God’s Heart Towards Us Injury-Prone Sinners

I’m a competitive nut.

Whether it’s who can eat the most plates of food at a Chinese buffet, racing my wife to the stop sign on our “leisurely” bike rides, or making sure we get the W so we can stay on the court during a run of pickup basketball, I genuinely hope (and believe) that there will be some form of competition in eternity.

So, when some good friends of mine asked if I wanted to travel to Texas for a volleyball tournament, I jumped at the chance.

After packing and enjoying the quick flight from MSP to DFW, we settled into our hotel for a good night’s rest before pool play the next day. The next morning, I walked with my wife over to the convention center to where we would be playing. My classic pre-tournament fight-or-flight senses were kicking in and I had to use the bathroom so I could get the jitters out. I was psyched to play volleyball with some of my best friends for three days straight.

On the fifth point of the first set, I went up for a block as the opposing team set a ball to my side of the net. I didn’t know that the opposing player’s foot had crossed beneath the net as my left foot came down on top of their shoe. I crashed down and crumpled against the side of the net pole. I sat stunned as adrenaline coursed through my body, trying to assess how bad the damage was. Very quickly, my foot swelled into the size of a well-nutritioned sweet potato and I knew I was done for the weekend.

After a couple trips to urgent care, a boot and set of crutches later, I was hobbling and rehabbing my ankle back in Minneapolis. By the modern care of the orthopedic specialists I had seen, they urged me to get the ankle mobile as quickly as possible. With my trustee brace on, I decided to head to the gym (for an upper body day, of course!) .

I was a couple exercises into my workout when I heard a gut-wrenching cry from across the gym. There are a lot of beef cakes at the gym I go to, so I figured it was another classic instance of machismo ego-lifting occurring, so I continued on unbothered. But, the exclamations continued and I saw people looking in the direction, concerned looks on their faces.

I turned and saw a gentleman, likely in his mid-thirties, sprawled out on the ground – squinted eyes, clearly in pain. Apparently, he had been bench pressing somewhere in the ballpark of 250 pounds and the bar slipped from his hands and came crashing down onto his chest.

Employees of the gym rushed to his aid and an ambulance was called. The poor man let out an exasperated groan every couple minutes as he lay on the ground in pain. He was conscious as the paramedics checked his vitals; he probably had a broken rib or two at the very least.

By this point, most people had carried on with their workouts. And had this event taken place a month or two earlier, I would have too. And I tried to, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop focusing on the man on the ground. A broken rib that punctures the chest cavity is incredibly serious, much more so than a sprained ankle (no matter how black and blue it is), and I found myself tearing up in the middle of the gym. I completed another set but continued to stare at the man and surrounding paramedics, unable to yank my attention away. This happened 4-5 more times. I prayed silently for this man as my heart broke for him who, had things gone just a little more south, could have died in the middle of the gym.

I don’t consider myself a softie. But had I not sprained my ankle earlier in the month, I don’t believe I would have felt the way I did about this random stranger.

We often forget that Christ sees us clearly in our misery and need – and deeply relates and feels our pain along with us.

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses…” (Heb. 4:15)

He knows injury, sickness, pain, strife, slander, mockings, beatings, relational divisiveness, deep darkness, and death itself. For most of my life, I figured Christ could theoretically relate to me, but could He really understand me when I stubbed my toe or got the stomach flu? I believe He does.

This means he knows what a sprained ankle feels like. He knows what it means to be crushed by an overwhelming weight. He looks across the gym of our souls and weeps for those of us who have become wayward, broken, and calling out for help.

“And seeing us in our misery and need

He doesn’t just feel for us

He takes the necessary action to relieve our distress

He leaves the eternal glory of heaven and the perfect fellowship of the Trinity

He condescends to us, lives among us, suffers like us, dies for us!”

(Blessed are the Merciful by Beautiful Eulogy)

Jesus wipes the tears from our eyes as He takes on the pain of injury-prone sinners.