First Unitarian Church, Portland, Oregon

May 23, 1999

Years ago when I was working as a counselor, a woman told me a story that quite literally made my spine tingle, and I want to share it with you this morning. She was a woman of middle age who lived out in the country. She said that one day she had decided to drive into town on an errand and had left her two children, who were about 9 and 11 years of age, there on the small farm. But when she had driven for only 10 minutes or so, something said to her, "Go back home." She tried to disregard this urging because she had no reason on this bright sunny day to turn around and retrace her steps. But the feeling would not release her: "Go back home." And so she did. When she arrived at her house, she could not see her children anywhere. She called and called, but they did not answer. Then she thought to open the abandoned freezer that was sitting on the property, and she found the children alive and well inside. They had crawled in there to play, not understanding the danger. Had she not turned around and gone back home, she would have lost them.

Now, how does one classify this experience—and others like it, which people tell in whispered tones, lest someone think they are a little off? Is it a miracle—that is, an event which cannot be explained by the laws of nature, an event which some would attribute to divine intervention? What do you make of such stories? I had no reason at all to doubt this woman, and I was forced to just say to myself, "There are some realms of being that are beyond my knowing, are beyond any area of study, any context of truth that I have been shown." Did I understand the phenomenon? No, I did not. Did I believe this woman? Yes, I did. Augustine centuries ago said, "Miracles do not happen in contradiction of nature, but in contradiction of what we know about nature." I confess my ignorance, and I also confess my belief.

It should be said that all religious traditions have their miracle stories. Confucius, Lao-tzu, and Buddha have all been credited with miraculous powers. However, it is in our Judeo-Christian tradition that miracles have been emphasized the most. Moses splitting the Red Sea, Daniel in the lion’s den. And then of course the miracles of Jesus, which include raising Lazarus from the dead, turning water into wine, and healing the sick. You know the stories. And they have most often been taken in the Christian tradition as literally true, as evidence that God intervenes in the world. That approach is shifting now, and many scholars are saying that the significance of the miracle lies in its meaning, rather than in the event itself. That is, rather than being considered as proof, miracles are considered revelatory: what new understanding lies within the story? What is the spiritual import?

The miraculous comes to us as a marvel, a wonder. It challenges our complacency and wakes us up to new possibilities. Rather than "fixing things," a miracle lets us know the true nature of things, lets us experience a manifestation of another realm. As S. Paul Burholt puts it, miracles are "organic signs of a world restored to its original harmony, the state of Paradise depicted in the Book of Genesis, when Adam, the prototype of humanity, was at one with God and all creation."

The word miracle is used recklessly, says humorist Frank Gannon. He wrote, "Consider the Miracle Mets of l969. Did God really suspend the laws of physical matter years ago? …. Was that, in the words of <Thomas> Aquinas and my insurance company, an act of God?" Do you really half-believe that the "parking space Goddess" always finds a spot for you in the crowded streets of downtown Portland? Moving even closer to the mundane, is Miracle Whip really a divine product? Yes, the word is used recklessly.

Miracles are reported these days with increasing frequency, in particular appearances of the Virgin Mary, or Marian visitations, as scholars refer to them. These of course are not an entirely new phenomenon—we all know of the visit in Lourdes, France, back in 1858 to a young girl named Bernadette, who was declared a saint in 1933. The fountain still flows there, and thousands upon thousands have come for healing. And then of course the much venerated Virgin of Guadalupe, who first appeared to a peasant in 1531 and is the patron saint of the Americas. But the visitations these days have gone from the awe-inspiring to the truly ludicrous. These appearances have occurred all over the world, but I’ll give you a sampling of those in the United States.

More than 60,000 people gathered on a single weekend at a farm in Conyers, GA, to hear a message from the Virgin Mother delivered by a former nurse and housewife. The NY Times reported that in suburban Marlboro, New Jersey, thousands of pilgrims came to visit the blue spruce trees where a vision was to have taken place. An image of the Virgin appeared on the rear fender of a car—to be specific, a 1981 Chevrolet Camero—in Elsa, Texas. When the owner washed his car, the image only grew larger. Soon people flocked to see the image, praying, bringing flowers, leaving written prayers. Mr. Mendoza, who gets seasonal work picking cotton in Louisiana, realized he could not move his car, because it had become a shrine. So he had to hitchhike to his work. And right here in Boardman, OR, in 1994 hundreds of people came to see an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe in a landscape painting purchased at a garage sale.

