By Frank Fricke

(A sermon preached at our home church, East Doncaster Baptist in Melbourne, a couple of Sundays ago).

This morning I ¢â‚¬â„¢d like to try something a little different, right here at the start of the sermon I ¢â‚¬â„¢d like to ask Philip to play us a song that I have given him. So let ¢â‚¬â„¢s listen to it now.

( ¢â‚¬Å“Broken Fingers ¢â‚¬  played  ¢â‚¬“ takes about 4minutes 40 seconds fade out at 3min 25sec)

Now that ¢â‚¬â„¢s a song called  ¢â‚¬Å“Broken Fingers ¢â‚¬  sung by a man called Sam Baker.

Initially, you might say it ¢â‚¬â„¢s not much of a song and he ¢â‚¬â„¢s not much of a singer, but let me tell you the Sam Baker story.

Sam Baker sits in a Mexican restaurant in Austin, Texas, deep in thought. In profile, he has weathered good looks, high cheekbones, gray-streaked, shoulder-length hair, and most of all deep-set, penetrating eyes. But he ¢â‚¬â„¢s not seated sideways for effect or image; it ¢â‚¬â„¢s so that he can hear.

In 1986, at age 32, Baker was traveling in Peru when, as he says,  ¢â‚¬Å“I got in the middle of somebody else ¢â‚¬â„¢s war. ¢â‚¬  A terrorist bomb (the Sendero Luminoso or  ¢â‚¬Å“Shining Path ¢â‚¬  Maoist group) blew up the train he and some friends were riding on. Several passengers died, including a German boy and his parents, who were sitting next to Baker. Though he nearly bled to death, Sam survived but suffered an enormous amount of injuries and after effects ¢â‚¬”shrapnel in his leg, renal failure, brain damage, even gangrene.

 ¢â‚¬Å“Right now, the loudest thing I hear is the ringing in my head, ¢â‚¬  he says of the Tinnitus, which will never go away. The other obvious reminder of the blast is his left hand, the fingers of which are permanently scrunched and twisted. Fortunately, he has enough dexterity to grip a pick ¢â‚¬”after re-learning to play guitar left-handed (fretting with the less-injured right hand) ¢â‚¬”so that he can sing and play some of the most vivid, compelling, truly original songs that you could hear.

The brain damage he initially suffered affected mainly the part of the brain where words are stored. Which is ironic, since it ¢â‚¬â„¢s the stories and images he paints with words that brought him acclaim. He describes his recovery as  ¢â‚¬Å“a climb up a steep embankment ¢â‚¬   ¢â‚¬” including numerous surgeries, learning how to walk and talk, and getting parts of his memory back. He pauses and adds,  ¢â‚¬Å“It was an interesting time. Very introspective. The only thing that came in loud enough to really get through that haze or fog or internal trauma I was dealing with was the raw suffering of others. ¢â‚¬ 

As for words, still,  ¢â‚¬Å“I have to find them; they don ¢â‚¬â„¢t just come. I have to go out and pick them. I ¢â‚¬â„¢m more like a worker in an . . . orchard. I had to go find that word  ¢â‚¬Ëœorchard. ¢â‚¬â„¢ Words certainly don ¢â‚¬â„¢t fly out of the sky and land on my table. ¢â‚¬ 

Just as that searching influences the way he writes, it distinguishes Baker ¢â‚¬â„¢s vocal delivery.  ¢â‚¬Å“I think I have to collect the words, a lot of times. I have to go get them, and then hold them, and then put them out, and then go get some more. I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t think there ¢â‚¬â„¢s a steady stream coming in; I have to gather them up.

