Our dog Elphie has a significant limp at the moment. She’s an 11-year old black Labrador, and midway through a romp through Frick Park she suddenly stopped, elevated her back left leg, and was clearly not able to put weight on it. We’ve taken her to the vet and it is something that will heal over time; but for now, it’s hard to watch her hobble around the house on three legs. (Don’t worry too much about her. She eats, sleeps and still occasionally tries to chase squirrels using only three legs!) As an older dog, Elphie regularly came home from long walks feeling a bit achy and anxious for a long nap. Seeing her limp now only reminds me of her age and that, try as she might, she simply can’t do everything you used to do in her puppy days.
Limping through life is not a condition limited to older household pets. There are times when all of us feel under the weather, or when many of us hobble around due to arthritis, bad joints, and neuropathy. But limping is not restricted to physical ailments. There are emotional “limps” caused by grief and loss, by anxiety and depression, by hidden secrets and broken hearts. Just as there is the famous bible story of Jacob wrestling with an angel (Genesis 32) that ends with Jacob limping from a damaged hip, there are other bible stories with more metaphorical “limps,” such as the grief and despair afflicting the disciples hiding in the Upper Room after Jesus’ crucifixion.
The church (like the world at large) is full of people who limp. It might not be obvious when we see folks come walking down the aisle, but almost everyone in the pews is carrying some sort of burden, worry or pain. It is possible to diminish these limps by “counting one’s blessings” and handing our cares to the Lord in prayer. But it is just as important not to pretend that everyone in church is free of scars or limps. For it is only by allowing our faith life to honestly acknowledge both the joys and the sorrows we carry within us that we can live into our calling as followers of Jesus Christ—our crucified, scarred, yet resurrected Savior.
Why is this so important? Too often some people believe that their limps bar them from Christian fellowship. Too often some people tell themselves that their life situation and personal pain are marks of disfavor either from God or God’s people. Yet it is in naming our own scars and revealing our own limps that we can boldly testify to the ways God has brought hope to us—a hope that sustains us on the bad days and gives us peace and joy on the good days. The Christian writer Henri Nouwen called this perspective being a “wounded healer.” That is a role all of us can fill, since we’ve all had times of woundedness and yet also had moments of grace and Easter hope that have been stronger than our pain.
Our limping dog reminds me that I can limp too when I must. The Lord of dogs and Presbyterians works wonders of healing every day, as tendons strengthen and aches eventually recede. I’m grateful that a beloved pet can be a sign of God’s promise to be with us always, particularly when the joints are stiff and the journey seems hard.