Why Miracles?

Have you been present when a miracle occurred? By miracle I don’t mean witnessing the birth of a baby or marking the progress of a beautiful, flowering plant growing from a small, unremarkable seed. These are, in their own ways, “miraculous,” and I’ve had the privilege of experiencing both. No, I mean a miracle of biblical proportions: blind eyes given sight, deaf ears unstopped, withered limbs fully restored, phenomena that have no scientific explanation. I’ve been in large meetings where such things were claimed to have taken place, but the proceedings had such a feeling of charlatanry that it proved unconvincing. They were certainly nothing like what we read about in Scripture, the results of which were immediate and verifiable for all to see.

Biblically, miracles serve two ends: they radically alter the circumstances of those involved, as well as demonstrating that there exists a reality that stands above everyday existence. In the end, the latter realization proves to be more imperative than being able to see, hear, or walk. Even Lazarus being raised from the dead (see John 11) pales in comparison to his having been raised from spiritual death to eternal life through faith in Christ. His coming out from the tomb still clothed in the garments of the grave testifies to this truth.

When God intervenes in the normal processes of nature to do something supernatural, we must receive it as an act of kindness. He is redirecting our gaze from one reality to another, telling us to look up, above the horizon of our lives, and confess that HE IS. While not ruling out the possibility of the sorts of miracles outlined above, God’s miracle of regeneration is to be acknowledged as no less redirective. A person coming to believe in Christ is a divine intervention of the kindest kind and reassures us that he is at work securing for himself a people that above all else confess him as Lord though they be deaf, dumb, blind, or lame.

Rational Miracles

Miracles, by definition, are phenomena, welcome phenomena, which stand outside the bounds of what is expected, normal, or natural. They don’t have a scientific explanation and so are attributed to divine intervention. For the materialist, therefore, a miracle is an impossibility, and to believe that they occur is irrational. No matter how extraordinary a phenomenon, it must have a rational, scientific explanation.

Given their presuppositions, I don’t know how materialists would have explained the healing of the man who sat day by day at the Beautiful Gate (Acts 3). Everyone familiar with the Beautiful Gate knew him to be one who had been lame from birth, who was brought to the location so that he could beg for alms. When it came to pass, therefore, that he was suddenly able to stand and leap about they couldn’t deny that it was he or that he was now completely healed. But what brought this about? Why was he suddenly able to walk? The explanation given by Peter wouldn’t have satisfied the materialist. It wasn’t scientific. It wasn’t rational.

Well, actually, that’s not completely true. The healing might not have been scientific, but it was totally rational, for it was done in the name of Jesus.

Prompted by the healing, Peter offers the incredulous onlookers a string of titles and adjectives for Jesus, when put together, provide a perfectly rational explanation as to why the man was healed “by faith in his name.” Jesus, the one those listening had “delivered over and denied in the presence of Pilate,” was the “Holy and Righteous One” who had been glorified (ascended and now seated at the right hand of God, as attested to by the outpouring of he Holy Spirit) by the “God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our fathers,” who was raised from the dead and shown to be the “Author of life.” He was the “servant” of God, the “Christ” who “suffered” as “foretold by the mouth of all the prophets,” who himself was the one of whom “Moses said, ‘The Lord God will raise up for you a prophet like me from your brothers.’” He was the object of “all the prophets [had] spoken” about the age to come in which the covenant that God made with Abraham that “’in your offspring shall all the families of the earth be blessed,’” would be realized. Given the reality of who Jesus is, it makes perfect sense that Peter and John, ministering in the power of Jesus could heal the man in the name of Jesus.

The hope is that the materialist (or anyone else for that matter) would reason backwards from the miracle and come to the conclusion that “there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). For some who listened to Peter that was the case. And for those in any age who hear the testimony for themselves, and are willing to weigh the evidence, a perfectly rational response will be to repent and believe.

Funding the Program

"As soon as the coin in the coffer rings, a soul from purgatory springs." This infamous sales pitch, attributed to John Tetzel, a Dominican priest from the time of Martin Luther (c. 1517), represents one of the more egregious examples of the church's uneasy relationship with money. It seems Tetzel was involved in the medieval version of a "capital campaign." By selling the faithful relief from purgatorial suffering for a few coins, he was helping fund the building of the new basilica in Rome. Sounds not unlike today's "prosperity" preachers who promise unbounded relief from temporal suffering if the listener would only help bankroll the preacher's ever-expanding fiefdom.

