There is a line in old Tamil Christian hymnology that has always unsettled me in the best way. It is a line that seeks to honour Christ not by standing at a distance in reverence, but by moving closer in love. It says, “Kayangalai mutham seiven” meaning I will kiss the wounds. It is a startling image. Not the haloed Christ of stained glass, not the resurrected Christ bathed in light, but the wounded Christ. And the love being offered is not applause, not poetry, not even worship as performance, but intimacy with pain. To kiss what is broken. To kiss what is scarred. That line has stayed with me because it refuses convenience. It refuses beauty that is easy. It suggests that love, if it is to be true, must be brave enough to move toward wounds. We often think love is about kissing what is pleasant. The smile. The strength. The parts of a person that are already healed, already impressive, already socially acceptable. We are good at loving people when they are at their best, ...