Lord Jesus Christ, Heal What Is Wounded—Change Me

Pilgrim Series: Reflections on The Pilgrim Continues His Way
Sixth Meeting

In the Sixth Meeting of The Pilgrim Continues His Way, the Professor, the Pilgrim, and the Skhimnik discuss unceasing prayer as a way of entering more deeply into union with God.

The prayer they describe is not an incantation. It is not merely mumbling the same words repeatedly. It is a living relationship—turning toward God again and again with an open heart.

When I think about unceasing prayer, I remember the words of Jesus: ask, seek, and knock. I also think of the prodigal son turning toward home.

The son did not know how his father would receive him. He carried the guilt of his decisions, the humiliation of his circumstances, and the wounds of everything he had experienced in that distant country. He prepared a speech because he expected judgment. He no longer believed he deserved to be called a son.

Still, he turned toward home.

His father saw him while he was still far down the road. The father did not remain inside, waiting for his son to arrive, explain himself, and clean himself up. He ran to meet him in the condition he was in. He embraced him before the son could finish his carefully prepared confession.

I love that image.

The father did not wait for the son to become presentable before welcoming him home. The embrace came first. Within that embrace, healing and transformation could begin.

We all carry wounds, although many of them cannot be seen. Rejection, abandonment, betrayal, humiliation, and injustice can leave no mark upon the skin while remaining tender within us for years.

I know the sting of such wounds.

I weighed eleven pounds when I was born, and I have been large throughout my life. As a child, I was teased because of my weight. I can still hear the cruel taunt:

“Fatty, fatty, can’t get through the bathroom door.”

During a conference with my mother and me, my third-grade teacher called me a “sissy.” Children may expect teasing from other children, but those words came from a teacher—an adult entrusted with helping me learn and grow.

I remember the sting of people discovering that I was from Mississippi and asking whether we wore shoes when I was growing up. Later, when I sought admission to the University of Missouri–St. Louis, I was told that, because of my educational background, I would probably need remedial classes.

Some wounds are caused by words. Others are created by what never happened.

My parents did not celebrate birthdays or attend the school events where my brothers, sisters, or I were honored. I do not share this to judge them. They carried wounds and limitations of their own, many of which I could not understand as a child.

But a child does not possess that larger perspective. A child simply looks into the audience, hopes to see a familiar face, and feels the empty chair.

I am not bitter or angry about these experiences. They did not destroy me, nor do they define the whole of my life. But I remember their sting. Naming a wound is not the same as condemning the person who caused it. It is simply telling the truth about something that still needs healing.

I have also carried another kind of wound: the guilt and baggage of decisions I made that hurt other people. I cannot honestly speak about the wounds I received without acknowledging the wounds I caused.

There have been times when I needed comfort. There have also been times when I needed repentance. I needed to be healed, but I also needed to be transformed.

Through all of this, God has never left or deserted me.

Like the father in the parable, God did not wait for me to clean myself up before coming to meet me. God met me while I was still carrying my wounds, regrets, failures, and excuses.

God’s embrace did not pretend that nothing needed to change. It assured me that I would not have to change alone.

While reading this conversation between the Professor, the Pilgrim, and the Skhimnik, I realized that unceasing prayer offers a way of healing that I have not always practiced. It is the continual opening of my wounded places to the presence and love of Christ.

Now that I am beginning to practice it, I am discovering that it is truly transforming me.

Each time I pray, “Lord Jesus Christ, heal what is wounded,” I bring Christ both the pain I received and the pain I caused. When I add, “Change me,” I ask for more than relief from painful memories. I ask Christ to change how I see myself, how I remember others, how I respond when I am hurt, and how I treat the people who enter my life today.

I bring the child who was teased.

I bring the boy who looked for a familiar face in the audience.

I bring the young man who was underestimated.

I bring the older man who still carries some regrets.

My loving heavenly Father sees all of me coming down the road and runs to meet me. God does not demand that I heal myself before coming closer. God invites me to come home, admit that I am wounded, and allow divine love to begin its transforming work.

Every time I repeat this prayer, I take another step toward home—not toward a reluctant judge, but toward the Father who already sees me, already loves me, and is already running to meet me.

A Pilgrim’s Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,
heal the wounds caused by rejection,
abandonment, betrayal, humiliation, and injustice.

Heal the wounds I received
and the wounds I caused.

Come near to the child I once was
and the person I am today.

Silence the voices that were used to shame me.
Teach me to see myself through your love.

Forgive what needs to be forgiven.
Restore what can be restored.
Change the patterns within me
that might wound another person.

Do not allow yesterday’s wounds
to determine tomorrow’s relationships.

Change me—not into someone else,
but into the person your love has always seen.

Lord Jesus Christ,
heal what is wounded.
Change me.

Amen.