The Walking Wounded

“Without your wound where would your power be?
The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living.
In love’s service only the wounded soldiers can serve.”
-Thornton Wilder

Now I see why I always cry at the end of Our Town. Thornton Wilder had a grasp on language and the human soul which leaves me flabbergasted. And he’s bringing up something in this quote I’ve thought over for years, and have reluctantly come to believe: my best qualities spring from my worst experiences.

Whatever gifts God may have given you or me are just that – divine distributions; nothing to crow about. And my character? It’s OK, but at best, it’s questionable and flawed. But if you want to taste my good wine, check the spots where my grapes got bitterly and thoroughly crushed. That’s where you’ll find the empathy, the understanding, and the appreciation for human frailty that could only come from wounds. Those are the injuries to the soul, some ancient and some modern, that I don’t like, and that I treasure.

So his question resonates with me: “Without your wound, where would you be?”

Jerked Around, or Just a Jerk?

My guess is, I’d be a total jerk. Those who know me would concede I can be somewhat of a jerk at times, but not nearly as jerky as I’d be without some of the hard knocks I’ve taken.

Because jerks are, to my thinking, clueless above all else. Clueless as to how pompous and shallow they look when they strut; clueless as to how unfunny they are when they think they’re hilarious; clueless as to how brazenly dumb they are when they tell themselves they’re clever. They look in the mirror and see Beauty where the rest of us see the Beast, largely because they’re unable or unwilling to connect, so instead, they collide.

The connection they lack flows when we empathize with, and as a result care about, another person’s experience. We’re aware of our own pain, having genuinely felt it, so when someone else has theirs, we extend ourselves. Deep bonds grow, meaningful experiences are had, and most important, we become more like Him who said, at the start of His earthly ministry, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me — to heal the brokenhearted. (Luke 4:18)

If I have any of that in me – any humility, any tenderness, any ability to connect – it sure didn’t come from a book. Or genes, or a seminar. It was born out of the times I was humiliated, passed over, ridiculed, rejected. The only reason I can say “I’ve been there” to anyone else is because I have, and it wasn’t good. But dear Lord, did it ever turn out to be priceless.

Better Wounded than Wanting

So I’m with Wilder on this one. Only the wounded soldiers get to really step up in love’s service, and that’s where I not only want to be, but where I also want to be qualified. Give me the wine crushed out of a bewildered Joseph begging his brothers not to sell him, or a desolate adulteress cowering in front of a crowd she had no reason to expect mercy from. I’m more akin to those folks than the ones who’ve had it easy, and while I at times envy the more privileged, given the choice of trading my checkered past for their more pristine one, I’d pass.

Because while I’m nowhere near the man I want to be, being broken on the wheels of living has definitely put me on the right path towards becoming that man.

So if you’re a fellow Walking Wounded, I salute you. Sorry for your pain, glad for your gain, and hopeful that all of us will let all things, be they good, bad or ugly, truly work together for good, as God promises they will.