Quiet Miracles

It happened so quietly I didn't even realize it at first. Only after about a month of sleeping soundly through every night, did it strike me that a miracle had occurred in my life. I used to pray ever so diligently for God to heal my long-running sinus problem, since no doctors or medication could cure it. Over the years it had gotten worse than mere bouts of sneezing in the mornings.  It was a terrible nuisance when it acted up. Sometimes my nose got so stuffed I could only breathe through my mouth. Sometimes it got so 'runny'  I was literally 'dripping' phlegm all over my face. So I always kept a roll of tissue by my bedside. Needless to say it totally disrupted my sleep. The strange thing was every night, it would 'act up' at precisely the same time at the unearthly hour of 4 am - I would wake with a stinging pain in the nose that at times went right up to the head. It grew to be so familiar to me that after awhile I just gave up praying. When I got tired of waking up at 4 am, I would visit the specialist who would, as usual, prescribe the usual medication. He just couldn't find anything wrong despite poking all sorts of instruments up my nose. So he simply called it a 'sensitive' nose.  I had resigned myself to living with this 'inconvenient thorn in the flesh' for the rest of my life.

But the miracle did happen.  I don't know how, and I don't know when exactly. All I know is 'it' stopped. For the first time in years, I am not awakened at 4 am. I breathe normally. The roll of tissue by my bed remains untouched. There is no pain, no phlegm, no sneezing, nothing. It is as if I never had any nose problem. I tried to figure it out, maybe something changed in the atmosphere. Nope, in fact the rainy season is the time it normally gets worse. And nope, the most likely 'culprit' that makes my nose react (according to the doctor) - my cat - hasn't stopped rolling around on my bed. So nothing has changed in my environment. Yet I am healed, inexplicably, wondrously healed, even after I gave up asking for a miracle. God didn't forget, and God didn't give up on me, faithless as I am. What else is there to say, except Thank You, Lord.

Indeed some miracles happen so quietly we don't even notice it...like the physical healing of my nose. But as marvelous as that is, nothing compares to the miracle of a transformed life, which God showed me one Saturday down at the street alley. There were not many 'customers' to feed that day. I caught sight of a 'street-friend' who had been long absent from the scene. I first knew this man years ago, when he was in bad shape, physically ill because of a long history of drug addiction and stomach problems. Gaunt, unkempt, unshaven. Hopeless and helpless. Yet he wasn't that far gone that God couldn't reach. Whenever he dropped by, I would sit with him, tell him about my Jesus and pray for him. He was illiterate, didn't understand much. But somehow one day, quietly he muttered the prayer of faith. After that he disappeared for a long time.

Remembering how he was back then, and looking at him now,  I couldn't believe my eyes, for before me was a totally changed man. He had put on weight, his clothes were clean, he had on proper shoes. His hair was neatly combed, his moustache trimmed. But most of all, there was life, glorious life, in him. Shyly he told of how he now had a roof over his head, was living with relatives and taking care of their 6 children. I asked him if he remembered the Jesus he had called upon years ago, when he was down and totally out. He simply looked up to heaven, smiled and said thank God. He and I know he couldn't have made it on his own; his new life came from a God who specializes in miracles. He reminded me of the Bible story of the naked demon-possessed man who lived in the village cemetery. The people found him, sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind, completely delivered.

The dictionary defines a miracle as a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency. How politically correct. Might as well just say it's God, at least that's how people who believe in God understand it. Any Christian worth his salt knows all about miracles, the entire Bible is filled with miracles. The Christian faith stakes itself on what surely qualifies as the most spectacular miracle of all - a dead man resurrected from the grave. So we have come to expect miracles as something that must be 'showy', grand, fantastic and super-super-lative. Which is precisely the point of a miracle. So much so people have come to expect that's how miracles must work every time.

I have been to enough healing rallies to witness for myself blind eyes and deaf ears opened, the lame rise up and walk, the oppressed delivered. Though I have never seen any dead being resurrected, but that's due to the fact that no one has ever brought a dead body to the healing rallies I  attended. Still there are plenty of videos on U-tube of people certified dead returning to life. Certainly I believe my God works mighty miracles; after all He is called  the Almighty One. Certainly miracles can be and often are manifested in awesome 'big bang' displays of power that I can only attribute to God.

But that does a terrible disservice to the omnipotence of a God whom I have come to know and appreciate as infinitely the Master-Creator whose Hands painted the entire universe in all its magnificent physical beauty, who designed the intricacies of human beings in individual uniqueness. For it is not true that miracles must always come accompanied by thunder-bolts from heaven.  As the prophet Elijah discovered, contrary to his expectations, God didn't show up in a great, strong wind, an earthquake or even fire. Instead He came as a still, small voice.

