The first time I picked up a scalpel, I was fourteen years old and standing over some poor dead creature in the biology lab at my high school. It was a frog, I think. I had quite the enthusiastic anatomy and physiology teacher. We moved from frogs to sharks, then squid and cats. (Yes, cats.) My memories of high school are pungent with the odor of formaldehyde.
I remember the weight of the scalpel in my hand. This is what surgeons use, I thought. You can hurt and heal.
About a decade later, I found myself recovering from just such a surgeon’s scalpel. I have a three-inch scar on my abdomen from the day a tumor was removed along with my right ovary. Though benign, the tumor was growing rapidly and making it difficult to do normal things like eat, sleep, button my clothing, stand up, sit down. It caused a tremendous gripping pain that took my breath and made speaking a near impossibility. The scalpel’s slice took a while to heal; the surgeon had to cut deep to get to the mass. All these years later, I can still see the scalpel’s mark and the slight puckering around the scar. Internally, I’m missing an organ. The surgery changed me—a deep cut that hurt afterwards, but one that brought much healing to my body.
Last week the scalpel struck again. This time it in the form of Scripture. I’d been studying Matthew 23 and was due for a discussion of the text with my small Bible study group. On the one hand, I looked forward to our weekly meeting at the coffee shop to discuss what we’d learned. But on the other hand, I struggled with Jesus’s harsh words to the scribes and Pharisees. Hypocrites, white-washed tombs, dirty dishes, sons of hell, heartless rule-followers who neglected mercy and faithfulness. Mostly, I felt like Jesus was talking directly to me. The cut was deep, separating joint and marrow, soul and spirit. Look at your sin until you really see it. Do you love the way you look holy to others? Does that make you feel good before God who knows what’s inside the cup, inside the grave, inside the darkness of your heart?
I told my friends, Jesus’s words hurt all the way down. But really, He was giving the Pharisees a gift, and us by extension. See your sin. Look at it until you really see it. It’s hard to recover from that kind of awareness. Now, here’s what to do with it: repent. Look at Jesus until you see Him. Look at Him all the way down. His blood will cover your failing attempts at self-salvation. Stop trying to earn what Jesus has purchased for you with His own blood. And go and sin no more.
Surgeons only pick up the scalpel to heal. That’s the purpose of the scalpel—restored health. But it must begin with a wound, a cut, a slice down deep to remove what’s diseased or mend what’s broken. Scripture is like that, too, sometimes. A scalpel to our hearts, revealing the sinful, diseased parts of us that must be addressed for spiritual growth to occur. I think that’s why we shy away from our Bibles sometimes—because we know it’s going to hurt. We know it’s going to cost us something. We know we can’t continue dabbling in sin. We can’t open the Bible, read the words with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and keep our little shrines to anger, self-righteousness, or lust. So we back away from the page and try to just be good. That won’t be enough.
The words of the Lord cut deep. But what a gift that they do! Rebuke is a mercy for it calls us out in the midst of our sin and beckons us to repentance and newness. Leaving us dead and diseased isn’t mercy—it’s a sentence. The tumors will grow without the excision provided by the truth of the Word. Even after we’ve been made new creatures in Christ, we still need regular surgery to remove the sin that so easily entangles. In mercy, God gave us His Word to cut deep and bind up. To wound and to heal. To make us less like our old selves and more like Jesus.
Jesus often closed His teachings with a phrase, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” The posture of a hearer who really hears is one of submission. It’s agreeing with the surgeon that though this is going to hurt, it’s necessary. It’s one who knows he needs the scalpel and hates the way it feels but is thankful for the mercy of excision. If reading your Bible cuts your heart like a surgeon’s scalpel, know that it’s mercy. As much as the Word may wound, it also heals—for Jesus conquered sin and He can make us whole.
He won’t leave us as we were.
If reading your Bible cuts your heart like a surgeon's scalpel, know that it's mercy. As much as the Word may wound, it also heals—for Jesus conquered sin and He can make us whole. Share on X
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(photo courtesy of Canva)
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.