The most bizarre of these visions, however, has been the cinnamon bun bearing a striking resemblance to Mother Teresa, which was discovered in Nashville, TN, by Ryan Finney, an employee of the Bongo Java Coffeehouse. "I was horrified," said Finney, because I almost ate this religious piece of dough." The bun—now known as The NunBun—was stored in the coffeehouse freezer before it was purchased and then was the subject of a nine minute documentary. Immediately following the premiere of the video, the owner of Bongo Java formed a side business and began to field phone calls and develop souvenirs: T-shirts, bookmarks, coffee mugs. (Incidentally, I’ve seen the image, and it looks more like Obe-y-Kinobe than Mother Teresa.) The NunBun was featured on Jay Leno and the Dave Letterman show. Eventually Mother Teresa herself wrote the following letter to Bob Bernstein, the owner of Bongo Java: "Dear Mr. Bernstein, I am writing to ask you to stop selling merchandise bearing my likeness. I have always refused permission for this use of my likeness for commercial ventures. My legal counsel . . . has written asking you to stop, and now I am personally asking you to stop. I do know that you have not done anything out of ill-will, and so trust that you will understand and respect my wish. Let us pray. GOD BLESS YOU. Mother Teresa."

What is going on here? Why are so many people drawn to these sites where visitations are claimed to have occurred? I believe that people are searching for meaning, meaning that cannot be given to them by science and the material world. They know instinctively that there is "something more," but no longer find mainstream churches relevant. So they go to angel stories, and New Age crystals, and the Book of Miracles, and visions such as the ones I have spoken of. And I think it is interesting that the visions are of female deities—the Virgin Mary here, but in other cultures, Tara and Kali and the Black Madonna. I believe that there is a longing for more of a balance between male and female energy in the world, the female energy representing wisdom, and the male energy representing knowledge; the female intuition, the male logic; the female relationality, the male individualism. It is of no significance to me whether any of these visitations are "real" or not; it is of great significance that they point to the collective yearning of our civilization. We have become disenchanted with mere rationalism, and we are beginning to believe that the nature of reality goes beyond our sensory experience, goes beyond weighing and measuring.

The Hebrew word for miracle is nes, which also means "a sign." The purpose of the miracle is not necessarily deliverance, but is really about a change of consciousness. The point is not to contradict the laws of nature, but the point is that the miracle opens us to new ways of seeing. So a miracle is created, in one sense, by the perspective of the one who encounters the miracle.

I myself am not a particularly spiritual person, if by spiritual you mean, sensing the presence of the Divine when I am in prayer, or feeling at one with all that is. No, mostly I fly by blind faith, giving myself to that which I know not of, believing that if I offer myself, something good will come of it. I have, however, on a couple of occasions, had mystical experiences. One of those occurred when I was trying to decide whether or not to go to seminary.

I had made the long journey from my home in Lexington, KY, to Berkeley, CA, and had had my interview at Starr King School for the Ministry, and they had accepted me. But should I go? I returned to Kentucky feeling deeply torn. Did I want to leave all I knew and loved and move to what I considered truly a foreign country? A place where I could hear five different languages in any coffee shop? And a place that served coffee 10 different ways? About two weeks after the interview, I was sleeping comfortably in my bed, when I suddenly woke up. It was before dawn, and the sky was still dark. Something told me to put my clothes on and go out for a walk. It wasn’t like words, but just a sure feeling that that was what I must do. I must tell you that this all seemed very strange to me. It is unusual for me to wake in the night, and I am definitely not a morning person, so I would never get up before 7:30 or 8:00. And why would I walk out alone in the dark, living as we did near the center of the city? But I obeyed. I got up and put my jeans and a jacket on and went outside. I walked to a nearby university called Transylvania, where I saw a single tree on a vast expanse of grass. I walked over to the tree. The sun was just beginning to rise. In the tree I saw a small brown bird. I walked closer and the bird didn’t move. And I walked closer still, until I was right next to the bird, and the bird still didn’t move. I stayed there a while with the bird and then turned and went back home and got out my old Remington Rand portable typewriter and typed out a letter of acceptance to Starr King. Don’t ask me how I knew I should go. I just knew. It was years later before it occurred to me that the bird is a symbol, a sign, of the Spirit.

Now do I think that God was literally speaking to me through this experience? I really couldn’t say. I don’t want to interpret it at all. I just want to say, "This was my experience." Kind of like the blind man that Jesus healed. When people the man had known for years quizzed him about the healing, he said, "All I know is that I was blind, and now I see." That’s all I know. The way opened for me. And kept opening and opening.

It is kind of spooky, this kind of thing, you know. Unitarian Universalist writer Dan Wakefield in his wonderful book Expect a Miracle tells of interviews with various clergy about miracles. Frank Wade of Washington, D.C., believes as I do that a miracle is "not a description of an event but a perception of an event, how it comes to be understood. Exodus is viewed by the Jews as a miracle, but it was written off by the Egyptians. There’s nothing about it in their histories or sacred books. The miracle is in the perception." Many clergy also spoke of the fear of miracles. We protect ourselves from them, push them away, because as stuck and unhappy as we may be, change is scarier still.

