Written on February 22, 2008

[For the March 2, 2008 lectionary: I Samuel 16:1-13 + Psalm 23 + Ephesians 5:8-14 + John 9:1-41.]

MIRACLE OR NOT by Larry Patten

No miracle. Last Sunday, I walked in blind. I walked out still blind as a . . . bat? No, as a United Methodist.

As a Christian, I’m not much of a believer in Biblical miracles. Sorry. I have little interest in defending or denying that Jesus was a miracle worker. I’m also not too interested in whether, or whether not, Buddha or Krishna were involved with miracles. Regardless of which faith tradition, please deliver me from explaining the—according to Mirriam-Webster’s 10th edition—“extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs.” However, I like that the word “miracle” is from the Latin, miraculum. A wonder, a marvel.

But Jesus walking on water? Water into wine? No, I’m too modern, too cynical, and too analytical to embrace miracles. I know that Jesus—like Muhammad after or all the Jewish Biblical prophets and priests before—lived in a time when miracles were part of daily life. On the day I wrote the first draft of these words, my wall calendar noted a “total lunar eclipse” at 10:48 P.M. (EST). Many people will witness the moon’s “disappearance.” It’s not a sign, omen, or miracle. Instead, it’s a predictable and understandable event. But once it may have been viewed as “divine intervention.”

However, for me, every miracle I read about in the Gospels instills wonder . . . a miraculum attitude, if you will. I don’t follow Jesus because, for example, he once smeared mud across the unseeing eyes of a fellow who, a moment later, looks around and recognizes the visual difference between green and blue or goats and camels. But the man blind from birth (read John 9:1-41), miracle or not, challenges and strengthens my wondering.

No one seemed to believe the poor shlemiel. Authorities harassed him. His parents backpedaled their support. It was like the once-blind man was stuck in the worst part of an old Perry Mason episode when all seemed lost. However, through thick and thin and theology, the once-blind man proclaims the essence of a living faith (miracle or not): “One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”

It is difficult for any of us to relate to the experience of others.

Last Sunday, wearing nice clothes (because their web page suggested I should) and compelled by curiosity, I worshipped at my neighborhood Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter-Day Saints (LDS).

I walked in blind. I walked out still blind.

In the simple sanctuary, folks looked just like other congregations where I’ve worshipped. They were old, young, singles, couples, teenagers, and parents. The bulletin included announcements about choirs, youth activities, addiction recovery meetings, and an upcoming “lunch full of laughter and good food.” Yum!

People were friendly. Between handshakes, smiles, and quite a few “I’m glad you’re here” comments, I was warmly welcomed.

And yet I felt like I was in a foreign land. Though I can’t sing a lick, I love lively music. Whether it’s J.S. Bach ala pipe organ or Kurt Kaiser’s 1969 “Pass It On” with keyboard and guitar, give me a tune to get my feet tapping and heart pounding. Perhaps it was only that Sunday, or that particular congregation, but the music was dismal. I’m a United Methodist. In our official hymnal, John Wesley (the 18th Century founder of Methodism) is quoted: “Sing lustily and with good courage.”

Communion was served. But it included store-bought tidbits of gummy white bread. Alas, I am a communion snob. ‘Tis one of my many sins.

But what jarred me most was when one speaker, with casual conviction, declared that the Latter-Day Saints were the “one true church.” First, let me say I might have misheard. Second, it was the first time I had been at that worship service. Third, what do I know?

Does a Latter-Day Saint really believe that? Does a Roman Catholic? Does a Sunni Muslim or a Zen Buddhist? Do I?

I am blind to the LDS Church. It is not my tradition.

And I’d probably disappoint (or would even be condemned by) fellow Christians who literally believe in miracles. But still, as I read about and imagine the man born blind, now with sight, I am forever touched by his simple faith. In a sense, he spoke “lustily and with good courage.” He was thankful. He was joyful. Others around him spent their time condemning, criticizing, or ignoring him.

But let me tell you a secret. I actually do believe in miracles . . . in a miraculum attitude. While I don’t think any faith tradition is the “one true church,” I have faith that one day we will realize that in the choice between condemning others who are different or respecting others who are different, that we will all find a lusty courage for diverse community. What a marvel that will be.

I was glad to worship with the LDS congregation. Different than me? Yes. Bread that should be upgraded? Maybe. But how much I remember, and was thankful for, their warm welcome.