 ¢â‚¬Å“I write it the way I sing it, ¢â‚¬  he states.  ¢â‚¬Å“I never thought of that as something different or an oddity, but that ¢â‚¬â„¢s the way I hear it ¢â‚¬”in that truncated way. ¢â‚¬ 

Of all of his songs  ¢â‚¬Å“Broken Fingers ¢â‚¬  is perhaps the most autobiographical (a  ¢â‚¬Å“near tangent, ¢â‚¬  he calls it) and most powerful.  ¢â‚¬Å“It ¢â‚¬â„¢s a reminder, I think. You know, the living owe the dead so much. Mostly everything I walk upon or live by, a great community has provided. Specifically, it ¢â‚¬â„¢s about the boy who died next to me so horrifically. It ¢â‚¬â„¢s a reminder that the community that I live in and you live in, it ¢â‚¬â„¢s pretty broad. It includes all our family, friends, and people who ¢â‚¬â„¢ve come before and have done so much and, for whatever reason ¢â‚¬”generosity, goodwill, charity ¢â‚¬”have left so much that makes our lives so much easier. That ¢â‚¬â„¢s one of the things I take from that song, but specifically it ¢â‚¬â„¢s about the boy. ¢â‚¬ 

Forget his eyes,

His silhouette?

Of course I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t,

Of course I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t forget.

There are blue eyes,

A silhouette;

There is a debt,

A debt

For somebody who ¢â‚¬â„¢s gone through the pain and trauma he ¢â‚¬â„¢s gone through, Sam Baker has an amazingly positive outlook on life, as though everything ¢â‚¬â„¢s a gift at this point.  ¢â‚¬Å“Everything is a gift at this point, ¢â‚¬  he declares.  ¢â‚¬Å“But, see, it ¢â‚¬â„¢s a gift for you at this point. It ¢â‚¬â„¢s not just me; it ¢â‚¬â„¢s everybody in this restaurant. I went through the anger and the bitterness ¢â‚¬”deeply. But that energy didn ¢â‚¬â„¢t get me anywhere. It ¢â‚¬â„¢s toxic. And ultimately, I did come to a point where these days are beautiful. Because they are so short and so quick to pass. And that ¢â‚¬â„¢s all we ¢â‚¬â„¢ve got ¢â‚¬”no matter what we hold in our hands, drive around in, put in the bank, or shower ourselves with.

 ¢â‚¬Å“All we ¢â‚¬â„¢ve got is this one breath, ¢â‚¬  he concludes.  ¢â‚¬Å“And then, if we ¢â‚¬â„¢re lucky, we have the next breath. ¢â‚¬ 

Let ¢â‚¬â„¢s listen to the words of that song again

How long?

How long ago?

It ¢â‚¬â„¢s sixteen years

Every day.  ¢â‚¬Ëœcourse I know

 ¢â‚¬Ëœcourse I know.

Forget his face

 ¢â‚¬Ëœcourse I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t

It ¢â‚¬â„¢s like a chrystal vase

These broken fingers

Some things don ¢â‚¬â„¢t heal

I can ¢â‚¬â„¢t wake up from a dream

When the dream is real

These broken fingers

Forget his eyes

His silhouette

Of course I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t Of course I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t forget

There are blue eyes

A silhouette

There is a debt

It ¢â‚¬â„¢s a debt I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t forget

These broken fingers

Some things don ¢â‚¬â„¢t heal

I can ¢â‚¬â„¢t wake up from a dream

When the dream is real

These broken fingers

Those words get to me, there are so many of us who seem to have wounds that won ¢â‚¬â„¢t heal.

Tucked away in scripture is a verse containing a lot of emotion

From the city men groan

And the souls of the wounded cry out ¢â‚¬ ¦..(Job 24:12)

The scene is a busy metropolis. Speed. Movement. Noise. Rows of buildings. Miles of apartments, houses, restaurants, stores, schools, cars, bikes, kids. All that is obvious, easily seen and heard by the city dweller.

But, there is more. Behind and beneath the loud splash of human activity there are invisible aches. Job calls them  ¢â‚¬Å“groans. ¢â‚¬  That is a good word. The Hebrew term enlarges it as it suggests that this groan comes from one who has been wounded. Perhaps that ¢â‚¬â„¢s the reason Job adds the next line in poetic form.  ¢â‚¬Å“the souls of the wounded cry out. ¢â‚¬  In that line wounded comes from a term that means  ¢â‚¬Å“pierced. ¢â‚¬  But he is not referring to a physical stabbing, for it is  ¢â‚¬Å“the soul ¢â‚¬  that is crying out.

Job is speaking of those whose hearts have been broken ¢â‚¬ ¦those who suffer from the blows of  ¢â‚¬Å“soul stabbing, ¢â‚¬  which can be far more bloody and painful than  ¢â‚¬Å“body stabbing. ¢â‚¬  The city is full of such ¢â‚¬ ¦ the wounded, bruised, and broken, crying out in groans from the heart.