The fundamental problem with all such efforts is that it misrepresents the economy of the Kingdom. The church has nothing to sell. All the riches it possesses have been given to it by a gracious God, and it is to give them away freely to any who would have them (cf. Matthew 10:8). And this it does through the proclamation of the gospel, not the peddling of promises. Such hucksterism was condemned long ago when Peter told Simon the magician to "Repent . . . and pray to the Lord that, if possible, the intent of your heart may be forgiven you" (Acts 8:22).

So how is the church to materially prosper? It does so through the liberality of its people. The expectation is that as we have freely received we would freely give. God grants us our material wealth so that we might steward it in a manner that allows us to be sustained as well as the work of the Kingdom (cf. 2 Corinthians 8:1-9).

That being said, getting the faithful to yield up some of its capital can be a hard sell! The demand that our material existence makes upon our wallets, especially in a place like New York City, makes us wary. Paying our bills and putting something away for the future is challenging enough without adding yet another obligation. Nevertheless, that's how it's supposed to work. We have received (and continue to receive) of God's generosity, and we, in turn, are to be generous toward the work he is doing in the world, trusting that he "will supply every need of [ours] according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:19). Such liberality might not get you a new Rolls but it will redound to your credit as one who presents "a fragrant offering, a sacrifice acceptable and pleasing to God" (Philippians 4:18).

Practicing Contentment

The Stoics, adherents to an ancient school of Greek philosophy, sought not to be ruled by their emotions. Logic and reason were prized as tools to gain control over circumstances that might lead to anguish of soul. The goal for the stoic was total self-sufficiency as regards the state of his soul, his state of mind not dependent upon external circumstances. Dr. Spock of Star Trek fame might come to mind, as he was “stoic” to the max. Nothing fazed him (technically, he was not really a stoic for he was bereft of emotions, not one seeking to gain control of them, but you get the idea).

The apostle Paul offers a testimony that might sound stoical: “I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content” (Philippians 4:11). Respected New Testament scholar F.F. Bruce acknowledges that Paul utilizes a Greek term current in stoic philosophy “to denote the ideal of the totally self-sufficient person,” and he “uses it to express his independence of external circumstances.” But far from self-sufficient independence, Paul was “constantly conscious of his total dependence on God.” Bruce states that Paul was not so much “self-sufficient as ‘God-sufficient.’” This was the “secret” that he had learned that allowed him to face “plenty and hunger, abundance and need” with contentment.

What Paul confessed was that his life had been taken over by a gracious, loving, merciful, and all-wise God. This meant that in whatever circumstance he found himself it was not unknown to God. In truth, he lived with a confidence that “for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). The challenge, therefore, was to respond to each circumstance, whether it was one in which he “abounded” or one in which he was “brought low,” (both present unique challenges to the one who would live a God-honoring life) with an equanimity of soul that reflected the promise of Jesus that his “grace [would be] sufficient” for him (Cf. 2 Corinthians 12:9).

Paul’s capacity for contentment was grounded in the promises given to him and bolstered by his experience of Christ keeping his promises. The assurances offered to the apostle, however, are not unique to him. The only component for contentment that might be lacking in us is our hesitancy to prove Christ true to his word. Can we pursue contentment -- a God-sufficient independence of circumstances -- trusting that the one who has called us to himself will “never leave us nor forsake us,” and that his grace will prove ample enough for the particular challenge? It’s a goal worth pursuing.

Agents of Flourishing

Human beings have been given a job to do. God delineates it as follows: “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth” (Genesis 1:28). Theologians call this “the cultural mandate,” for it anticipates the ways in which humanity, endowed with the ability to carry out their task, will unleash the capacities of creation. They will build, organize, purpose and repurpose these capacities and what will result is what we call culture, “the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively” (New Oxford American Dictionary). It is our pursuit of culture making that marks us out as human, those made “in the image of God.”

But the commission is not a license to do with what one has at one’s disposal however one wishes. Just after the mandate is given there follows language that indicates God’s intention that the human maintain his creation as a place where life can flourish. This notion is supported by the description of Adam being placed in the Garden to “work it and keep it” (Cf. Genesis 2:15). That being said, history is replete with evidences of the abuse of our God-given abilities to harness creation’s potential demonstrating our post-fall inborn tendency to be more inhumane than humane.

In Christ, however, the potential to do what God intended is restored. Our selfish heart can be reformed into a servant’s heart allowing us to more readily create culture in redemptive ways. We can be agents of flourishing that benefits us, the other, and brings glory to God.

