by Jared
Grosse
Have you
ever experienced a miracle? I did.
Once. But before I tell that story, a quick word on
the modern challenge of this topic. Were
a “miracle” poll taken in our local churches, I bet a good portion would
identify themselves as cessationists (believing that all miracles “ceased”
early on in the life of the Church). Some might side with the non-cessationists
(believing miracles continue to happen whether we realize it or not, or perhaps
only in specific time and places). Many
might just chalk it up to mystery, saying, “Who knows?”
The latter
option is attractive because it keeps one from having to answer some very
difficult questions. What is a miracle,
anyway? Is it a natural or super-natural
event? If it is supernatural, can we
call a material event (like a beautiful sunset or a successful chemotherapy)
miraculous? How do we reconcile miracles
with science? Why would God turn water
into wine for a party but not heal my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s? Questions like these make this a challenging
topic.
Personally,
I embrace the word “miracle” to describe natural events. If you have ever been captivated by a
beautiful landscape, or feeding a newborn child, or a brilliant starlit sky…
well, you probably know what I mean. It
is that moment when we observe something explainable by natural causes, yet
know deep down that it is beyond our ability to fully explain. There is indeed something miraculous about
the natural world of our common experience.
However, in
light of personal experience and science’s ability to explain more of what
happens, I admit that I tend to be skeptical of modern-day claims to
“supernatural” miracles. Be it lack of
faith or misunderstanding, I have simply not witnessed such events or been
persuaded by those who have.
That is,
until May of 2011.
I graduated
from college just two weeks earlier, and there was much to celebrate as I
closed that chapter of my life. Months
earlier, three college friends and I decided there was only one proper way to
celebrate our accomplishment: by bicycling coast to coast. The adventure of a lifetime! As I worked, saved money and studied hard in
the months leading up to the trip, I remember feeling that the day would never
come. The daily grind of work, school,
internships and marathon training became painful in the shadow of the looming
adventure. At last, when we mounted our
heavy-laden bicycles in New York City’s Time Square to begin our pilgrimage
west, it felt as if nothing could squelch the glory of that beautiful moment.
But
something did.
As we rode out
of Time Square, through Central Park, over the George Washington Bridge and
into the hills of New Jersey, my marathon-trained body handled the steep grades
with ease. However, just as I was about
to crest the largest climb of the day… POP!
Excruciating pain flooded my knee and my life quickly turned to
shambles. At first, I couldn’t imagine
how I hurt myself. Having just run a
marathon less than a month prior, I should have been more than prepared to
climb these hills! However, as I sought
an explanation, I became convinced that the marathon was what actually caused
my injury. Both knees had been
dangerously swollen at the end of the 26.2 mile race, and it seemed that one
month was simply not enough time to recover.
I remounted
my bicycle, hoping that I was mistaken about the gravity of my injury, and that
it would pass as my body adjusted. But
the pain worsened with each pedal, each brutal hill haunting me with the
prospect of quitting this glorious adventure before it had really begun. What if I tore a major ligament? Could I recover enough to meet up with the
guys a couple of weeks down the road?
How would I get home? Were all
the dollars, effort and travel that went into this for nothing? This was no way to begin the next chapter of
my life!
As the pain
and questions piled up, so did my anxiety.
My hard-earned dreams were being dashed before my eyes with every
painful pedal. The prospect of riding
another mile seemed impossible.
Somehow,
though, I did. It wasn’t pretty, but I managed
to limp into camp that night with my peers.
As I was falling asleep and icing my knee, I prayed that, against the
odds, this new chapter of my life would begin, not with pain and
disappointment, but with promise and optimism.
That this trip would end, not with an injury, but with my friends at the
Pacific Ocean. However, my words felt
weak, as did my chances of continuing this journey.
My faint
hope that a good night's sleep would improve things was quickly crushed. Instead, I was woken constantly by melting
ice in my sleeping bag and the pain that it failed to alleviate. In the morning, I emerged from the tent
stiff, tired and thinking that going home might not be such a bad idea after
all. After tenderly packing up, I got on
the bike and reluctantly followed my peers, quickly nearing the end of my
ability to endure this punishment. Hours
of painful riding gave way to an unusual bright spot as we came to the Delaware
River and our second border crossing.
