In the Presence of Miracles

In the Presence of Miracles

Miracles are events in our lives that seem not to follow the laws of nature nor that which we would normally expect. Many of us believe in them because they seem to be surprise moments and events in our lives; moments pregnant with opportunity. And we also know these moments are orchestrated by God.

Miracles are the “signs and wonders” frequently mentioned in both the Hebrew and Christian Bibles. Five times in Deuteronomy, the “signs and wonders” of Israel’s deliverance out of slavery in Egypt is mentioned. When God does this, the call to those who follow God is to “remember!” Remember what God has done and WILL DO in the future. Miracles give us the opportunity to be both astonished and motivated to change -- to become better persons.

In the Book of Acts, the prophecy of Joel is fulfilled: “God said, "I will pour out my Spirit on every kind of people: Your sons will prophesy, also your daughters; Your young men will see visions, your old men dream dreams.” God is both active and present: “When the time comes, I'll pour out my Spirit on those who serve me, men and women both, and they'll prophesy. I'll set wonders in the sky above and signs on the earth below” (Acts 2:14).

In the Bible we are also told what happens when Jesus prophesies: "The person who trusts me will not only do what I'm doing but even greater things…” (John 14:12). This is a difficult teaching to accept for most Christians in the western world. We are so rational. So suspicious of the heart. So wary of emotion, signs, or wonders.

But when Jesus’ followers believed in he had told them, big things started to happen. People were astounded. “Everyone around was in awe—all those wonders and signs done through the apostles!” (Acts 2:42).

This past weekend I was again in the presence of miracles, signs and wonders! It was during our fall men’s retreat, “One Year to Live” (OYTL) (http://www.lutheranmeninmission.org/events/oytl.html). It is a men’s event that I first attended three years ago and one in which I have volunteered be on staff at least twice a year since then. You see, I love being in the presence of miracles, signs and wonders! It makes faith so exciting!

During these retreats I witness the power of the Christian faith to do what Jesus wanted us to do – change our lives for the better – in short, transform ourselves into the men God created us to be – men who reject passivity, accept responsibility, lead courageously, and expect God’s blessings. (Robert Lewis, Four Marks of a Real Man).

What kind of miracles am I talking about? Men deeply and generously listening to one another. Men finding a safe place to off-load the heavy emotional baggage they have been carrying around for years. Men being honest, processing loss and grief they have experienced in their lives. Men committing to taking definite steps to be a better person; husband, father and friend.

I know when I am in sacred space. I know because it is honest, safe, and nurturing – and one powerfully senses the presence of God. Why do we men have trouble talking about our deep feelings? It is because most of us have hearts that we have shielded with the toughest armor. My image of this male-shielding is an ancient Roman battle formation called the “testudo” or turtle. The formation is like that of a hard shelled turtle or armadillo (testudo means turtle in Latin). When an attacked  by archers is launched, the men wheel round and hold their shields overhead and to the side for protection (see video at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMuSyEud3BE). The shape looks like a turtle and is protection from on-coming arrows.

The testudo formation is the best image I can think of regarding a man’s heart --  shielded, encased, protected against life’s arrows!... or so I thought. In my thirty plus years as a police officer, I put a testudo shield over my heart – both literally and figuratively -- the badge I wore on my uniform each day.

Did I have much grief packed away during my police career? You bet! After seminary I enrolled in a one-year residency as a hospital chaplain called “Clinical Pastoral Experience” (CPE). It was a time of emotional and spiritual supervision, group work with others in the program, and a great opportunity to do some spiritual and emotional work.

During the program I was a candidate for holy orders. It was during the end of my residency and my ordination was only a few weeks away when one day when I decided to talk about some things that were bothering me. There was this constant memory from my early years when I was a member of the police underwater recovery team in Minneapolis. We were the guys that were called out to recover evidence that may have been tossed over one of our city bridges or to recover the body of a drowned victim. Often those bodies were children’s bodies.

Now I was approaching ordination and I knew that an important part of my clergy duties would be baptism. And in my denomination, the baptism of children. The two images I began to struggle with was memories of my past in which I brought dead children up out of the water. The second image was that of a future which included bringing children up out of the water of baptism into new life. My past was stalking me, reminding me of those tragedies.  

In those days, I would be called out, often at night. I would drive to a lake or river and as I got out of my vehicle with my diving gear, I would see them. The parents. The deep-grieving, shocked parents who now looked with anticipation at me. Maybe I would I be able to find and save their child? But, of course, we all knew that was not possible. It had been too long.

After a few hours of groping in the dark waters along a prescribed search pattern, I would bump into something. Without seeing that something I would know what it was. It was the child. I remember a prayer I often repeated before I got into the water, “Please, Lord, don’t let me find her first; let someone else do it.”

When I contacted the body (it was often too dark to see anything, even with a powerful light, I would gently reach out, put my arms around the child and bring her up out of the water. I will then swim with her to the beach and give her to her parents. I don’t ever remember showing my feelings during this times. It was all “stiff upper lip; be professional!”  I stuffed my feelings about this and this horror down and deep.

After a diving operation, my colleagues and I would go to a bar and drink. More stuffing and numbing our feelings. This went on for years along with other traumatic events: being shot at, dangerous vehicle pursuits, physical struggles, rescues, and those intermittent times of fear – sometimes of terror.

We never talked about or processed what this was like for us. We were young and many of us had small children at home – safely sleeping in bed – while we  searched for another child’s body.

So that day, weeks before my ordination, I started sharing my deep feelings about these experiences and how these strange comparative images were dominating my thoughts.  As I began talking, my shield, my “testudo formation,” crumbled away.

I remember spending the next hour deeply weeping and sobbing. The grief I had stuffed for years flowed out of me. My defenses were gone and the result was a miracle as I began to unwrap my heart and open it to others --  and to God.

This one act, so many years ago, prepared me not only for parish ministry, but to become a more engaging husband, father, and pastor. Without that spiritually and emotionally cleansing opportunity, I would not be the man I am today. Not that in any way I am perfect, but that I am becoming a more improved version of my past self –  a David 2.3, so to say, growing in Christ and knowing that I can only do this through God’s grace and Spirit. It all was there for me all the time if I had only asked!

I have gone on longer than I intended. Suffice it to say that change, improvement, even miracles, are possible in each one of us. But in order to do so we have to “retreat,” get away, from the busy, noisy world around us and slowly dismantle our “testudo formations.” Unless we are willing to be vulnerable, practice compassion, and commit ourselves to serving others, we will never be the man God created us to be. Sure, we will exist, but we won’t be able to thrive, to grow, and experience true joy.

What happened that day was a miracle for me. I felt the gentle hand of God helping me. It was the same hand, the same miracle which enabled me to recently survive three terrible events in life – one of my granddaughters killed in an auto accident, my wife struggling with an incurable cancer, and a son who took his life. During these times, I cried out to God, I opened my heart, expressed my grief and feelings and God literally picked me up from the ground where I had fallen, lead me forward into restoration and healing. No need for the testudo formation anymore.

Yes, I believe in miracles. I have been in their presence. God continues to amaze and astonish me. Last weekend was another powerful demonstration of it!