“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.”