The Wounds That Won

It was early morning on a highway outside the city when traffic stopped for a terrible sight. A delivery truck had struck a small car and pushed it off the road. Within moments, a few drivers left their vehicles, running toward the wreck. One man, a paramedic on his way home, crawled into the crushed car to reach the injured driver. He used his own shirt to stop the bleeding. The man’s hands were covered with blood before the ambulance even arrived. Later that day, someone asked why he risked his life to help a stranger. He answered quietly, “Because someone once did it for me.”

That simple statement tells more about the heart of God than many a library of theology.

We live in a bruised and broken world. Every day the headlines cry of wars and storms, earthquakes and accidents, crime and cruelty. We are surrounded by suffering. And the great question of the ages rises in every honest heart: Why does a good God allow such evil?

Philosophers have filled volumes, skeptics have hurled the challenge, believers have wrestled with tears in the dark. Yet the truest answer does not come from the scholar’s desk or the courtroom of debate. It comes from a hill outside Jerusalem, where a Man hung upon a cross between earth and sky.

There, the Almighty answered not with words carved in stone but with wounds carved in flesh.

There, the eternal God stepped into human pain—not to explain it away but to bear it away.

There, the mystery of suffering met the mercy of a Savior.

The wounds that men inflicted became the wounds that won our salvation.

Evil exists. It is the dark backdrop against which the light of God’s love shines brightest. Sin entered the world through pride and rebellion. Adam chose self above obedience, and ever since, the human race has lived east of Eden. We inherited more than guilt—we inherited brokenness. The earth itself groans under the weight of that fall. Disease, disaster, and death are not strangers in this world; they are squatters who moved into a house built for joy.

But God did not abandon His creation. From the first moment of sin, He promised a Redeemer. A bruised heel would crush a serpent’s head. The shadow of Calvary stretched all the way back to the gates of Eden.

Down through the centuries, prophets spoke of One who would bear our griefs and carry our sorrows. Isaiah saw Him as the Suffering Servant: “He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed.”

The world waited, groaning. Kingdoms rose and fell. Philosophers guessed and failed. But when the fullness of time was come, God sent forth His Son, made of a woman, made under the law. And into a world aching with pain, Love was born wearing human skin.

He came not to escape our sorrows but to share them. He was hungry, weary, tempted, misunderstood, despised, betrayed. He wept at the tomb of a friend. He sweat drops of blood in Gethsemane. He felt the lash, the nails, the thorns. The Creator wore the consequences of His creation’s rebellion.

And then, as He hung upon the cross, heaven’s silence was broken by seven cries—each one a note in the greatest song ever sung. “Father, forgive them.” “It is finished.” “Into Thy hands I commend My spirit.” Those were not the groans of defeat; they were the trumpet calls of victory.

You see, my friends, the cross was not a tragedy; it was a triumph disguised as tragedy. The darkest hour became the dawn of redemption. Out of the deepest wound flowed the richest mercy.

When men look at Calvary, some see failure. Rome saw another rebel crushed. The priests saw a threat removed. The disciples saw the end of their hopes. But heaven saw a victory plan unfolding exactly on schedule. The wounds that bled were the wounds that won.

Think of it: by His stripes we are healed. The very suffering that looked like the triumph of evil became the instrument of God’s good. Satan struck, but the serpent’s fangs broke upon the heel of the Son of God. What was meant for evil, God meant for good.

Do you see what this means for us? The cross is not only the place where sin was judged; it is the place where suffering was redeemed. Every tear that falls on this cursed earth glistens with the promise that God has entered the pain Himself.

If you have ever cried out, “Lord, why?”, know this: He has cried it too. “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” Those words were not a failure of faith; they were the voice of faith speaking from the deepest pit. He entered your darkness so that no darkness could ever separate you from Him again.