Miracles
Commentary
Tinkerbell is the delightful sprite in Peter Pan who drifts between the world of senses and the world of magic. She sprinkles “fairy dust” to make children fly; she sparkles around Peter Pan as a comrade adventurer.
Once, in one episode of a televised version of Peter Pan, Tinkerbell ingested some poison. There was nothing to be seen of her, tiny thing that she was, other than the brightness of her little light. But with the poison, her light began to fade. Before our very eyes she grew dimmer, pulsing with a weakening glow.
But miracles do happen in fairy tales and on television. Peter Pan turned to the audience. “You’ve got to believe!” he pleaded. “You’ve got to believe in Tinkerbell. Everyone out there, clap your hands together now, and show Tinkerbell that you believe in her.”
Across North America, children of all ages who were watching must have clapped. I know we did.
As we watched, we could see Tinkerbell’s light grow strong and bright. She flitted back to life, and then the story could go on. She almost had faded away, but we believed in her, and she lived.
We want miracles to happen, don’t we? I have prayed for miracles of healing in hospitals and homes where good people from my congregations have faced horrible diseases and dark reports from their doctors. We know that God performs miracles, and that Jesus told his disciples to ask and they would receive. Yet miracles rarely seem to happen, even when we pray fervently for them.
Still, we need to believe and trust that God can perform miracles, and that they still occur. After all, this is the “Fourth Sunday of Easter,” and we are still energized by the miraculous light from Jesus empty tomb…
Acts 9:36-43
Sometimes people talk about the Bible as a book of miracles, as if on every page there are stories of healings and exorcisms and blind people seeing and the dead being raised. But if we read the Bible straight through, from beginning to end, we would find that miracles actually occur in four clumps: (1) during Israel’s flight from Egypt and travels to the promised land; (2) when the prophets first appeared on the scene (think of Samuel, Elijah and Elisha); (3) in the amazing years of Jesus’ life and ministry; and (4) when the apostles first began to preach about Jesus in the days following Pentecost.
It seems as if, even in the Bible, miracles served a specific purpose. They accompanied God’s two big interruptions of human life as God initiated God’s special mission activity through Israel and Jesus, and then they occurred as those raised up as divinely authorized spokespersons (prophets and apostles) moved the message out into society.
That seems to be in the background of today’s lectionary reading from Acts. Jesus did his incredible thing, and then turned the mission over to his disciples. Among them, Peter was a key leader. People had to know that Jesus was with Peter, and that Peter was merely following orders as he preached and taught this amazing good news. So miracles happened. Yeah!!!
Revelation 7:9-17
In John’s second major vision of Jesus, the scene shifted from Earth to heaven (Revelation 4–5). God was not represented by creatures or beings or shapes or symbols, but only as the shimmering of pure light itself, in pulsating and changing hues covering the whole spectrum. The throne from which God ruled was not backed against the wall of some palace room, but was at the center of all things so that all of created reality flowed out from it, surrounded it with worship, and received its light and life from God. Everything everywhere participated in synchronized waves that emanated out from this point of origin, and the pulsating undulations sent back to the throne of God choruses of praise and songs of reverence.
Occupying the key places of honor closest to the divine throne were the 24 elders, representing the combined leadership of the people of God through biblical history—twelve patriarchs in the Old Testament, twelve apostles in the New Testament. As the rhythms of worship resounded, and caught everything in heaven and on Earth and in the seas in their vibrations and beats, a new element was suddenly introduced: A scroll was extended out from the indescribable light of the one on the throne. This parchment was covered with writing and appeared to be of critical importance for whatever had to happen next. Yet no one seemed to have access to the scroll, so John wept.
Quickly, however, John was told that the “lion of the tribe of Judah, the root of David,” was approaching, and that he would unfasten the seals that bound the scroll. Expecting a roaring and powerful beast, John was amazed to see instead a “lamb, looking as if it had been slain.” It was “standing in the center of the throne.” Subsequent lines made it clear that this one was Jesus. In these quick descriptors, John announced several things.
First, Jesus was human, a king in the line of David. Meanwhile, he was also the “root” of that whole royal family, giving the rest of its members their royal authority. At the same time, he was the one who died as the true Passover lamb, fulfilling the meaning of that ritual right, which gave identity to the nation of Israel. But he also came alive again in the resurrection of Easter Sunday and ruled over all things with supreme and unequaled authority. He was, in fact, truly God (notice that he stands at the center of the throne, which is a position that can solely be claimed by the Creator deity of the universe).
