I am not like Thomas...

I am not like Thomas, wounds I cannot see,
But I plainly call thee Lord and God as he:
Let me to a deeper faith each day nearer move,
Daily make me harder hope and dearer love.

~ From the hymn, Godhead here in hiding (Adoro te devote)

I am not like Thomas, today's saint; not because I cannot see Christ's wounds, but because I can, daily... and because I do not need to ask to see them; to touch and enter into them. I see Christ's wounds in the wounds of our bruised and broken world. I see them every time I watch the news, or scroll through my social media... in the bodies of children torn apart and starved by war... in the desperation of people seeking sanctuary... in human trafficking and exclusion, indignity, fear and vulnerability... in the wanton destruction of our beautiful common home... 

You too, who are reading this, are most probably also not like Thomas; most probably witness to a multitude of wounds, which you are called to touch with tenderness, to tend and heal. 

I saw Christ's wounds, touched them, felt them, each time I visited the recent LOUDfence in Westminster Cathedral: each time I sat and prayed in this space filled with trauma and pain and deep, deep sadness, as well as signs of healing and hope. Then, as so many other times, I enter into Jesus' pierced and wounded Heart, whenever I come to him, bringing all my own pain, my wordless questions and frailties, as well as the pain and wounds and fragility of our world, of the people I encounter, and those for whom I promise to pray. 

My own wounds are, of course, always before me, though often hidden deep within. They, and their layers of pain and healing, are an indelible part of me; part of my history, and of who and how I am now. And of course, I see his wounds each time I look at an icon or statue of the Sacred Heart. Check out the Sacred Heart's hands, I said last month to the faith sharing group with whom I reflected on the Heart of Jesus... because when we gaze on these images we're gazing on the Risen Jesus, who, in all his sin-conquering glory, chose to keep these now indelible reminders of his unlimited, self-giving love... and of our redemption and restoration. As our Easter Vigil liturgy says, By his holy and glorious wounds, may Christ our Lord guard us and keep us... And by these same wounds, now glorious, may he also heal and transform all of ours. 

No, I am not like Thomas, but with him I can pray 

Let me to a deeper faith each day nearer move, 
Daily make me harder hope and dearer love...

And you: where do you see, touch, enter into the wounds of the Crucified and Risen Jesus?