The Story Behind the Scars
As big and tough as Barnabas is, he has the most delicate skin I’ve ever seen. It’s even more sensitive than mine! If he gets scratched, scraped, or bitten by a bug, the mark is noticeable for weeks after, and, if not treated properly, will eventually scar. He already had some ugly scars when we rescued him from the animal shelter, particularly the two deep gouges on either side of his neck, but I am horrified by the idea of him having scars while being under our care. The problem is, Barnabas is a happy-go-lucky, run-wide-open boy. He’ll crawl over, under, and through just about anything. And when it comes to hiking, he doesn’t give heed to briars or sticks; he crashes through them.
After one of his last forays which left scratch marks all over his belly, I applied his special salve while telling him how I felt about the situation. “You can’t keep doing this. It will leave scars.” At that point, Jason—who was holding Barnabas still so I could apply the medicine—spoke up on the dog’s behalf, “Oh, come on, Mom. Chicks dig scars!”
Well, Jason would know. He has so many scars I can’t even count them all. There are a few from his head-on collision with a dump-truck about a month before we met. There are a couple from the time he slid down the alpine slide without the cart. Oh, and there’s the one between his eyes where he ran into the pool ladder while swimming over at my sister’s house. That’s just scratching the surface (no pun intended) of the scars he’s gained over his lifetime of manual labor, boy recklessness, and general clumsiness (sorry, darling). But, despite the scars, I love him anyway. I don’t know that I would necessarily say I “dig the scars,” but they’re a part of him, and each one tells a story.
That’s the thing about scars. They tell a story, often of a lesson learned. For example, the scar on my lip reminds me to not run near the coffee table. And the scar on my arm reminds me to be VERY careful when putting wood in the wood stove because the metal opening will burn the hair (and skin) off. Scars often remind us of times we acted impulsively or without caution. They tell stories of danger and survival, fear and courage in the face of it, and so much more. Though I don’t know the story behind the deep scars on Barnabas’ neck, it helps me understand why he balks at anyone but Jason and me trying to put something around his neck. When I see those deep gouges, my heart aches for what my poor pup had to go through before finding his rightful home with us.
Imagine how the disciples must have felt that night in the upper room when Jesus entered and showed them His scars. What a story behind those scars! The story of the God-man who suffered and died for the entire world. The tale of One who died yet lived again to tell the tale. The account of the Son of God who marched through the gates of hell and set the captives free. A story of love. Of sacrifice. Of grace.
“Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you. And when he had so said, he shewed unto them his hands and his side. Then were the disciples glad, when they saw the Lord. ”
(Before I go any further, let me point out that I am aware “scars” is not the most accurate term because blood is required to create a scar, and Jesus presented His blood on the mercy seat in Heaven. I’m using poetic license here by using the term “scar,” so please bear with me, okay?)
If my heart aches to see the scars of Barnabas—injuries that happened before I knew him, wounds I have no responsibility for—then how must the disciples’ hearts have ached to bear witness to the scars which were a result of their sin (and ours, of course)? Did it pain them to know they were responsible, in part, for what happened to Jesus? Were they overcome with love for the Savior who was willing to pay such an awful cost? Are we?
While we haven’t seen the scars, we know the story behind them. As the old gospel song states, “It’s all in black and white, and it’s covered in red.” It’s written clearly in the Bible for all to see. The greatest love story ever told, yet sometimes we treat it like old news. We sin willingly without ever thinking about the price of that sin. We take for granted what Jesus endured that bittersweet day on Calvary.
Oh, dear friends, may we never get over the cross. May we never forget what Jesus did for us in bearing the weight of the sin of the world. I know that my sin today does not cause any new scars for Jesus, but in my mind, it helps me to think about it the same way I feel about Barnabas. Not on my watch! Yes, Jesus died for all my sins—past, present, and future, but if I remind myself that every sin is contributing to the scars of Christ, I pause and reconsider. Is it worth it? Am I willing to sin knowing what it cost my Lord?
I can’t keep Barnabas from crashing through the forest, but I can keep myself from falling into sin. And so can you. It’s a matter of choice. That’s not to say it’s easy, but it is possible. And it all begins by remembering the story behind the scars. Regarding Jesus’ scars, they do not serve as a reminder of a lesson He learned but a lesson we are learning. His scars prove just how much He loves us! And like all good stories, for those of us who are saved, we will live happily ever after!
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