Message: Where Joy Begins Again / Isaiah 65: 17-25
The first Scripture reading today comes from the book of Isaiah. This book is usually divided into three parts. Chapters 1 to 39 include the words of the prophet Isaiah, who lived around 700 BCE. Chapters 40 to 55 were written by people who continued Isaiah’s message in a later time. Chapters 56 to 66 come from what we call Third Isaiah, who spoke to the people after they returned from the Babylonian exile. This last section offers hope to people who had seen their nation fall, their temple destroyed, and their sense of identity shaken. Today’s reading is found in this final part of Third Isaiah.
Those who lived through the Babylonian captivity carried deep wounds. They had lost family, friends, and homes during the war, and afterward, they were forced into exile. In Babylon, they were pushed aside, treated unfairly, and looked down on every day. Even when they returned home, they still faced challenges and ongoing conflict with their neighbours. The Babylonian Empire had taken more than their land. It had also destroyed their hearts and spirits.
In his book Holy Resilience: The Bible’s Traumatic Origins (2014), David M. Carr, a professor of Hebrew Bible at Union Theological Seminary in New York, explains that the Bible was shaped by communal trauma such as national destruction, exile, loss, and collapse. He describes trauma as an experience that is so overwhelming we cannot face it directly, yet it continues to shake our hearts and shape our lives.
But trauma does not always end in destruction. Some people find resilience within their pain. Resilience does not mean forgetting or ignoring what happened. It is the courage to create a new story while still carrying the scars.
Carr calls the resilience in the Bible “holy” because it grows out of a relationship with God. The survivors discovered that they were not alone. In the faces of those who refused to give up, they saw God’s presence. The hands they held together became like a rainbow of hope stretched across the edges of their trauma. Because of this, their prayers and stories that were born out of their wounds became signs of holy resilience, a sacred gift that helps hurting people endure, remember, rebuild, and hope again.
Through holy resilience, the people returning from exile began to dream again. They saw God creating a new heaven and a new earth. The years of violence would no longer define them. They endured suffering together. They walked side by side. They became pillars of strength for one another. They sang of new hope as one community.
They did not hide their wounds. They did not try to make them sound less painful. Their wounds became places where real hope began to grow. They longed for a world where ordinary people were not mistreated by those in power. They longed for a nation where their homes, their harvests, and their children were safe. They longed for a land where no life would be cut short by violence or war. They longed for a community where those who are like lambs and oxen could live in peace alongside those who are like wolves and lions.
No one lives without wounds. We cannot measure or compare the pain each of us carries, yet every person bears scars they will never forget. Often, our deepest wounds come from the people closest to us. Betrayal, humiliation, or violence from someone we trusted does not fade easily. Wounds also come from unfair systems and harmful ideas that divide, exclude, and discriminate. These become sharp thorns that pierce the hearts of those who are marginalized.
What matters is how we respond to our wounds. The French poet Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) writes in his poem The Man Who Tortures Himself:
I am the blow and the cheek!
I am the members and the wheel,
Victim and executioner!”
Wounds can become knives. Wounds that are silenced or hidden in darkness do not heal. Instead, they grow, fester, hurt others, and eventually turn back to torment the one who carries them. These knives show themselves in many forms, such as anger, depression, addiction, or self-blame.
On the other hand, wounds can become flowers. In his poem About a Wound, Korean poet Hyo-Geun Bok (1962-) describes a moment when his sister’s childhood scar looked like a small blossom. No flower grows without trembling in the wind. In the same way, when we face our wounds honestly and ask what they have to teach us, they can be transformed. The poet writes:
the more it carries the scent of flowers.
I learned this as I looked at my sister’s old burn.
In the heart of a person from whom fragrance rises,
there is always one big wound.
From a well-ripened wound,
the fragrance of flowers comes.”
Henri Nouwen (1932–1996), one of the most beloved spiritual writers, says, “Every Christian is constantly invited to overcome his neighbor’s fear by entering into it with him, and to find in the fellowship of suffering the way to freedom” (The Wounded Healer, 1972). Nouwen explains that true healing begins when we face our own wounds honestly. To understand the loneliness, fear, and broken relationships around us, we must first acknowledge our own pain before God. Those who hide their wounds cannot truly walk with others. But those who have journeyed through their own pain can walk beside others with compassion and hope.
We are called to be wounded healers, just as Jesus Christ was. The cross was once an instrument of cruel execution, yet Jesus transformed it into a symbol of hope, love, and grace. He climbed onto the cross and was wounded there. By doing so, he showed us that when we suffer, God is not distant. God suffers with us, and the pain does not end there.
About ten years ago, the “Me Too” movement spread across the world. It became a global call for awareness and action against sexual abuse, harassment, and rape culture. The movement offered courage and hope to women who had been harmed by misogyny and sexual violence. For many years throughout history, many women were treated as objects. Despite their deep wounds, they were told to remain silent. When they spoke out, many men blamed them for their suffering, pointing to their behaviour, clothing, tone, or appearance. Their wounds were ignored and left unhealed. Countless women carried pain they did not cause, and some, unable to bear it any longer, took their own lives.
But through the rising voices for justice, their wounds were finally brought into the light. With courage and solidarity, survivors declared that victims were not at fault. They stood together and demanded change. They refused to stay silent and insisted on justice for all. More and more people joined them. With compassionate support, many whose wounds had felt like knives finally found a chance for healing and transformation. Even powerful perpetrators could not stop this growing wave. This is where holy resilience took root. This is where wounds began to bloom like flowers. This is where a new heaven and a new earth began to arise. This is where joy was born again.
We must never take anyone’s wounds lightly. No one can measure the size or depth of others’ pain. We are not trying to justify suffering, nor are we saying that forgiveness and reconciliation are easy. As Christians, we are called to share in the pain of God, who carries the suffering of the world. Wherever there is hurt, God is present. And in that presence, God invites us to be channels of healing and peace, not with judgment, but with hospitality, so that wounded hearts and lives may begin to bloom again.
Where wounds turn into flowers is where joy begins again. We are called to be the church, a sanctuary where wounded souls find hope through holy resilience. Through the voice of Isaiah, God invites us today to become wounded healers.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Rev. Min Hwang
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