Miraculous Encounters: Forcing God Into a Box

It's not often that we get to witness miraculous encounters today, or if we do, we've gotten really, really good at coming up with explanations for them in order to compartmentalize them into our limited, physical perspective. Why do we do this?

Because to admit to the occurrence of miracles, we also have to admit to the presence of a supernatural God. And even for Christians, that is sometimes a big ask.

Think about the word supernatural. It's composed of two words: super and natural, which -- breaking it down -- means above nature, outside of nature, bigger than nature. God created nature; therefore, He is supernatural. His miracles that He performs or that His Holy Spirit performs through his vessels (that's us, y'all) is supernatural.

The idea that God... is supernatural, is above nature, is not a shocking thing. He's God; what else would He be? And yet, when we see evidence of His miraculous work in the world, we go into shock and awe. Woah! And our natural minds throw up defenses against something too big to comprehend.

When I wrote about my frontline encounter with the spiritual enemy in the streets of Columbus, Ohio, and the ensuing proof of a miraculous occurrence (see Battle Strategy from September 1st last year), my natural mind still tried to rationalize what had happened, to find some "normalized" explanation for the way the entire episode had played out.

But I couldn't.

When my pastor friend Mark Driskill prayed for me to be healed from a debilitating migraine headache, on several occasions, and I could feel the "stopper" on pain open up and the pain drain away as he prayed... my natural mind still tried to rationalize what had happened.

I couldn't.

When I took a walk with a friend this past spring, and a large, unleashed, unfenced dog ran toward the road where we were striding along, snarling, growling, and barking, I nearly turned back, offering a panicked plea to the Lord for protection. And suddenly, the dog just... wasn't there anymore. My friend and I walked by, and I looked and looked, but it was completely gone.

I thought: I must have just missed it. But it had been there... and then it was no longer. I couldn't explain it.

Miracles.

There are so many stories that far outshine mine -- but mine are personal, first-hand experiences, so I'm sharing those. My main question that comes out of those experiences, though, is this: Why do we try so hard to force God into our natural, limited box?

What is the point of the miraculous?

Paul answers this in Romans 15:14-22 when he reminds his audience of his work as a pioneer missionary, called to bring the Gospel of Jesus Christ to new people (Gentiles, mostly) who have never before heard of Jesus. 

By the way, Paul's calling doesn't mean we're all called to be pioneer missionaries; 1 Corinthians 3:9 shows the various roles in missionary work: "I planted the seed, Apollos (another evangelist) watered it, but God has been making it grow."

But Paul lays out his calling in Romans 15:17-19: "Therefore I glory in Christ Jesus in my service to God. I will not venture to speak of anything except what Christ has accomplished through me in leading the Gentiles to obey God by what I have said and done-- by the power of signs and miracles, through the power of the Spirit."

What is the point of the miraculous?

Here, Paul explains. Miraculous encounters occur in order to allow Christ... to plant seeds of faith in our hearts. Miracles are faith-builders.

We just have to see them. We have to open our eyes to them. Not just our physical eyeballs that have lids and corneas and irises, but our spiritual eyes, the ones that can see supernatural phenomenon if we are only looking for them. Ephesians 1:8 says: "I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened (or opened) in order that you may know the hope to which He has called you, the riches of His glorious inheritance in the saints, and His incomparably great power for us who believe."

But here's the deal: While supernatural phenomenon are... heh... phenomenal, and give me chill bumps every time... the occurrences themselves are not the basis of faith. They are a great starting point for many, but we are supposed to grow in our faith. They can act as a springboard for a deeper journey, a rocket booster, a propulsion unit. 

When I was pregnant, I got slow. Really, really slow. A few times, if my husband and I were on a walk and we had to climb a slight incline of all things, my husband would plant his hand on the small of my back, and push. It made the hill-climb a whole lot easier (for me). Somehow, I always found myself at the top of the hill in record time, despite feeling weary, and slow, and ponderous because of my huge stomach. Because my husband had propelled me there. I had help outside of myself to get there.

I'm going back to Jesus' disciple, Thomas, also called Didymus, but it's easier to write Tom, so that's what I'll call him. I did a character study on this disciple, and when I read back over it this morning, I decided to repost, because there are a couple of important points here:

First: Tom gets a bad rap, and I want to correct that. 

And second: Jesus isn't calling miraculous encounters bad in any way, shape, or form; we know He performed many, many of them (John 20:30), and so did His apostles (2 Corinthians 12:12), but He makes it clear that our faith should not be centered in the occurrences themselves. 

We place our faith in Jesus. "Because you have seen me," Jesus tells Tom, "you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have believed."

So here's that character study. It's a good one. If you haven't read it yet, I pray the Holy Spirit shows you something you have never before seen. If you have read it, let the reminder today stir your faith. Current events have a way of challenging faith. I submit this: The more broken we are, the harder we cling to the Rock.

I saw the movie Gladiator years ago, and I remember nothing at all about it except that it's about a gladiator, and that Russel Crowe played the main role. But today, the gladiator's traditional salute resounded in my mind as I read the final sentence in today's Scripture passage. "Hail, Caesar, we who are about to die salute you..." which kicked off a character study of one of Jesus' disciples I haven't thought much about before: Thomas, also called Didymus.

Um... how, dear Tamara, do you get a gladiator's salute out of the beginning of the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead?

I'm so glad you asked. Let me explain.

John 11:1-16 introduces the characters for today's scene. Jesus is close friends with a man named Lazarus and his two sisters, Mary and Martha. To connect this family with other events in Scripture, this is the same Lazarus at whose house Jesus has dinner, and the same Mary who sits at Jesus' feet while Martha bustles and grows frustrated in the kitchen. It's also the same Mary who, at this very dinner, grabs her super expensive bottle of nard (perfume) and pours it out on Jesus' feet while He reclines at the table. Then she does the completely scandalous act of unbinding her hair in public and wiping Jesus' feet with it. This act is hugely symbolic, and since it's coming up in the next chapter, I'll save my commentary on that for later.

