Like most boys in the 17th century, little 14 year old Antonio was sent off as an apprentice. After 10 years of work, he was finally able to sell his his wooden creations himself, and from then until his death in 1737, he made violins. You may have heard of them. A violin that Antonio Stradivarius made in 1697 sold at auction in 2010 for $3.6 million dollars.
There are other famous instruments. Think of Louis B. Armstrong’s trumpet, shining under the stage lights. Or Beethoven’s piano, John P. Coltrane’s saxophone, or Yo-Yo Ma’s cello. When you look at those instruments, you can almost hear the beautiful music coming out of them.
What instrument did you picture in your mind? When I think of the worlds’ greatest instruments – the ones precisely and painstakingly formed by a master craftsman to produce the most incredible sounds – I don’t picture Willie Nelson’s guitar…the one with the hole he wore in it. The guitar Willie affectionately named “Trigger” – after Roy Rogers’ horse.
Do you ever feel like you’re Trigger, surrounded by Stradivariuses?
I do. I imagine that’s pretty common, especially among believers. After all, we know where we’ve been. And for many of us, what started off as a beautiful instrument has seen some miles. We’re fallen, and we live in a fallen world – and as the years go by, there’s a lot of hurt. Some injuries are self-induced, others are given to us. Most you can “walk off.” Others heal – but they don’t heal pretty and the scars offer a permanent reminder of particularly painful times.
One of my favorite pictures of Jesus is one hanging in a YMCA in Aurora, Colorado. It’s nothing that will ever hang in a museum. But the Jesus in it isn’t the skinny, blue-eyed “meek and mild” Jesus, either. Instead, the Jesus in that picture looks like a carpenter: broad shoulders, muscular neck – and strong, calloused hands.
Think for a minute about Jesus’ hands. He would have trained to follow the same trade as His father, Joseph. Joseph was a tekton – the town handyman. Of course, in a small rural town in Israel, that would have meant he could make things out of wood, maybe metal or other materials. And he would have been good at fixing things. It shows God’s got a healthy sense of irony, I think, that the promised Messiah – the one who would fix the human race – came disguised as a small-town handyman. The hands that grew up fixing broken chairs, fences, and farm equipment would one day be stretched out on a rough wooden cross, have metal spikes driven through them… and by His death, He would “fix” you and me.
Another significant minor detail: when Jesus was resurrected, He still had the scars from the cross. And oh, what wonderful scars those are! Jesus’ resurrected body had scars on it – and the scars told the incredible story of our redemption.
What story do your scars tell?
After listing off a litany of sins reflective of the broken lives all too common today, Paul tells the Corinthians,
And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God. (1 Cor 6:11)
Paul tells the Ephesians
For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus… (Eph 2:10)
You are God’s workmanship – you are his masterpiece! Christ’s scars tell the story of your redemption, but they tell more than that: they give your scars significance. The scars from life – the results of your sins or others’ – now have the same story to tell. Because you have been redeemed, recreated – resurrected with Christ – your scars are no longer ugly reminders of a past best left in the rearview mirror. Now they offer you a reminder…proof that the Master Craftsman can make even our worst mistakes into something indescribably beautiful and infinitely significant.
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