That describes some of us, I am certain. You may be  ¢â‚¬Å“groaning ¢â‚¬  because you have been misunderstood or treated unfairly. The wound is deep because the blow came from one whom you trusted and respected. It ¢â‚¬â„¢s possible that hurt was brought on by the stabbing of someone ¢â‚¬â„¢s tongue. They are saying things that simply are not true, but to step in and set the record straight would be unwise or inappropriate. So you stay quiet ¢â‚¬ ¦and bleed. Perhaps a comment was made only in passing, but it pierced you deeply.

Others are living with the memories of past sins or failures. Although you have confessed and forsaken those ugly, bitter days, the wound stays red and tender. You wonder if it will ever heal. Although it is unknown to others, you live in the fear of being found out ¢â‚¬ ¦ ¢â‚¬ ¦and rejected.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of every life are wounds and scars. If they were not there, we would need no Physician. Nor would we need one another.

Sometimes these wounds and scars can bring pain and that pain is deep and it just won ¢â‚¬â„¢t go away. It is also uniquely yours because it is linked to your earlier life experiences.

Your call is to bring that pain home. As long as your wounded part remains foreign to your adult self, your pain will injure you as well as others. Yes, you have to incorporate your pain into yourself and let it bear fruit in your heart and the hearts of others.

This is what Jesus means when he asks you to take up your cross. He encourages you to recognize and embrace your unique suffering and to trust your way to salvation lies therein. Taking up your cross means first of all befriending your wounds and letting them reveal to you your own truth.

There is great pain and suffering in the world but the pain hardest to bear is your own. Once you have taken up that cross you will be able to see clearly the crosses that others have to bear and reveal to them their own ways to joy peace and freedom.

I ¢â‚¬â„¢ve heard it said that these experiences that wound and scar are like being pruned so we can take on a different direction in life or use these experiences to find a new shape to our life.

Pruning always worries me. It seems such a violent traumatic process. Take a living shoot in one hand, pruning shears in the other, and cut. It ¢â‚¬â„¢s an amputation. It often has to be done drastically, cutting out a whole shoot from one plant, or reducing the whole plant to a fraction of its height. And when you ¢â‚¬â„¢ve finished the plant looks injured.

But wait a bit. Sun, rain, and time bring their reward. Where a single scarred stem remained, two are shooting out. Or the whole plant is a better shape, gives more blossom and fruit, or makes a thicker hedge.

Nature is forgiving. It has the energy, the inner compulsion and ability to heal the cut. Moving to another area of the living world, the poet William Blake suggests that,  ¢â‚¬Å“the cut worm forgives the plough. ¢â‚¬  What seems an end is a beginning. New life springs from the wounds. Fruit is more plentiful after the pruning.

It would be easy to be glib, and say that suffering is a pruning, and that the pain is worthwhile because of its fruits. I can ¢â‚¬â„¢t go that far. Suffering ¢â‚¬â„¢s a mystery to me. And if it isn ¢â‚¬â„¢t to you then maybe you don ¢â‚¬â„¢t understand that you don ¢â‚¬â„¢t understand. Suffering can work wonders, strengthen character, bring fruit; but it doesn ¢â‚¬â„¢t always. It can damage and break too. It can cripple emotionally as well as physically.

Perhaps the clue is in our being branches of the vine, which is Christ. Secure in him the pruning is positive. It still hurts, we still feel like screaming, but we know he ¢â‚¬â„¢s there, and that he has gone through the same process himself. Maybe we need to remember that the cross began as a tree.

Life ¢â‚¬â„¢s joy stealers are many and I always take a great deal of comfort from something I picked up from Philip Yancey but have altered to my own liking

There is nothing I can do or have done that will make God love me less

There is nothing I can do or have done that will make God love me more

So come to this communion table not that you have a right to come but that you are responding to Christ ¢â‚¬â„¢s invitation. Come because you love the Lord and seek to love him more. Come because in our journey through life we would seek his presence with us always Amen

Let ¢â‚¬â„¢s join in singing hymn 437  ¢â‚¬“ I come with joy to meet my Lord