This has far-reaching consequences. Picture yourself sitting in the boardroom of some large multi-national corporation that is weighing the possibility of increasing its bottom line by exploiting the desperate need for employment in an “undeveloped” nation. Given the depressed nature of the country’s economy, the corporation can get away with offering less than they ought in wages while putting the work force at risk by not maintaining safe conditions. If you were the Christian on the board you’d need to speak up. That’s what the cultural mandate demands of us.

As this is “easier said than done,” our capacity to respond with courage in such ethically charged situations needs to be fed. This is why Paul instructs as he does when he says “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Philippians 4:8). Having our own lives shaped by that which promotes flourishing will position us to humanely work and keep the garden, blessing us and those around us, while bringing glory to God. 

What, Me Worry?

“What, me worry?” Alfred E. Neuman, Mad Magazine

Alfred E. Neuman, the jug eared, tousle-headed, gap-toothed grinning icon that has graced the cover of Mad Magazine for decades, appears perpetually unperturbed by whatever is going on around him. His is an absurdly anxiety free existence. No matter what transpires, “What, me worry?”

Ah, if it were only so easy. In truth, only a fictitious character is capable of uttering such a statement. Real life is fraught with too many opportunities to fret. Whether close at hand or coming to us from thousands of miles away through various forms of media, an uncertain and threatening future looms, troubling our souls.

There’s no denying the many sources of uncertainty, but is there an alternative to worry? The Scriptures clearly teach that there is. Jesus acknowledges the reasons for why we might be troubled, but he urges us to look above the temporal circumstance to the One who dwells in eternity. This is not some “pie-in-the-sky-by-and-by” pitch on his part. On the contrary, he is asserting that we can have a bold assurance that our “heavenly Father,” the one who “clothes the grass of the field” in raiment more wonderful than anything Solomon wore, and feeds the birds of the air who “neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns,” will take care of us, for we are “of more value” than the other beloved objects of his creation. (Cf. Matthew 6:25-34)

The apostle Paul similarly encourages confidence in the face of circumstances that give rise to worry. As Jesus assured that he would never leave or forsake us, and he fulfilled his promise by sending the Holy Spirit to communicate his love and care for us, the apostle, knowing that “the Lord is at hand,” instructs us to “not be anxious about anything.” Rather than worry, he teaches that we should pray: “in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” What will result from this, he assures, is our worry being replaced with “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” that “will guard [our] hearts and [our] minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:5-7).

On this side of life, I don’t think we’ll ever get to the place of blissful, unperturbed equanimity suggested by Mad Magazine’s front man. But we can pursue the promised peace that God offers by turning to him in prayer, “casting all [our] anxieties on him because he cares for [us]” (Cf. 1 Peter 5:7).

Productive Belonging

It must have been an awkward moment. The church had received a letter from Paul and had gathered to hear it read. They felt a close kinship with the apostle and were anxious to know how he was doing. They were already excited and glad to have their friend Epaphroditus back. Word had gotten to them that he had been gravely ill, almost to the point of death, so to have him back in their midst was both a relief and a joy. But what of Paul? What news, words of encouragement or instruction might he have included in the letter that Epaphorditus had brought with him? All were summoned, and up to this point they had been both encouraged and warned by his letter, all to their edification. But now a deafening silence has descended upon them. Two much respected women of their number, Euodia and Syntheche, had been singled out by Paul and not for praise. He had entreated them to reconcile, to “agree in the Lord,” and asked another in their church community to help them. How would these two respond?

Such opportunities are part of what is called sanctification, the process of transformation that God has entered us into, changing us from what were without Christ to what we are in Christ. Such occasions are given by God to test our faith, expose remaining sin, or learn what it means to love him and others with all of our being. The above incident, suggested by Paul’s letter to the church in Philippi, illuminates the important role the church community plays in our sanctification. He knew the church and he knew the people involved. He was also well aware of the problems that could arise within a church when two respected members of its congregation were at odds with each other. So, he spoke up. And given the manner in which he did this, he placed the obligation for helping these two to reconcile upon everyone in the church.

God intends for us to work at the new self that we are in Christ and he has designed that this be done in community. The importance of being part of a particular church cannot, therefore, be overemphasized. It’s in community with other Christians where we learn to walk in the humility, unity, and love that God expects his gospel-birthed children to pursue. I’d like to think that the two women in Philippi seized the opportunity. I’d like to think the entire community was edified by their example. If they did, together they would have experienced the answer to Paul’s petition when he prayed that their love would “abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God” (Philippians 1:9-11).