The Wounded Healer

A poetic exploration of a beautiful image



“Father forgive them”, the victim said,

Though his wounds were grievous unto death.

His mind and body were wracked with pain;

He struggled with each and every breath.

His bodily suffering was extreme,

Yet he held all men in his love;

His purpose firm and steadfast to the end,

Though seemingly abandoned from above.


The hour was dark; he knew his fate.

No heavenly hosts or cavalry,

To charge into that dreadful scene,

And alter such a cruel destiny.

Yet still he found the strength through love,

To pray and bless, to care and plead;

A dear-bought sacrificial death,

To portray to men their vital need.


Through his wounds we all are healed;

His body broken that all could be,

A sacred body, whole and wholesome;

One’d forever in true fraternity.

An example scalp’d in precious blood;

More than example, redeeming act;

To both point and grace-enable,

This God has done: salvific fact.


In the camp of common humanity,

All are wounded, all in need;

Each focussed on their own wounds,

Some are slight, others freely bleed.

The wounded healer sits amongst us,

Wounded yes, but not pre-occupied;

He reaches out with faltering hands,

In faithfulness to his Lord who died.


His wounds restrict his caring reach,

Yet somehow enhance his ministering;

This frail yet loving representative,

Of God’s grace to human suffering.

You and I are called to healing,

To find in our own brokenness,

The depth and empathy that touches,

Deep inside each other’s distress.


How profound are the ways of God!

How high, how wise, beyond our ken?

That He delights to use the wounded,

To mould His hands from – mere men.

Then do not wait for vague tomorrow,

For some such day when you are ‘whole’;

Use your past, your wounds, your self;

Reach out to others, heart and soul!