Perhaps that's why we can walk through life missing many quiet miracles, taking things and God for granted. We explain away the amazing wonders of life with smart scientific theories. Actually, for those don't want to believe, nothing will convince them to believe anyway, not even a dead man come alive. But for those who will believe, there are always miracles to rejoice over that make life so much more exciting and God so real.

And He that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.- Revelation 21:5

Would you Die for such as These?

It started out as a pretty normal Saturday street-feeding session. The usual people were there, all waiting for the "Jesus" stuff to be over, so they could get down to the earthy business of eating physical food. Throughout all the Saturdays over all the years, we have consistently delivered 1 message - the good news of Jesus Christ, who died and rose again to save all. People's responses have always been varied. Some are simply not interested in a message they must have heard many times, spoken over the thousands of Saturdays ever since day one, when this work started more than 15 years ago. Some will be oblivious to their surroundings, eyes vacant, lost in a world of addiction. But some will listen, thankfully. In fact I have had a few come up to me sometimes to compliment me on the messages shared or translated. I tell them (and myself) it's all by God's grace that I can do what I do. Still if I had to count how many paid attention to our 'sermonettes' every Saturday, I would have lost all hope a long time ago. But thank God He doesn't require results from us, just obedience.

We are not responsible for people's response to the good news we deliberately and intentionally share every Saturday. Faith after all is a matter of personal choice. If someone chooses not to accept God's offer of salvation through Jesus Christ,  he does so at his own peril. No one, not even God Himself, would want it any other way.

This Saturday I had the luxury of sitting out as another was sharing. As usual I looked around for familiar faces, a smile here, hello there, as  I sit with them; listening to their stories, or just telling them about my God. Some smile sheepishly when I ask them point-blank why they keep poisoning their bodies with the drugs or drink that has got them addicted to a life of hell on earth. Most times I just pray for them, because it's the only thing I know how to do, given their circumstances. Today I spied out an 'old-timer' seated right at the outer end of the alley. He doesn't come often. When he is absent, I often wonder if he's finally succumbed to the cancer eating up his body. Today as I plop myself down on a chair facing him, I don't need to ask how he is. The sweat on his brow and the strained look tells me he is in much pain. But the stoic that he is, he doesn't complain. He's not the complaining type. Once again for the umpteenth time, I ask him if he will let my God help him. He just shakes his head and smiles. That's when the tears came unbidden to my eyes. We are both embarrassed. As usual I pray for him, he thanks me and walks away. I can't help thinking maybe it's the last time I will ever see him again.


Driving back home in the car, I find myself complaining to God why He made me cry and make a fool of myself in public. (I know, I know, it's pretty dumb the way we blame God for all sorts of things.) Suddenly the impression which I have come to recognize as "His voice" swept over me... "Those weren't your tears, they are mine. Do you know how much I love him?" I was ashamed. And then came the 'killer' question..."If this man could be saved by your death , would you die for one such as these?"

I was thoroughly shaken up.  Once again, tears pricked my eyes, but this time definitely it was my own tears, shed out of regret and a realization that I couldn't answer in the affirmative, at least not then. And I didn't want to answer in the negative, because that would show up the shallowness of my faith. For all the "good works" I do,  in church, in the streets, in the kindergarten where I work, for all the sermons I preach, the prayers I raise up daily to heaven, the countless sharing of my life testimony of how wonderful my God is... for all these things that I profess to do out of love for the Jesus who saved me..... yet, I couldn't bring myself to say yes to the question that God shot straight at and into my heart.

To die for one such as these? To give up my life for a virtual stranger, a homeless/hopeless "bum" who lives on the street?  To die for the unrepentant drug addict or drunkard who keeps sinning? To die for the 'rejects of society', the criminal who has been shuttling in and out of prison for God-knows what crime, the prostitute who knows no other way to earn a living? To stretch it still further, would I die for ... a person who isn't of my race? For my enemy, the one who curses me, the one who did me wrong? Would I die for the corrupt, the wicked? Would I be willing to die just so someone can know my Jesus, my God, so that they may know what true freedom is ?

Lord, that's a tough one. I am sorry. My spirit is willing but my flesh is indeed very weak. Honestly, I can't love like Jesus loves. I don't have that which caused Him to declare  "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life ... " (John 15:13) .  I am forced to admit the sheer inadequacy of my faith, so much for declaring my undying love for God, I can do so many 'right' things, and yet still be so wrong.