After crossing the bridge into Pennsylvania, we all dove into the frigid
state line. We swam. We splashed each other. We laughed.
But, most importantly, we allowed two days of sweat and stress to wash
off into the icy water. Crawling back
onto the riverbank, we drank in the sun’s warmth and the realization that we
were living our dreams.
But that’s
not the best part. Because that swim was
also the end of my knee pain. It was as
if the waters of the Delaware were infused with the healing power of the mighty
Jordan in many of the Bible’s healing miracles.
From the moment I remounted my bike at the Delaware to the moment I
dipped my bike in the Pacific Ocean nine weeks later, not ONCE did the pain
return. It was enough to flabbergast
even this miracle-doubting skeptic!
I have often
wondered if there might be a natural explanation for my instant recovery. Could the frigid, flowing water have affected
my knee in a manner a physical therapist could explain? Could it be I sustained a minor injury
(strained tendon, tight ligament, etc.) that was bound to pass soon anyway?
Sure.
Yet, I tend to doubt these objections. After all, I spent hours the night before
applying “cold water”(ice) to my knee. I
woke up feeling worse. I also struggle
attributing the extreme pain I experienced to a strained tendon. But, frankly, I think raising these kinds of
objections in an effort to demystify this experience is to miss an important
point.
Miracles
have little to do with natural versus unnatural explanation and have everything
to do with expectation. I was convinced
that my ailing knee should have ended my trip.
There was no reason for me to expect that I should continue the harsh
life of daily cycling for the next two months and 3,000 miles. Even if a doctor gave me an explanation of
the healing in medical terms, I would still consider this event a miracle. Was it miraculous because it was
supernatural? Who knows? But more importantly, it was a miracle
because when all seemed lost, hope emerged from the most unlikely of
places. Because at the beginning of the
next chapter of my life, I received exactly what I needed to continue the
journey that would go on to shape my story in profound ways. It was a miracle because it was an unexpected
gift at a time of great need.
In the weeks
and miles to come, our team of bicycle tourists continued to experience the
miraculous. It happened when a family
picked us up on the interstate when we were hours from the nearest town – at
midnight. It happened when a rural
Oregon farming couple invited us into their home when we desperately needed
it. It happened when my last tire went
flat in Middle-of-Nowhere, Idaho, and my pitiful repair kit kept the shredded
tire alive until I got to the next town 20 miles away. However, we also experienced the miraculous
in common events. Like when we watched a
perfect sunset unfold over the farmland of southern Michigan. Or when this North Carolinian rode past a
home in Metamora, Ohio oblivious to the fact that I would be living and writing
this article in that very house today.
These
experiences taught me that the miraculous and the unexpected do not have to be
rare. While they do happen on
once-in-a-lifetime bicycle tours, the unexpected gifts of the miraculous are
also right at home in the commonplace.
For example, I experience the miraculous when I make my morning cup of
coffee just right. Or when my community
retreats from the busyness of daily survival to fellowship over a meal and a
game. I can find miracles most anywhere
when I slow down enough to become aware of it.
Scripture
points to a God of the miraculous. We
see this in supernatural events like the parting of the Red Sea, the plagues on
Egypt, the virgin birth of Jesus and the healing miracles of the gospels. However, we also see this in God’s decision
to create, and recreate, the miracle of life.
We see it in the bodily resurrection of Jesus, an act which reclaims the
goodness of ALL creation, even down to the stuff of our everyday lives.
Regardless
of whether you identify as a cessationist, non-cessationist, uncertain or
skeptic, we can all be grateful and aware of the biblical claim that all of
life is a miracle to be appreciated. It
is an unexpected gift. And we get to be
a part of it. Perhaps there is an event
in your life, like my healing in the Delaware River, which needs to be
reclaimed as the miracle that it is.
Maybe you need to slow down and take time to become aware again of the
miraculous nature of everyday life. Like
my morning cup of coffee. Or our
beautiful Midwestern sunsets. Or
fellowship with loved ones. Could it be
that God is calling you, as He is me, to be the miracle of hospitality to the
next bicyclist that rolls through town?
However God is calling you to reclaim the miraculous, may we remember
that we serve a God who creates and resurrects all things. May we be ambassadors of the truth that all
of life is miraculous.
