Unbelieving Believers

“I can’t rationally accept that those people were healed.”  My friend and I discussed a church revival.  The crippled walked or danced, backs no longer sent shooting pain, and fused joints moved.  Most of the crowd acted happy-crazy.  Dozens ended up on the ground.  They laughed or sobbed.  A few jerked like fish out of water.  It was all too unrealistic to be true.

The lady who spoke believes in God.  She has a Bible degree.  She even believes God can heal.  Her problem is a lack of faith in humanity.  Charlatans are real.  They want our attention, our devotion, and our money.  If the healing does not happen to her, or to her friend, how can she know the event was not staged?

I recognize her words as my words.  We both think analytically.  We need proof.  Yet, we hesitate to go where the proof might be found, places generally loud and emotionally unrestrained.  The group’s religious background varies from person to person.  Some in the audience do not have any structured belief system at all.  A cultural clash keeps us at arm’s length, and we hold those arms crossed defiantly.

I pondered our beliefs, and realized I had heard those words spoken from my youth by my parents, my church teachers, and from the pulpit.  “God does not work that way any more.”  “Those miracle workers are all frauds.”  “Be strong against those who do magic tricks to heighten emotional reactions.”  “Don’t let your guard down.”  “Don’t be weird.”

Those teachers had valid points.  They warned against extremists who disrespected tradition and exploited emotions.  They opposed “teachers” who provided no lasting substance.  Those charlatans stole members from the local churches, and then abandoned them, broken and confused.  Only a few would return to regular worship, and they were never quite the same.

Yet, the people I saw healed are not strangers, not “shills” brought in to con “marks” out of money.  They are not even pretenders wanting attention.  I know some of them.  I know people who know others.  No one was asked to switch congregations.  Faith was not focused on one miracle man; everyone joined in.  What happened was encouragement to accept, trust, and build faith in our God.  The people and the leaders expressed pure faith.  Joy and power flowed freely and continued to grow.

I have fought this inner battle for over 30 years.  How to trust when I was raised by the church to not trust.  How to have faith in the acts of a living God, when I was told those events were simply coincidences, or worse, lies.  How could I have faith like Abraham, when no one told me to listen for God’s voice?

The answer was within me.  I had to step out in faith, keep stepping out, and trust God to lead.  I had to go where miracles were spoken of as wondrously normal.  I had to force myself to accept the possibility that what I saw was reality, that I was capable of hearing His voice.  I had to first get to know the people who prayed and those who received prayer.  I had to become one of the weird people so that I could say, “I know that person.  They were broken.  Now, they are not.”

Then, and only then, did I hear God’s voice.  What a wondrously normal thing!

After years of watching, I let down my guard to receive a miraculous healing.  I can now smile and say, “I am one of those people.”