Review of Resurrecting Wounds
by Elizabeth F.
Shelly Rambo. Resurrecting Wounds: Living in the Afterlife of Trauma. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2017.
Shelly Rambo opens Resurrecting Wounds with a scene from the French TV series Les Revenants, introducing the theme of life after death, and asks whether we come back unscathed. Thus, she immediately and boldly challenges core tenets of Christian theology (2). While the language in this book seems more appropriate for those with an educational background in theology, the main themes cast a wide net of relevance. In addressing how Christian theological assumptions have permeated American soil and minds (113), Rambo states that our theology influences the way we handle trauma, highlighting the necessity of re-examining our theologies. She critiques Western culture’s tendency to address trauma through a redemptive lens and attempts to provide us with an alternative way of thinking about the afterlife.
Rambo reminds us at that trauma “returns or remains, obstructing one’s ability to engage the world as one did before” (4): it defies linearity, as the past bleeds into the present. Her approach of traumatology addresses trauma as a wound that is always there but is often covered up (5); she integrates trauma studies and theology by linking this conception of trauma to the resurrection story, as “the return of Jesus reveals something about life in the midst of death” (7). Thus, she elaborates a theology of resurrection which can account for the pervasiveness and hiddenness of historical wounds by rethinking the story of Thomas in the Gospel of John (8).
Indeed, one of her core arguments is that Jesus’ wounds surfacing in the aftermath of the resurrection provides a good analogy for the persistence of trauma. Their resurfacing reminds us that they never disappeared (15). However, most Christian interpretations tend to erase or dismiss wounds (11), moving too quickly from death to new life: this tendency underscores our collective tendencies to tell people to “get over it”. In chapter 1, by engaging the theology of John Calvin, Rambo reveals what can happen when we attempt to erase or cover up wounds: the lack of a space to properly grieve and heal as the wounds are not cared for (41).
For example, one major consequence of erasing wounds is the perpetuation of institutional systems which contribute to the persistence of racism. Rambo addresses the wounds of racism in relation to the Gospel of John, linking the aftermath of historical violence to the resurrection story (73). Black theologians such as James Cone connected the cross to the history of slavery, and some, such as Willie Jennings, insist that the lens of white America reveals that much of Christian theology is built on the erasure of the wounds of the oppressed (76). This results in the maintenance of societal phenomena which prevent wounds from resurfacing, what Melissa Harris-Perry calls the crooked room. Another consequence of Christian theology’s manner of addressing the cross can be the romanticizing and glorification of suffering: many feminist and womanist theologians have developed radical theologies aimed at decentralizing the cross, arguing that it has contributed to the maintenance of oppressive institutions. Rambo argues that this rejection of the cross has gone too far and that a lack of theology can be damaging (6).
Therefore, she calls for a theology of resurrection by inviting us to, like Thomas, turn to the wounds: attend to the details, and go beyond the text to uncover hidden truths. This defamiliarization of a commonly known story “invites theology, by way of the literary, to refigure resurrection” (10), a work of theological imagination, which is necessary for theology to remain meaningful. Two of the aspects of wounds she highlights include healing and crossing: both require the uncovering of wounds, as well as the willingness to touch them instead of applying bandages. In chapter 2, Rambo engages the scar scene in Gregory of Nyssa’s hagiography of Macrina. She argues that attributing positive qualities to Macrina’s scar tells us something about the meaning of wounds that remain. The scar is not a sacrifice, but a mark of agency and divine connection (54). Rambo argues that these scenes parallel the Gospel of John and therefore can inform us on the meaning of resurrection: that of the simultaneous presence of suffering and joy, pain and pleasure, in all their complexities (68). Furthermore, in chapter 3, Rambo addresses the potential of revealed and revealing wounds to cross one another (91). This prevents the scaling of sufferings, by adopting a view of wounds and memory as multidirectional and highlighting the collectivity of suffering rather than its particularities (94). Similarly, in the Upper Room, the wounds of Jesus become both singular and collective, as the disciples are called to witness both dimensions in their entirety (98).
Therefore, the healing potential of uncovering and crossing wounds highlights the necessity of community. In a final chapter, Rambo affirms the necessity of addressing wounds in the collective as well as the individual by engaging Warriors Journey Home (WJH), a veterans’ group in Ohio which views healing as occurring in the context of a collective gathering of wounds and telling of stories. Rambo suggests that its vocabulary and practices are reminiscent of the resurrection scene, and she compares it with Caravaggio’s painting The Incredulity of St Thomas, which draws attention to the open wound in the gathering of disciples around it (114). Both the group and the painting put the wounds at the center of the stage, enabling them to be felt and worked through.
Resurrecting Wounds challenges the tendency to ignore the wounds of trauma in favor of a redemptive glossing over of history and reminds us of the importance of a collective engagement to counter this. Rambo offers a compelling theology of resurrection which effectively marries theology and traumatology in a way that calls for more. As such, she provides an excellent starting point to a very necessary process: that of uncovering the wounds of the past to begin the process of healing and allowing them to cross one another to avoid obscuring anyone’s pain. This theological framework leaves room for the exploration of many wounds hidden in the world’s soil. For example, I believe this work could function as a stepping stone for a theology of surfacing wounds around the AIDS crisis in the United States, a wound that is being repeatedly forgotten and has brought considerable harm to the LGBTQ population. The reality that unaddressed wounds fester, hidden beneath the surface yet exerting an undeniable influence, must be brought to light. The first step in addressing them is an acknowledgment that whatever their specific nature, they are there to stay until properly addressed. This book takes that first step and calls for others to assist in removing the smothering bandages.
