Hast thou no scar?
No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?
I hear thee sung as mighty in the land,
I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star,
Hast thou no scar?
Hast thou no wound?
Yet I was wounded by the archers, spent,
Leaned Me against a tree to die, and rent
by ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned:
Hast thou no wound?
No wound, no scar?
Yet as the Master shall the servant be,
And, pierced are the feet that follow Me;
But thine are whole: can he have followed far
Who has no wound nor scar?
This poem by Amy Carmichael may sound, to the casual Christian, a bit pessimistic. But to the one who has known Jesus in the depth of suffering, who has walked through the valley of the shadow of death clinging to the savior’s hand and found Him faithful there, it is the simplest truth of the Christian walk.
Too often, in our modern, western view of Christianity, we believe- if not in our stated theology then certainly in our heart- that to follow Christ is to have a happy, thriving life. Sure, we may expect trials to come in some sense or another: difficulty at work, in relationships, and with our finances. However, we equally expect that God will solve these problems for us, without too much delay, and we will move happily on with life.
This line of thinking is dangerous, all but assuring that when true trials come we will either walk away from faith completely or at the very least begin to water it down. It is also a tragedy, denying the Christian the true pleasure of knowing what it is to suffer with Christ and suffer well.
It is the Christian way to suffer. Not that we ought to seek it out or glorify it. It is simply a fact. To follow Christ is to suffer. The cross itself is a symbol of death and sacrifice. Jesus came, suffered, and died, and what servant is greater than his master?
In parts of the world, this suffering is obvious. Christians in the darkest places are tortured, raped, murdered, displaced, and reviled. They gather scars at every turn, and by doing so are transformed more and more into the image of Christ.
Yet when we look beyond those dark places, suffering is equally at hand. This world has fallen, this faith of ours is hated by the rulers of this present darkness. How can we expect to live a happy little life, free of suffering? To do so is foolishness. No, we are all but guaranteed to suffer, and to suffer greatly. Whether it’s the heartache of illness and death, broken relationships, fractured dreams, poverty, or loss, we will know at least some of it. Some of us will know it all.
The question is not whether we will suffer, it’s what we will do with that suffering when it inevitably comes. Will we shrink away, disappointed and disillusioned from our Sunday school faith? Or will we allow the trials to press us, to try us, and to turn our faith into gold- unshakable and unbreakable?
Will we collect our scars begrudgingly, hiding them and ashamed that somehow we did not come through this life unscathed (as though such a thing were possible) or will we recognize their beauty, their ability to make us like our beloved savior, and embrace them?
After all, don’t we want to be those who “follow far” our savior on this narrow road? For the persecuted church, these scars are everywhere. They recognize the beauty and don’t bemoan the unfairness of their lot. Whether we find ourselves in the darkest places or beyond, may we too embrace what it is to suffer with Christ, and allow it to see itself through to completion, producing in us the steadfastness and beauty of belonging to Christ, broken and surrendered.