In my pre-Christian past, I never understood the emphasis 'those' Christians put on love. I often wondered why 'they' were so hung up on this thing called love.  I became one of 'them' not out of love, but rather out of sheer desperation over a husband dying of cancer (which accounts for why I am particularly concerned about people who suffer from the disease). It was only after his passing on that I fell in love with the One they called Jesus and found the most beautiful fantastic Love of all. And I thought this was IT. But it wasn't. Falling in love with my Creator, Redeemer and Savior was only the beginning of a love affair which would go way beyond what I could ever have imagined.

Because now, it wasn't just about loving God, but following Him if I truly loved Him. The cross which is the symbol of Christian faith bears 2 directions - vertical and horizontal. As much as I may love God 'up there', it means nothing if I cannot or will not open up my arms horizontally to embrace the people 'down here' on earth. And Jesus never differentiated what 'kind' of people He loved. In fact the worse they came, the more gracious He was. The fact that He used His last breath of life to ask forgiveness for His murderers is something that can only come from the Divine.

I, on the other hand, am thoroughly human. It's easy to preach, discuss, rationalize, theorize about love in the comfort of an air-conditioned building.  It's easy to sing, shout and feel good about love when there's a nice band playing your fave pieces. It's a piece of cake reading about love in the Bible; it can be reduced to just so many words. It's easy to pray for others, for the nation, for the world even. after all it's just 'talking to God'...well, not that easy sometimes, but at least I don't have to die literally. Compared to dying, it's pretty easy to spare 4 Saturdays, 12 hours a month to dish out plates of food for hungry stomachs, and listen to peoples' sob-stories.

But now here is the Lover and Beloved of my soul Himself asking me the million dollar question - would I die for such as these... the 'these' being anyone who doesn't know that He is the Way, the Truth and the Life. My logical mind argued - That's committing suicide and that's a sin, but my heart knew the argument held no water.  Committing suicide is killing yourself, like setting off bombs tied to your own body, which is totally wrong. Laying one's life down is having others kill you, even when you are right - like what Jesus did, surrendering His body to be tortured and hung on a cross. It wasn't something He wanted of His own; but He agreed to let it be done, to fulfill His destiny as already determined by God the Father - to show an unbelieving world the power of a Love that can heal the sick and broken-hearted, set the oppressed free, cast out demons, resurrect the dead, save sinners and throw in heaven to boot. But first He had to die. At this point,  I am reminded that all except one of the 12 disciples of Jesus died as martyrs for the faith.

And I wonder how many more men and women, names unrecorded, unknown  throughout the pages of history have done the same, without any fanfare or drama,  just quietly laying down their all, right down to their very lives, for what most of the unbelieving world deems to be 'just another religion.' It's not popular to be a Christian, especially in these days where anything and everything is deemed acceptable in the name of liberty and independence. For speaking out and disagreeing with the current norms of society, Christians have been labelled intolerant, conservative, traditional, extremist, exclusive, out of touch, irrelevant, crazy  .... and I venture those are the more polite names. I hear in America, Christians are being called bigots, rightists, 'haters', white supremacists, racists, fanatics and xenophobes, just for disagreeing with LBGT agendas. Of course, it's all made justifiable in the name of freedom of speech.

No one told me I had to die to be a Christian. I thought all I had to do was say the sinner's prayer, go to church, sing comforting songs, listen to sermons, tithe what I can, read my Bible, pray everyday. Attend some Christian conferences now and then. Be nice to people, do good things. Be grateful all my sins are forgiven and that I am going to heaven.

Now I am learning that's the bare minimum. And my God is the God of 'maximums', not minimum. He is the ALmighty. He is the One and Only. He is The Great I AM. All that He did was out of the most magnificent, grandest gesture of Love, was designed for maximum good and maximum impact, climaxing in the death of Jesus 2000 years ago, an event that birthed a special type of resurrection-life not only for those who chose then, but also for those who choose now to believe.

How can I, how can anyone who has received from Him, not agree to love, live and die likewise? My faith should be worth more than my life or my reputation; after all my death is no death at all, if it can be made life for someone else....even for such as 'these'.

I hope to see my street-friend again, so that I can tell him I would die for him, if that could save his life, even as my Jesus already did. Indeed if that's what it takes, I want to be bold enough to dare pray - Lord, don't use my death to save just 1, use it to save thousands upon thousands, so that many more may live forever changed by Your Love.

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life  will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.... Matthew 16:24-25