I spent most of a day at a place called the American Hip Institute. When I arrived it was evident that it’s not a haven for cool hipsters. There was no coffee bar or vinyl records. Instead, it’s a place where worn-out hips are repaired, and mobility is restored.
My wife is having her hip replaced. We were there for her day-long, multiple pre-op appointments. As I dropped her off at the door and circled the packed parking lot, I noticed something. It took me by surprise!
Every car. Every single car had at least one person making their way to the front door, supported by a cane, a walker, or a friend who aided them as they limped inside. The entire lot was a parade of limping people. I thought, this entire parking lot should be handicapped. Every single space.
Some had to park far away and limped in from over a hundred feet away. It looked like a scene from a zombie apocalypse movie.
I finally found a spot and went inside to find my wife. I shared the elevator ride to the third floor with three patients, each one walked with a limp. I held the door, letting them limp out ahead of me into the front door of the office foyer.
As we walked, I heard the background music playing through the intercom. The song lyrics were “Shake that body for me. You gotta move it.” I noticed my elevator companions were literally limping to the beat as they entered the lobby. After I found my wife in the waiting room and sat next to her, I heard the very next song on the office playlist, ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.”
I laughed out loud and looked at my wife. I asked, “Is this some kind of subliminal, positive-thinking therapy? Let’s get these people moving! What a perfect place for people with a limp to be,” I told her. “This is exactly where they need to be.”
And then it hit me. What I was seeing in that waiting room is exactly what the church is meant to be—a gathering of the walking wounded.
We are all walking wounded at times. Some of us have a sling, a cane, or a walker—visible signs of our need. But so many more of us carry trauma, pain, grief, and scarring that nobody can see. We limp through life emotionally and spiritually. We hide our aches behind a smile, our struggles behind our busyness.
What could happen if we all kept an appointment with the great physician?
The beauty of the gospel is that you don’t have to be perfect to belong to the Kingdom of God. In fact, you have to be honest about your limp.
The church was never meant to be a museum for saints but a hospital for sinners. The number one need we all share is the sin problem. None of us can limp into Heaven. We first need to be totally healed from our sins through receiving the treatment of God’s love. Jesus handled that completely for us on the cross.
It is better to have a friend to help bring you to the cross. This is why we need each other. Sometimes we are the friend helping someone else limp their way to receive the healing touch.
- “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2).
At other times, we are the ones who need to be honest about our wounds. We become dependent upon others to help us find our healing in the presence of the grace, power, and healing found in Christ.
- “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed” (James 5:16).
Ideally, in the community of the church, we learn to deal with our mutual messiness.
When you take the faith journey with another, you step into their pain. You will hear their confessions, and they will hear yours. It’s in this sacred, uncomfortable space of mutual dependency that healing begins.
Keep your eyes open. Notice the people in your life not for their spiritual perfection, but for their imperfect limp. Some will be obvious, others will be hidden. And have the courage to let them see yours.
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