It’s been a few weeks since the bombing at the Boston Marathon. There has been constant media attention given to detailing the lives of the brother bombers as well as ongoing speculations about their motives. I don’t allow myself to get too engaged by all these reports. I prefer to focus my mind and heart on finding the stories of hope and healing that have come about in the aftermath of yet another horrendous happening. Living a faithful life with a constant Easter perspective invites us all to do this. What have you seen? Come to know about? Spoken of?
I was inspired by one particular story presented by NPR news. What starts as the harrowing account of what happened to forty-seven year old Celeste Corcoran last April 15th finds its way into being what I consider strong witness to what is miraculous in this world.
She had been standing near the finish line eagerly anticipating the sight of her sister running across. Then the first bomb exploded. She never lost consciousness and so was able hear her husband, Kevin, speaking assurances as he applied belt tourniquets to her mangled legs. In great pain, she initially admitted to herself that she wanted to die. The shock of this admission, however, had the positive result of sparking her will to live -- for herself, her husband, her children (which included her also seriously wounded 18 year old daughter Sydney.)
In the week that followed, Celeste endured double-amputation below the knees plus three additional surgeries. Her typically resilient spirit struggled to acknowledge how very much her life had been instantly, utterly changed. She was very grateful to be alive, yet feared about what the quality of her life was going to be. For someone who “was always the one to organize things, do things, exert her independence in a million little ways,” [i] she began to hate depending on others to do everything for her.
In her hospital room, she felt very low and like a desperate invalid. Then one day a stranger named Gabe Martinez paid her a visit. This U.S. Marine had lost both legs in a similar way while serving in Afghanistan. Seeing her tears, knowing her fear and her pain, he spoke to her saying, “You know, I was just like you. I was just like this. I felt helpless. I felt I couldn’t do anything for myself.”[ii] Celeste noticed how he was standing steady as a rock on his prosthetic legs, and how much power there was in his reassuring presence. Then she heard him say, “Right now, I'm telling you -- you know, with all my heart -- you are going to be more independent than you ever were.” Several other visits followed, including one from another good natured member of the Injured Marine Semper Fi Fund. Sweeping his arms above her heavily bandaged legs, he declared, “This is just a change of scenary.”[iii] This turning point experience of being seen, of being known, of being spoken to with words of liberating hope, soon had Celeste laughing and gesturing and telling stories again at the pace she was used to in her life as a hairdresser on Newbury Street.
There was no miraculous saving or restoration of this innocent by-stander’s limbs. But there was a miracle and a restoration in the aftermath of the horrific attack. Meeting the Marines inspired her to bear witness to this miracle with these words – “After I met them, it was like this ... this little spark. You know, it's really going to be OK. Before then, I knew I was going to live. I knew my loved ones were going to be around me. But the independent me ... after that point, it was like I got it that the sky's the limit. Nothing was taken from me that I can't get back. I can even be better than I was before."[iv]
After his encounter with Jesus, I imagine similar words witnessing miraculous restoration were proclaimed by the man we meet in the fifth chapter of John’s Gospel. He had suffered 38 years of being physically invalid, as well as being socially invalidated. For someone living in his time and place, his physical symptoms were not regarded as the result of some biological disease or development. Such medical knowledge didn’t exist. They were instead viewed as symptomatic of “some disruption, disordering, dislocation of proper relationships – that is, of sin.”[v]
This Bible story is therefore less about the invalid’s miraculous physical healing and much more about the miraculous restoration of his social well-being. This happened only after Jesus saw him and visited him, truly knowing what suffering the man most needed to be released from. He knew the man was desperate to get beyond the despondency and dependency of spending all his life feeling stuck in his tragic circumstances. He knew the man needed to move beyond waiting to be dipped into a pool that pagans regarded as having miraculous power. Not only was this understanding of the pool a false god, but nobody who believed in it, it seems, had bothered to ever help this ill man into the pool, into having any hope. “Do you want to be made well?” inquired Jesus. In other words, “Do you want a change of scenery? To be restored in your relationship with family, friends, society? To better than you ever have been before? ”
Notice that there isn’t any indication from John’s Gospel that this man recognized exactly who was asking this amazing question. He didn’t reply, “Yes, Lord, make me well!” Nor did Jesus say, “I’m God, let me make you well!” The holy and relevant miracle of this moment in history started when Jesus intentionally stepped into the gap of personal and social isolation. It started with his deciding not to ignore this suffering soul and thus reinforce a cultural norm of blame and gross neglect. He didn’t offer to put him into a pool of false hope. Jesus instead decided to see this neighbor’s needs, make the time to be with him, listen to his tragic circumstances, and then invite him to a new and more whole way of life.
I fully believe Jesus is still providing this life restoring work to the world today. And I believe witness to this often times doesn’t even mention His holy name. I choose to believe, and we can all choose to believe, He is present when his restorative power is most needed. Our Lord was there at Celeste Corcoran’s side. Through the power of His Holy Spirit, he was present when a belt was offered as tourniquet, when words of love and comfort were expressed in the midst of chaos, when she felt an inner spark to live that was much more powerful than the evil explosion that did it’s best to kill her spirit, when a vision of hope and wholeness was offered by someone who’d been in her shoes.
There are many people in our lives, our neighborhoods, our nation, and our world who feel they have no choice but to suffer day after day. The causes and degrees of physical, emotional and spiritual suffering vary greatly. Jesus cares about and is attending to them all. Living our lives with constant Easter perspective is all about fully trusting this. When we do, we glorify our Lord above all false hopes and gods. When we do, we are then able to respond faithfully by being agents of His always miraculous grace.
Lots of things can get in the way of our taking the time to see, know and speak on behalf of Jesus. There are lots of reasons why we can all grow complacent about calling for greater awareness of Christ’s strengthening presence. One way I find inspires and empowers us to stay focused on where Jesus is standing and what He is saying is to keep recalling the moments in our lives when we can most relate to the man stuck to his mat for so long. Those times, such as come to us all, of feeling in-valid and unable to rise up to be the hopeful, whole people God wants us to be.
I invite us to review these moments today and in the week ahead. And as we do, let us wonder where Jesus was and is. By wondering, may we come to realize again or perhaps for the first time that our Lord truly sees us, knows us, and invites us to live whole and holy lives. Amen.
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