The bumps and bruises I've experienced have become part of who I am. However ugly or painful they may be, they can be redeemed and even used by God. He wants to comfort me in the midst of them and then use me to comfort others.— Karen Ehman
Jesus kept His scars. They prove He was victorious; you can be too! His scars remind you that every time you doubt, fear, hurt—you can be healed! God brings beauty from ashes when we allow Him to use what we have been through for His glory.— Linda Barrick
From the moment Jesus appeared to His disciples after the resurrection, He carried the marks of nails and spear. He could have revealed Himself spotless, yet He allowed them to see and touch those wounds as proof of His suffering and victory. Thomas, the one they called “the Twin”, refused to believe until he felt those scars himself.
When Jesus said, “Stop doubting and believe,” He was not shaming Thomas but demonstrating that those wounds were far more than souvenirs of pain; they were living evidence that death had no claim on Him (John 20:24–27). In keeping His scars, Jesus gave every generation a tangible reminder of what He endured and accomplished.
Physiologically, a scar forms when damaged tissue heals. Collagen fibers build a bridge over a wound, yet they differ from the surrounding skin, leaving a visible mark. Whether flat or raised, sunken or tight, each scar proclaims: a wound once existed, and it is now healed.
Spiritually, scars function much the same way. They remind us of past hurts: betrayal, loss, sin. Yet they also announce that healing has taken place. In our lives, scars can be tender to the touch, or they can fade over time. But regardless of their appearance, they stand as testimonies: “I was wounded, and by God’s grace, I am healed.”
I know this truth personally. As a child, I still remember the moment a friend heated a knife over a fire and pressed it against my back without warning. The searing pain cut through my shirt, and I screamed as the flesh closed over days later. Although the burn itself healed, the scar remained. Every time I touched it, I was transported back to betrayal, fear, and helplessness.
Yet even as the physical mark remained, I faced a choice: cling to anger, or offer forgiveness. When I chose to forgive, the emotional sting began to fade. Today, more than twenty-five years later, that scar no longer evokes anger or fear. Instead, it reminds me of how God’s redemption can transform deep wounds into stories of grace.
History itself bears scars too. When we remember survivors of war, we picture maimed limbs, haunted minds, and souls burdened by unspeakable pain. Walking through former Nazi concentration camps, you feel the weight of humanity’s worst atrocities etched into every guard tower and barrack. Those ruins never fully heal; they stand as monuments to suffering and as warnings against repeating such horrors. No matter how much time passes, some scars never disappear, but they can serve as solemn reminders of what was endured.
Over these past weeks, we have explored forgiveness, walking in the light, confession, and cleansing through fellowship. Each of these themes addresses how to respond to sin and brokenness. Yet for many, there is another barrier that fights our ability to forgive, to be cleansed, and to walk in light: the scars, visible or hidden, that cling to our past. We expect life to be a beautiful story, but reality often writes scars instead.
Some have suffered molestation or abuse and feel too ashamed to speak. Others bear guilt from past sins like adultery that they cannot escape. Many have lost loved ones or self-respect over choices they regret. Even those who grew up “in church” carry scars: wounds of harsh judgment, unmet expectations, or spiritual wounds too deep for words. No one is exempt.
Yet does being forgiven erase the scar, or does it transform its meaning? In John 20, Thomas’s demand to see and touch Christ’s wounds highlights our own need for proof: “Unless I place my finger…” he said. But Jesus does not scorn him. Instead, He meets him where he is, inviting Thomas to touch the nail marks. In doing so, He shows us two things: God meets us in our doubt, and scars are credentials of grace. Without those wounds, Thomas would still doubt; without acknowledging our scars, we risk living under condemnation instead of resting in grace.
God’s mercy is boundless and unending. It reaches into the darkest corners of our lives, offering forgiveness and hope. No matter how far we have strayed, His mercy calls us back. That mercy does not erase memory; it redeems it. The enemy wants us to run from our past, to hide or deny it. Yet God’s plan is neither memory erasure nor denial; it is memory redemption. Your scar does not disqualify you. On the contrary, your scar can become precisely what encourages someone else; the proof that God’s grace truly can heal.
Paul warns of a “seared conscience,” one that suppresses conviction and clings to shame. We hear voices, often our own, that proclaim, “You don’t know what I have done,” as if God’s mercy cannot reach us. Yet when Christ invites us to touch His scars, our conscience awakens. We see our sin laid bare, and in that revelation we find forgiveness. That same grace that forgave our sins can silence every condemning voice.
Too many allow their scars to define them, believing they are failures, unworthy or irredeemable. But when we place our identity in Christ, everything changes. We are chosen, loved, and accepted. Our worth is not measured by past mistakes but by the price He paid.
Even if our scars remain visible, they no longer hold the final word over who we are. Step by step, in progressive sanctification, we become more like Christ. Though scars may linger, His transformative power reshapes us from the inside out. We stand as new creations, redeemed, forgiven, and free.
Hebrews reminds us that “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness” (Hebrews 9:22). The blood of Christ is the ultimate price for sin. When we look upon His wounds, we see how vast was His love, enduring nails, spear, thorns, and mocking. We recognise how deep our need was, that only the spotless Lamb could atone for us. We grasp how personal His sacrifice was. He bore our guilt, shame, and punishment so we might stand righteous before the Father. Every scar on His body testifies to the victory He secured for us.
Consider the life of Gomer, Hosea’s wife, who bore scars of brokenness and infidelity. Her name means “completion,” yet her life felt anything but complete. God pursued her relentlessly, redeeming her and displaying His steadfast love to Israel. Through her scars, God taught His people how far He would go to restore a wayward heart. Just as Gomer’s scars became part of God’s narrative of redemption, so can ours.
Our journey does not end with scars. We are called to finish strong, to run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1–2). Though our past may have shaped us, it does not dictate our future. As we embrace God’s mercy, walk in forgiveness, and live with renewed identity, we press on. Hold fast to hope: scars do not define us, God’s promises do. Walk in forgiveness, extending grace to yourself and others. Let your scars serve as testimony; when someone asks, “Why do you bear these wounds?” let your answer be, “To remind me, and everyone I meet, that God’s redeeming power is real.”
The genealogy of Jesus reveals a tapestry of scars woven into His lineage: Tamar, whose story involved incest-related scandal; Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute; Ruth, a Moabite widow; Bathsheba, whose adulterous union brought tragedy; and Mary, pregnant before marriage. Each woman carried a scar, marked by shame, rejection, or scandal, yet God used their stories to shape the Messiah. Their scars became part of His legacy of grace. He bore every pain, every sin, every failure, so that we might live free.
We who follow Him are engrafted into that same story. Our scars, whether from abuse, betrayal, regret, or loss, are not curses but testimonies. They unite us with a body of believers who have known suffering yet have been healed in Christ. Our scars remind us and others of the marvellous redemption God is writing through us.
Today, your scar can become a powerful testimony of God’s grace. You do not need to hide it in shame. When you feel tempted to say, “You don’t know what I have done,” remember Thomas’s encounter: Jesus stood among His wounded friends, said “Peace,” and showed them the scars that secured their salvation. If your eyes are clouded by memory, let Christ’s wounds bring clarity. If your heart is heavy with remorse, let His scars bring forgiveness. If your identity feels broken, let His identity become yours.
Your scar is not the end of your story. It is the proof that He has healed you and that what lies ahead is far greater than what lies behind. May you, like Thomas, see those wounds and believe; may you, like Gomer, be pursued by grace; may you finish strong, knowing that in Christ, your scars become part of a forever story of redemption.