A key failure of leadership is the inability or unwillingness to recognize and deal with woundedness and loss. The hurry to “do something” or feelings of guilt and responsibility sometimes result in impatience at hearing and touching the woundedness of the church.
This is a mistake, because to move forward will require that people who have wounded and been wounded by each other work together. As well, coming into contact with woundedness can be a means of touching the life and power of Christ and experiencing the reality of his resurrection.
Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here. Look at my hands. Put your hand into my side. No more disbelief. Believe!" (John 20: 27, CEB)
This account in the Gospel of John is visceral. Jesus is asking Thomas to put his hand “in” his wounds. Have you ever been invited to put your hand into another person’s wound? Have you ever, in such a visceral way, been invited to touch the woundedness of another? But this touching of woundedness is a gateway to revelation. It is the gateway to “seeing” the reality of the wounded person as well as the reality of the resurrection. The account in Luke says it most clearly.
"Look at my hands and my feet; It’s really me! Touch me and see." (Luke 24: 39a, CEB)
In this leadership moment, we are being asked to touch the woundedness of Christ’s people to more clearly see each other and the church that Christ calls us to build. For instance, our LGBTQIA+ siblings have been wounded over decades by the exclusive policies of our church. Do we see them? People of color, Indigenous people and women have also been wounded for decades by racism and sexism in the church. Do we see them? We have all been wounded by the divisiveness in the church and by the complicity of silence and of not seeing. Yet, we cannot really see each other or our lived experience unless we are willing to engage with our common woundedness.
Touching the woundedness of the church means returning to living in the woundedness of the marginalized and rediscovering our own humanity through and with them. It means returning to ministry with and for the marginalized. It means seeing our own struggles and trials in this moment as connected with the trials and suffering of marginalized people in our church and in the world.
Recently, while in India leading a workshop on gender equity, Eric was approached by the mother of a 12-year-old girl. The mother had just attended the workshop, the last ten minutes of which the girl happened to catch as she came to meet her mother. The girl requested, through her mother, to speak with Eric, saying, "I think he can help people who are on the verge of suicide." Eric expressed his reservations to the mother, citing his lack of qualifications or expertise. In truth, he was also afraid of coming so close to the raw pain of the divorce the family was going through. After a lengthy exchange, however, they agreed to move forward. Eric tells the story this way:
In our conversation the next day, the girl described in painful, yet extraordinarily self-possessed and honest detail her trials and sufferings. She shared the kinds of things you fear and hope no child would ever go through. However, the conversation was also filled with genuine laughter, joy and a palpable sense of healing.
In a perfectly timed moment of synchronicity, a random passerby, an elderly Indian gentleman, approached. He said he felt compelled to come and say how beautiful the conversation was—he had only seen, not heard, the exchange—and how happy he was to see a young girl in Indian society exude such strength. The girl smiled radiantly. Her mother shared later, "For the first time in years, my daughter fell asleep with a smile, slept soundly the entire night and left for school in the morning with a smile."
Another transformation happened for me in that conversation. By sharing in her suffering, I was able to see her and be seen by her. The power of seeing her, being seen by her and of both of us being seen by the passerby made me realize that I had been withholding myself from my own three children, including my son, who is the same age as the girl. I realized that I had been available to the girl, and her woundedness, in a way that I had not been with my own children. I returned home resolved to no longer hide my vulnerability from my children and to convey through action, not just words, my belief in their intrinsic worth. My relationship with my children has since deepened, a new beginning for which I am ever thankful to the girl and her strength. Both she and her mother continue on their hard path of healing, full of hope and increasingly able to bring their story to others who are in similar pain.
It is almost impossible to imagine the sheer scale of the woundedness of the world—this girl’s and so many like her. Who of us can bear it? Jesus can—the one who symbolically bore it on the cross, then rose from the dead and revealed himself to his disciples by asking them to touch his wounds. Are we ready to connect our woundedness and the woundedness of the world with the universal woundedness of God revealed in the resurrected Christ?
Rev. Kennetha J. Bigham-Tsai is the Chief Connectional Ministries Officer of the Connectional Table.
Eric Martin specializes in leadership development and systems change with Adaptive Change Advisors. His recent work draws on the Adaptive Leadership framework developed by Harvard faculty Drs. Ron Heifetz and Marty Linsky.