Anyway, Mary and Martha send word to Jesus Who is somewhere not in Judea (possibly Galilee?) with the message: "Jesus, the one You love is sick." 

I find it interesting the way John penned this sentence. He has described himself in other parts of this gospel as "the disciple whom Jesus loved." Since Jesus loved all His disciples, this denotes a close relationship, closer even than the other eleven. So when John writes "the one You love," I think he was placing Lazarus and -- later in verse 5 -- his sisters Mary and Martha ("Jesus loved Martha and her sister Mary and Lazarus") on another playing field from many of Jesus' followers.

My kids might call it "BFFs." Maybe Jesus is BFFs with John, Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. 

When Jesus receives Mary and Martha's message, He makes a strange statement: "This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son might be glorified through it." 

Think for a minute: Jesus says something will not happen -- yet, clearly, the something Jesus says will not happen -- in the eyes of the world, in the eyes of Mary and Martha, even in the eyes of the disciples, men who know, know, that Jesus is the Son of God -- happens. Lazarus dies. 

And Jesus knows it. "Lazarus is dead," says Jesus in 11:14, "and for your sake, I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him."

So... why does Jesus say something will not occur that clearly does occur? Has this ever happened to us? Do we ever think our perspective is the be-all-end-all of the matter? Of course we do. I wrote this character study on January 9th, three days after the insurrection at the Capitol building. It felt at the time like the world had flipped upside-down. Today, August 27, 2021, it also feels like the world has tipped a bit, given all that has happened in Afghanistan and other places, along with our mask debates and vaccine debates. Here's the thing: Every person thinks their own perspective is the correct one, and no one can offer the grace of understanding to anyone else. It's why we are where we are. But I'll leave that particular hornet's nest there and move on.

Jesus waits two days before He tells the disciples: "Let us go back to Judea."

Judea! The last time the disciples have been in Judea, the Jews there try to kill Jesus. It's dangerous. Jesus' life is at stake with this harebrained idea, and it won't be only Jesus who could be killed by this trip. The disciples are the very next train car on that track, and they know it. "Rabbi," they protest, "a short while ago, the Jews tried to stone You, and yet You are going back there?"

This is where I think I really see Thomas called Didymus for the first time. The poor guy has quite the reputation among us today, doesn't he? Doubting Thomas. Don't be like Thomas, y'all. His motto is: "I'll believe it when I see it," to which Jesus responds: "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed" (John 20:29).

Here, though, are twelve disciples who realize that they are quite literally facing death because they are following Jesus.

Let that sink in for a moment. Because of the Man they follow... they may be killed. Put yourself in their shoes. Because of the Man we follow... we may be killed. It is no secret that the enemy will do anything he can to destroy us, and if he can't destroy our faith, he works to destroy us physically. Thankfully, we also have quite the protectorate: "The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and He delivers them" (Psalm 34:7).

Jesus also tells His followers: "Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell" (Matthew 10:28). God alone is the only One we should fear. 

I don't mean fear like... terror. I mean fear like revered awe. Holy respect. God is not a great teddy bear in the sky, although I think this is a perception Christians carry of Him all-too-often. Yes, He loves us, yes, He sent His Son to die for us (John 3:16), yes, He rejoices over us with singing (Zephaniah 3:17). But yes, He is holy, righteous, and just, and He cannot and will not abide sin. Don't make the mistake of thinking because God is love that He will gloss over sin. He calls us out of darkness into His wonderful light (1 Peter 2:9).

Where was I? Oh yes, Tom. The twelve disciples stare at Jesus. The words are still ringing in the air: "Let us go back to Judea." The disciples have put up their protest, have issued their statement. They've reminded Jesus of the insanity of the idea, of the clear and present danger should they do this thing He asks them to do. Nowhere have the disciples signed a contract that says they have to follow Jesus; maybe some of them are having second thoughts, maybe a few of them are suddenly remembering important tasks they left undone at their homes and feel a sudden need to return to their families for... you know... a while (entirely speculation on my part).

And Thomas, dear faithful Thomas, steps forward. "Guys... let us also go, that we may die with Him."

Sometimes, I chuckle when I read about Thomas. This sounds sooo... doom and gloom, an Eeyore who groans: "I've lost my tail again." 

But in this sentence, Thomas' clear, entrenched, self-denying faith comes to the forefront. He is an early illustration of Galatians 2:20: "I am crucified with Christ; now I no longer live, but Christ lives in me." 

Like the gladiators of Rome, he faces what he believes to be certain death and he turns and gives his salute. He acknowledges his Ruler and issues the words: "Hail, Caesar, we who are about to die salute You."

Definition of salute: "To pay respect to or honor by some formal act." Thomas' formal act is the cry of his heart, which has faced the idea of death and has acknowledged his even though.

Even though he may die because of Whom he follows... he will still go. Thomas' even though shines through his salute: "Let us go, that we may die with Him." Hail, Caesar, we who are about to die salute you.

What is your even though? When you enter the arena and face down the enemy, Whom do you salute? The King of kings? Or self-preservation? 

Joshua's words ring through the centuries and echo in Thomas' statement: "Choose for yourselves this day Whom you will serve... as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord."

Oh Lord, give us a faith like the one Thomas exemplifies here! "Let us go, that we may die with Him."

Give us a faith that believes in You, not just in Your miraculous encounters. Give us eyes to see You, and let faith in You follow close behind.