Jesus slowly, but deliberately, opened the seven seals in succession. As they were cracked, scenes of partial devastation wreaked upon earth, and human societies provided anticipation of the coming comprehensive judgment of God. Before the full impact of these things annihilated humanity, however, a group symbolically numbering 144,000—but visually identified as “a multitude that no one could count”—was ceremonially protected from the combined destructive power of evil and the awful judgment of God (Revelation 7). It is important to pay close attention to the manner in which John records his vision here, because the symbolic 144,000 and the innumerable host are identified as one and the same group. Since John brings this number back again in Revelation 14:1, it is critical to understand 144,000 as a descriptive collective, rather than an itemized tally.
The opening of the seventh seal (Revelation 8:1) triggered the beginning of the blowing of seven trumpets that announced the near arrival of holocaustic divine judgment. New visions accompanied these blasts, and with each, the seismic tremors on Earth increased in intensity, as more profound destruction ensued. Just prior to the blowing of the seventh trumpet, John was given a scroll to eat (Revelation 10), clearly marking him as a prophet like Ezekiel (Ezekiel 3), whose earlier visions provide many of the themes and expressions that are part of the revelation to John.
Before the bowls of plagues were poured out (Revelation 15–18), accomplishing the final judgments of God and the time of transformation into the eternal age of renewal, there was what appeared to be a kind of face-off between the superpowers who were behind the scenes and who shaped the battlefield skirmishes of this conflict. In Revelation 12 and 13, evil in personified form was shown to mirror the identity and activities of the Holy Trinity. As the Father is Creator and sustainer of all things, so the dragon tears at these material wonders, skewing and destroying them in a wild rage to harm God’s people and God’s plans (Revelation 12). Defeated in a bid to kill the divine Messiah born of the woman (symbolically drawing together the representation of the great mother, Eve of Genesis 3:15, the nation of Israel that was God’s bride and gave birth to the Messiah, and the Church of the New Testament age, which is under attack, all combined into a single descriptive package), the dragon conjured up helpers from the human arena. The beast from the sea (Revelation 13:1–10) was an unholy counterpart to Jesus, receiving power and authority from its wicked master and displaying a “fatal wound” that had been healed, mimicking Jesus’ own death and resurrection. Because it took up residence in the human realm, this beast began to receive worship from all of humankind. Its authority was enhanced when the beast from the Earth emerged, eliciting fire from heaven and miraculous signs at its appearance, just as happened when the Holy Spirit of God came to Earth on Pentecost (Acts 2). And like that third person of the holy Trinity, this unholy entity turned the attention of the human race to the one who came before, which was, in this case, the beast that had the fatal wound that healed.
In striking images, John portrayed the nasty game of imitation that evil tried to play in a bid to win humanity away from its true relationship of worship with the Creator. In fact, Revelation 13 ends with the great and mysterious marking ceremony, in which all of humanity was branded with 666. While many interpretations swirl about, in reality, John made it clear that this was a devilish counterpart to baptism, since the only ones who escape the trauma of this identification were those who instead wore the names of God (Revelation 14:1–5). The 777 mark of belonging to Father, Son, and Spirit was the only antidote to the mesmerizing and dehumanizing promises issued by the great enemy of God and of God’s people. While they glowed with tantalizing power, they ended up short (only a 666) and were destined for the ultimate trash bin, where everything imperfect was consumed or purified by fire.
Despite the power and wily maneuvering of the dragon and his helpers, they were no match for the true God. Revelation 14 concluded with a harsh indictment upon the unholy trinity and all who fall under its sway, and a great promise that soon the final judgment would begin. Indeed, in chapters 15–18, the stored-up wrath of God upon evil and sin was poured out from seven bowls, which replayed the majority of the devastations brought upon Egypt during the days of Moses (Exodus 7–11). In the end, the personification of evil as it coalesced in the human community was destroyed, doomed just as ancient Babylon was ruined because of its part in attacking the people of God (Revelation 17–18).
John 10:22-30
John organizes a very deliberately shaped encounter with Jesus. The seven “miraculous signs” of chapters 2–11 not only provide healing and hope to those who were first the objects of divine grace through Jesus, but they also dig deeper into biblical history to replay major scenes of the Old Testament in a way that reasserts the mission of God, while shifting its agency from Israel to Jesus. For instance, just as sin first disrupted the marriage of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, so Jesus first displays his regenerative powers by restoring the celebration at a wedding (chapter 2).
