The Wounded Healer Stands to Preach
Rhonda Abbott Blevins, Pinnacle Associate
In Father Henri Nouwen’s classic book, The Wounded Healer, he recounts a story he read in the Talmud, an ancient text containing Jewish laws and legends:
Rabbi Yoshua ben Levi came upon Elijah the prophet . . . He asked Elijah, “When will the Messiah come?” Elijah replied, “Go and ask him yourself.” “Where is he?” “Sitting at the gates of the city.” “How shall I know him?” “He is sitting among the poor covered with wounds. The others unbind all their wounds at the same time and then bind them up again. But he unbinds one at a time and binds it up again, saying to himself, ‘Perhaps I shall be needed: if so I must always be ready so as not to delay for a moment.’”[1]
Every Sunday, preachers bind up their wounds and take their place in the pulpit. I’ve never met a preacher who wasn’t broken, wounded, and in need of healing (preachers are human, after all). Preachers are called to speak pastoral words of hope and inspiration to heal the person. We speak prophetic words of justice and transformation to heal the people. If we’re honest, we speak from our woundedness. If we’re not honest, we speak from our woundedness.
Recognizing that all preaching, at some level, is out of woundedness, the question often arises for the preacher, “How vulnerable should I be?” There’s a fine line in preaching when it comes to vulnerability: too far one way and we become stoic and unrelatable, too far the other way we come off as narcissists with boundary issues. Whenever I find myself facing this tension, the words of my seminary preaching professor echo in my mind: “Preach scars, not wounds.” This simple, yet profound advice has proven invaluable for me.
The open “wound” for the preacher could certainly be physical, but more often, it is emotional or spiritual—a disappointment, a betrayal, a mental health crisis.
For example, a preacher might say in a sermon, “I understand what it means to wrestle with depression—I have battled depression in the past.” This is far different than saying, “I am really struggling with depression right now.” The first example names a “scar,” and could open the door to healing for parishioners. The second example names an “open wound.” The attention shifts from the listener’s need to the speaker’s. The preacher is using the preaching moment for personal catharsis.
When a “wounded healer” stands to preach, she must bind her open wounds. He must tend his wounds another time, another way. Admittedly, when it comes to emotional wounds, sometimes it can be hard to know for sure if healing is complete. In those instances, it may be wise to preach the “scar” in the third person—“I know someone who battles depression.” A story like this can be powerful, because it is deeply personal to the preacher. Telling the story in third person ensures the preacher is not soliciting empathy or care from those the pastor is called to shepherd.
When a pastor is going through a difficult time, preaching the “good news” can be a challenge. The rhythm of the preaching life, then and always, goes like this: tend the wound, bind the wound, ignore the wound (while preaching), repeat. And in time, the wound will become a scar that holds a hopeful story—a story some hurting soul will need to hear.
[1] Henri Nouwen, The Wounded Healer, New York: Image Books/Doubleday, 1979, p. 81-82.