“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.
My friend believes in God. She even has a Bible degree and 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 really happened?
I recognize her words as my words. We both think analytically. We need proof. Yet, we hesitate to go where we might find the proof, places generally loud and emotionally unrestrained. That kind of 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.” “Letting your guard down is a slippery slope.” “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. 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. People I know know the others. No one asked anyone to switch congregations. No miracle man filled a spotlight. Everyone joined in. What happened was encouragement to accept, trust, and build faith in our God. The people and the leaders expressed faith. Joy and power flowed freely and continued to grow.
I have fought this inner battle for over 30 years. How to trust when the church raised me to not trust. What is my level of faith in the acts of a living God? Did I trust what the church taught more? How could I have faith like Abraham, when no one told me to listen for God’s voice?
The answer is within me. I need to step out in faith, keep stepping out, and trust God to lead. Going where people speak of miracles as wondrously normal needs to become my normal. I must force myself to accept the possibility that what I see is reality. Friendship is the key. Know the people who pray and those who receive prayer. I need to become one of the weird people so that I can say, “I know that person. They were broken. Now, they are not.”
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. Weird is normal.”