Again, while Adam and Eve mourned the loss of their son through murder brought about by sin, a new nobleman (John deliberately sets this character above national, tribal, or ethnic limitations that are otherwise used to identify all other persons in the gospel) receives back his son from the dead (chapter 4). Next, Jesus encounters a man who has been ailing for 38 years (chapter 5) and who can only otherwise be healed by passing through waters that have been divinely disturbed. Interestingly, Moses, in Deuteronomy 2:14, gives the only other reference to the number 38 in all of the Bible, mentioning it as the amount of time that the Israelites have been wandering in the wilderness, waiting for the shalom that can come to them only if they pass through the waters of the Jordan River, which will be divinely disturbed in order to make the crossing possible.
In this way, John continues to portray Jesus as the new agent of divine redemption, functioning in parallel to the manner in which God dealt with Israel of the Old Testament. Jesus, too, feeds the people of God in the wilderness (chapter 6) and tames the raging waters that in the darkness prevent God’s people from entering the promised land (chapter 6). Furthermore, as Isaiah was told about the blindness of the people in his day (Isaiah 6), Jesus contends with similar dysfunctional eyes (chapter 9). And just as Ezekiel had to preach to the dead nation of Israel in order to resurrect it from the grave of exile (Ezekiel 37), so Jesus brings back to life one of his dear friends who has died (chapter 11), symbolizing the ultimate goal of divine grace.
It is only after the dissemination of the seven signs to the broader world that “Greeks”—John’s metaphor for the global community beyond the Jewish domain—begin their quest to find Jesus (12:21). Then, immediately, Jesus declares that his “hour” has come. Why? Because the salvation of God sent to this world (John 3:16–17) has been recognized through the signs and has been received by the world. It has begun to make an impact, and the world will never again be merely content with darkness. Dawn is breaking.
Application
Fouke was the baker in a small Frisian town named Faken. He was a very righteous man. In fact, it seemed often that when he spat out his few words, they sprayed righteousness from his thin lips. He walked with upright dignity, and no one could find a fault in him. Except, maybe, that few found him warm or tender. But then, one does not become as righteous at Fouke by blurring the edges of rigorous spirituality through relational compromises.
Fouke was married to Hilda, and they lived a rigid life of regular hours and faithful church attendance. Fouke carried his Bible prominently in his arm as they strolled with purpose to and from worship services each Sunday, and all could see that this book was well used in between. Fouke was a righteous man, and expected others to be as well.
So it was shatteringly shocking when he came home from the bakery one day to find Hilda in bed with another man. How could she do such a thing? How could she violate their bed? More importantly, how could she tarnish the righteousness of their home, or Fouke’s reputation in the community?
Word spread quickly in the small town of Faken, and soon everyone knew that Fouke was about to send away his wife in disgrace. So all were surprised when that didn’t happen. Fouke chose, instead, to forgive Hilda and to keep her on as his wife. Fouke made it very clear that he was choosing to forgive Hilda, like the Good Book said. Everyone knew it, and they commended the baker for his fine show of spiritual depth and mercy.
But Fouke’s forgiveness was something he wore like a badge of prideful humility, and never did it actually penetrate his heart of hearts. Not a day went by but Fouke reminded Hilda of his gracious mercy toward her and how undeserving she was of it. She was a tramp, a hussy, a damaged woman with a weak and willful conscience, and she should be glad that a man of his righteous stature did not get rid of her or hold her to public ridicule.
Every day Fouke’s righteousness and forgiveness sparkled like a cheap bauble that weighed them down like costume jewelry. But in heaven Fouke’s fakery didn’t sit well. Every night an angel was sent down to Faken to drop a small pebble into Fouke’s heart. In the morning, when he exercised again his righteous vindictiveness, a sharp pain slashed through his body.
Day after day the tiny pebbles accumulated, and the hurting in his chest increased. Before long, tall and upright Fouke began to walk with a bit of a bend, and stoop more when he was working. And his boundless energy seemed sapped by the changes taking place in his body. Within several months, Fouke trudged down the street nearly doubled over, and his face wore a constant grimace of pain. In desperation, he cried out to God. Surely he did not deserve this! What was happening to him? How could he find relief and release from the awful torment?
That night an angel was sent to Fouke in Faken. Very patiently the angel told Fouke of the observations that had been made, and the decision to drop a pebble into his heart at every expression of righteous bitterness toward Hilda. By this time, Fouke was in too much pain to protest, or to sputter a declaration of his righteousness over against Hilda’s gross waywardness in this sordid matter. All he could do is plead for some way to be healed.
