Witness to a miracle
05/01/13 05:09
I don’t know how many times I have prayed for a miracle. I know that God is active in human life and I pray that we will recognize God’s presence. But our expectations of God are often unrealistic. We seem only willing to call an event a miracle when the outcome is what we want to happen. When things don’t go the way we want, we think that God is absent – or at least that no miracle has been granted. If a miracle is truly God’s action in the world, the outcome is always God’s. I suspect that we witness miracles all the time but don’t recognize them because we confuse miracles with getting our own way.
I know I was praying for things to take a different turn than they did last night. The story is at the same time familiar and fresh. I received a call on my cell phone that a church member was being rushed by ambulance to the hospital. I was about ten miles from the hospital and the family had been there for a few minutes by the time I arrived. They were gathered in the small waiting area between the emergency room and a hallway. I’ve been in that room a hundred times before. I have had the job to carrying news of the death of a loved one to families waiting in that room. I have tried to console grieving people in the midst of a windowless area that is too small, crammed with institutional furniture and lacking some of the essentials one needs for such a task. When I am working with the LOSS team, I carry packets of Kleenex in my briefcase so I don’t have to wander out to the nurse’s station to find tissues. I know how to get glasses of water and other simple amenities for those who wait in that place.
But this time I was in the role of pastor. I didn’t have my briefcase. And I didn’t have the news. We waited together. It didn’t take long, but the big clock in that room moves so slowly that a few minutes seems like an eternity. There was time to hear the roughest outline of the story and to share a brief prayer with the family.
There wasn’t much story to tell. They were going into the house after an outing that included lunch and a stop at the pharmacy to pick up some prescriptions. He started up the few steps that lead to the kitchen and hesitated. She saw his hand slipping on the railing. She tried to hold him upright, but he is a big man. When he slumped, she was underneath him. She scrambled out, called 911 and tried to move him to a more comfortable position. The police and fire department and paramedics came and started CPR. There was a flurry of activity as they loaded him into the ambulance. She rode to the hospital in the back seat of the police cruiser. They were giving him medicine. We were waiting.
We didn’t have to wait for the doctor to say any words when he arrived. The doctor and nurse came into the room and I already knew what they were going to say. You could tell by the tired expressions on their faces. You could see it in the way they strained to look people in the face. Since I’ve had the job they had on previous occasions, I know a bit of what it feels like. But the doctor did find a few comforting words. He did describe what they had done in an all-out effort to save a life. I think he used the words, “There was nothing to do but to let him go.”
It was a blur of tears and a gush of emotions. I explained what would happen next and asked the widow – she is a widow now – when she would like to see him. As is usually the case, she wanted to see him immediately. I persuaded her to wait a few minutes for them to organize a few things in the room before we went in together.
We had been praying for a miracle. We wanted him to survive one more life-threatening experience. We had witnessed his courage in the face of other dangerous situations. We had known that he was a survivor. We wanted a few more years and if we couldn’t have that then at least a few more days. We would have settled for a few more hours. That was the miracle we wanted.
The miracle was no less a miracle just because it wasn’t what we wanted.
We were given the miracle of family love. We were given the miracle of friendships that are strong and resilient. We were given the miracle of caring and competent police, firefighters, paramedics and emergency room staff. We were given the miracle of community. We were given the miracle of a church that supports people in good times and in bad. We were given the miracle of Christ’s presence in the midst of grief.
And once again I witnessed something that I know is true, but that we often overlook. We human beings are amazingly good at grief. I don’t mean this to sound trite. It isn’t. But when circumstances are such that you might expect a person to fall apart, that person doesn’t fall apart. When the pain and grief are so deep and real that you would think a person would just come unglued, they don’t. Instead, we shed a few tears, experience a burst of confused emotions and get about the work of adjusting to an entirely new way of life. Before long grieving persons are making decisions, calling family and friends, telling the stories, and remembering the good times as well as the trauma.
