Paul’s Thorn, Body Memories, and the Wounds That Leave No Marks

Introduction

Trauma is not just something that happens in the mind. It is something that happens in the body. Long after the event is over, the body keeps a record—through tension, shutdown, pain, or sudden fear. These are often called body memories.

When we place this understanding next to Paul’s “thorn in the flesh” in 2 Corinthians 12, a deeper truth emerges:
the body carries wounds that do not simply disappear, and God meets us right there.

This is not theoretical for me.
I carry my own wounds from a beating I survived years ago.
There is no physical evidence left—no scars, no bruises, nothing you could point to.
But the pain is still real.
My body remembers what my skin no longer shows.

And I’m not the only one.
Someone I care for deeply carries a sharp, recurring pain just beneath the sternum—a place where fear and shame once struck her like a blow. There is no visible injury there either. But the body remembers what the world cannot see.

1. Trauma Is Embodied—And So Was Paul’s Thorn

Paul calls it a thorn in the flesh.
Not a thorn in his thoughts.
Not a thorn in his theology.
A thorn in his body.

I understand that.
My own body still reacts in the places where I was struck.
And I’ve watched another person’s body tighten under the sternum in the exact spot where terror once lived.
No mark.
No bruise.
But the pain is precise, persistent, and honest.

This is exactly how body memories work.
The parasympathetic nervous system stores patterns of overwhelm in specific places.
The body remembers even when the skin forgets.

2. Both Are Wounds That Don’t Go Away Easily

Paul says he pleaded with the Lord three times for the thorn to be removed.
It remained.

I have prayed the same prayers.
So has the person whose sternum still aches when old fear rises.
“Take this pain away.”
“Let my body forget.”
“Let this be over.”

But the body does not always release what it learned in a moment of terror.
Not because we lack faith.
Not because we are weak.
But because the nervous system did exactly what it had to do to keep us alive.

Paul’s thorn, my own body memories, and that sternum-deep ache all remind us:
some wounds stay with us longer than we want.

3. Both Become Places Where God Meets Us

Paul hears Jesus say:
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Jesus does not say,
“You should be over this.”
He does not say,
“If you had more faith, this would be gone.”

He says,
“My grace is enough for you right here.”

I have learned that God meets me in the places where my body still hurts.
And I have watched God meet someone else in the place beneath her sternum where fear still echoes.
Not by erasing the pain,
but by sitting with us in it.
By steadying the breath.
By reminding the body that the danger is over, even if it hasn’t fully caught up.

The thorn becomes a meeting place.
So do our wounds.

4. Both Reveal That Weakness Is Not Failure

Paul says he will “boast in his weakness” because it reveals Christ’s strength.

My lingering pain is not a sign of spiritual immaturity.
Nor is the sternum-deep ache carried by the one I walk alongside.
These pains are signs of what we survived.

The absence of scars does not mean the harm wasn’t real.
The body remembers what the skin no longer shows.

Both Paul’s thorn and our body memories say:
“This is where I was hurt. This is where I still need grace.”

Weakness becomes witness.

5. Both Point Toward Slow, Relational Healing

Paul’s thorn shaped his humility and dependence.

My own healing has been slow and relational—
co‑regulation, breath, grounding, safe people, and time.

And I’ve watched the same slow healing unfold in someone whose sternum still tightens when old terror stirs.
Body memories don’t vanish on command.
They soften through presence.
They loosen through safety.
They heal through connection.

Neither Paul’s thorn nor our own wounds offer a quick fix.
Both offer a path of transformation.

Conclusion: The Thorn, the Nervous System, and the Wounds That Remain

When we place Paul’s thorn alongside the science of body memories—and alongside the wounds we ourselves carry—we see a fuller picture of how God works with human beings:

God does not shame the body.
God does not rush healing.
God does not demand that wounds vanish.
God meets us in the very places that still hurt.
Paul’s thorn, the body’s memories, my own lingering pain, and that sternum-deep ache all teach the same truth:
Grace does not wait for the wound to disappear.
Grace meets us in the wound and stays.