Do you remember The Life of Brian, the very British and very irreverent satire about the life of Jesus? There’s the bit about the unwanted curing of the leper--it begins with the Ex-leper begging from Brian:

Ex-leper: All right, sir. My final offer. Half a sheckle for an old ex-leper.

Brian: Did you say EX-leper?

Ex-leper: That’s right, sir. 16 years behind the bell, and proud of it, sir.

Brian: Well, what happened?

Ex-leper: Oh, cured sir.

Brian: Cured?

Ex-leper: Yes, a bloody miracle, sir, God bless you.

Brian: Well, who cured you?

Ex-leper: Jesus did, Sir. I was hopping along, minding my own business. All of a sudden, up he comes, cures me. One minute I’m a leper with a trade, next minute my livelihood’s gone, without so much as a by your leave. You’re cured, mate. Bloody do-gooder.

Let’s just leave well enough alone, we say.

It’s tricky—we have to be open to miracles, but we can’t order them on demand. We can’t go on with things as usual and then hope that some weeping statue or some holy water or some great teacher is going to save us—some angel in disguise is going to knock on our door and give us the way out. We have to prepare ourselves to receive. We can begin by simply noticing the miracles around us. What could be more amazing than the fact that you can cut your finger, and the flesh comes together and heals itself? What is more astounding than the redwood tree, which comes from one of the tiniest of seeds, and yet can grow to 40 feet in diameter? What could be more absolutely breathtaking than the simple statement of hope written by Anne Frank in her diary: "In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart"? We don’t need to look for miracles—we need to open our eyes and see the miracles all around us. Albert Einstein put it this way: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is."

The Zen Buddhists have the edge on us Westerners in this regard. They understand the miracle in the ordinary. There is the story of the student of a great teacher who said to the Buddha, "My master is a wondrous man. He has meditated for 20 years, and he can walk on water." And the Buddha answers: "Why doesn’t he just pay three rupees and take the ferry across?" The water, the boat moving silently across it, the ferryman with his muscles and keen eyes—these are the miracles.

Miracles are a kind of co-operation with the Divine. Like when we birth a child. Or plant a garden. I have only a tiny little patch on the South side of my house that gets enough sun to grow vegetables. So I have my little lettuce plants and pepper plants and of course tomatoes. We have to ask for special miracles for our tomatoes here in Oregon, that they will ripen before the rains come. Every single day I go out and look at my little plants. Have they grown a bit? How much more did the slugs get last night? Will that tomato plant that was damaged by hail make it? I mean, who expects hail storms in the late spring? I take care of my little plot, and there is something holy about it. Even the weeds are a kind of blessing. I mean, would you like to sit in your rocking chair and let your garden grow without your participation? I feel like the old farmer who was out working in the field when the preacher came by, and the preacher said, "You’ve got a fine crop there. The Lord has surely blessed you." And the farmer said, "Yes, preacher, that’s true--but you should have seen this place when the Lord had it by Himself."

The way I see it, we are all in a lifelong process of healing, of becoming whole. We learn the foolishness of the false ego when we come to the point that there’s nothing else to conquer and little more to want. As our bodies age and begin creaking and cracking, we learn that we can no longer identify the true self with the body. More and more, we partner with the Spirit. Finally we learn to see ourselves as spirit connected with all human spirits, connected with the animals and the plants and the sea and the fishes in the sea and all of the bounty of creation, and we know at last that we are one with the Great Mystery. That is the end of our healing, and that is the greatest miracle of all.

So be it. Amen.

PRAYER

Creator God, we give praise this day for the many miracles in our lives—the miracle of the sun, for which we have waited for so long, the miracle of the food that grows in the earth, the miracle of the body, the miracle of love. Forgive us when we turn away from the holy and lose ourselves in the mundane. Holy One, you give yourself in so much abundance--help us to prepare each day for your coming. Wake us, that we might receive your gifts.

So be it. Amen.

BENEDICTION

Go now, and accept the miracles that offer themselves to you. Be not afraid. Go in love and peace. Amen.

 
OPENING WORDS

Why, who makes much of a miracle? As for me, I

know nothing else but miracles. Whether I walk the

streets of Manhatten, or dart my sight over the roofs of

houses toward the sky . . .

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle.

Every cubic inch of space is a miracle . . .

To me the sea is a continual miracle. The fishes that

swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—

the ships with men in them.

What stranger miracles are there?

--From "Miracles," by Walt Whitman

Copyright 1999 by Rev. Dr. Marilyn Sewell. All rights reserved.