Despite what you might think, we are really pretty good at the tough and awe-filled task of grief. Despite what you might think, God is no less present in the dark moments of our lives. Despite what you might think miracles occur even when we don’t get what we want. Sometimes it takes us a little while to recognize the miracles we are given.
Of this much I am certain: Love never dies. And God is love.
I know I was praying for things to take a different turn than they did last night. The story is at the same time familiar and fresh. I received a call on my cell phone that a church member was being rushed by ambulance to the hospital. I was about ten miles from the hospital and the family had been there for a few minutes by the time I arrived. They were gathered in the small waiting area between the emergency room and a hallway. I’ve been in that room a hundred times before. I have had the job to carrying news of the death of a loved one to families waiting in that room. I have tried to console grieving people in the midst of a windowless area that is too small, crammed with institutional furniture and lacking some of the essentials one needs for such a task. When I am working with the LOSS team, I carry packets of Kleenex in my briefcase so I don’t have to wander out to the nurse’s station to find tissues. I know how to get glasses of water and other simple amenities for those who wait in that place.
But this time I was in the role of pastor. I didn’t have my briefcase. And I didn’t have the news. We waited together. It didn’t take long, but the big clock in that room moves so slowly that a few minutes seems like an eternity. There was time to hear the roughest outline of the story and to share a brief prayer with the family.
There wasn’t much story to tell. They were going into the house after an outing that included lunch and a stop at the pharmacy to pick up some prescriptions. He started up the few steps that lead to the kitchen and hesitated. She saw his hand slipping on the railing. She tried to hold him upright, but he is a big man. When he slumped, she was underneath him. She scrambled out, called 911 and tried to move him to a more comfortable position. The police and fire department and paramedics came and started CPR. There was a flurry of activity as they loaded him into the ambulance. She rode to the hospital in the back seat of the police cruiser. They were giving him medicine. We were waiting.
We didn’t have to wait for the doctor to say any words when he arrived. The doctor and nurse came into the room and I already knew what they were going to say. You could tell by the tired expressions on their faces. You could see it in the way they strained to look people in the face. Since I’ve had the job they had on previous occasions, I know a bit of what it feels like. But the doctor did find a few comforting words. He did describe what they had done in an all-out effort to save a life. I think he used the words, “There was nothing to do but to let him go.”
It was a blur of tears and a gush of emotions. I explained what would happen next and asked the widow – she is a widow now – when she would like to see him. As is usually the case, she wanted to see him immediately. I persuaded her to wait a few minutes for them to organize a few things in the room before we went in together.
We had been praying for a miracle. We wanted him to survive one more life-threatening experience. We had witnessed his courage in the face of other dangerous situations. We had known that he was a survivor. We wanted a few more years and if we couldn’t have that then at least a few more days. We would have settled for a few more hours. That was the miracle we wanted.
The miracle was no less a miracle just because it wasn’t what we wanted.
We were given the miracle of family love. We were given the miracle of friendships that are strong and resilient. We were given the miracle of caring and competent police, firefighters, paramedics and emergency room staff. We were given the miracle of community. We were given the miracle of a church that supports people in good times and in bad. We were given the miracle of Christ’s presence in the midst of grief.
And once again I witnessed something that I know is true, but that we often overlook. We human beings are amazingly good at grief. I don’t mean this to sound trite. It isn’t. But when circumstances are such that you might expect a person to fall apart, that person doesn’t fall apart. When the pain and grief are so deep and real that you would think a person would just come unglued, they don’t. Instead, we shed a few tears, experience a burst of confused emotions and get about the work of adjusting to an entirely new way of life. Before long grieving persons are making decisions, calling family and friends, telling the stories, and remembering the good times as well as the trauma.
Despite what you might think, we are really pretty good at the tough and awe-filled task of grief. Despite what you might think, God is no less present in the dark moments of our lives. Despite what you might think miracles occur even when we don’t get what we want. Sometimes it takes us a little while to recognize the miracles we are given.
Of this much I am certain: Love never dies. And God is love.