all be made whole.