The pebbles could be stopped, he was told, and the pain lessened, if he gained the miracle of Magic Eyes. What might these be, he asked, these Magic Eyes?
The Magic Eyes would allow him to see Hilda as she was before the adultery, Fouke was told. “But you can’t change what happened,” he protested.
That is true, came the angel’s reply. No one, not even God, can change the past. But sometimes the future can be changed. Sometimes hurts can be healed. This is why Fouke needed the Magic Eyes.
“Where do I get them?” he pleaded.
You only need to ask with genuine desire, he was told.
But Fouke was too proud to ask for the Magic Eyes. After all, he was righteous. And besides, Hilda was a guilty woman; why should he look at her in any other way? She was the one who nearly destroyed their marriage. If it were not for righteous Fouke, it could never have been saved.
Yet day by day, Fouke’s debilitating pain increased, as angels continued to drop pebbles into his heart. By the time he finally relented, he was almost walking on his head, and there was no longer any way to hold himself high and rigid with pride. So, in the dark of night, as a lightning bolt of agony ripped through him, he cried out, “O God, save me!”
The relief didn’t happen at once. At least Fouke could not notice any difference for several days. But then life became nuance in little ways. First, through sideways glances from near the floor, Fouke thought that Hilda was looking more pretty. She seemed to have a new glow of beauty emerging from within at times. He couldn’t believe it, of course, for the adultery had made her very ugly to him. Yet there it was, and he found himself looking at her more and more often.
Then the critical edge of his chest pains began to subside. After several weeks, he found he could walk with less bend and stand with less stoop. His work at the bakery was easier, of course, but so was his time at home with Hilda. Another month or two went by, and Fouke was walking the streets upright, with a lighthearted step. More importantly, the citizens of Faken noticed that Fouke often took Hilda by the arm, and that there was a genuine warmth between them. Some thought, too, that Fouke’s lips were less thin than they used to be, and all were certain that the spray of righteousness had subsided.
No one thought Fouke had become less godly in the process, though. In fact, there was a new aura about him that made people sidle up to him in a way they had never desired before.
Hilda was never sure what had happened to her husband. He never told her about the Magic Eyes. But the way things were turning for them, she didn’t need to know.
It makes me wonder though, whether I need those Magic Eyes? How about you?
Alternative Application (Acts 9:36-43)
Victor Hugo called his masterpiece, Les Miserables, a religious work. So it is. The story echoes the gospel message at nearly every turn.
The main character, Jean Valjean, has been beaten hard by the cruel twists of fate. He has seen the sham of hypocrisy on all sides. So he casts the name of the Lord to the ground like a curse. What does God know of him, and what does it matter?
Imprisoned for stealing bread to feed his family and resentenced by the vindictive will of his jailer, Jean Valjean finally manages to escape. On his first night of freedom, he stays with a bishop, who treats him well. But behind Jean Valjean’s thankful mask is the cunning face of a thief, for the bishop has many valuables.
In the early morning hours, Jean Valjean steals away with some silver plates. And when his suspicious appearance brings him under arrest, he is forced to face the bishop again, charged with new crimes.
Then the miracle of grace occurs. For in Jean Valjean’s eyes the bishop sees something that begs forgive ness and hopes for mercy. Instead of taking revenge, the bishop declares that the silver dishes were a gift to Jean Valjean. In fact, he says Jean Valjean forgot to take the two silver candlesticks he had also given him.
In an instant, the bishop declares Jean Valjean innocent and gives him back his life. But with this gift of forgiveness, he commissions Jean Valjean to bring Christ to others. The rest of Jean Valjean’s life becomes a testimony of one who is made new in the grace of divine love. He becomes what he was meant to be.
Not only that, but Jean Valjean spends the rest of his life helping his young charge, Cosette, find love and a good marriage. The redeemed becomes the redeemer. The one who has seen the light becomes the light of life for others.
It is always a miracle story.
Once, in one episode of a televised version of Peter Pan, Tinkerbell ingested some poison. There was nothing to be seen of her, tiny thing that she was, other than the brightness of her little light. But with the poison, her light began to fade. Before our very eyes she grew dimmer, pulsing with a weakening glow.
But miracles do happen in fairy tales and on television. Peter Pan turned to the audience. “You’ve got to believe!” he pleaded. “You’ve got to believe in Tinkerbell. Everyone out there, clap your hands together now, and show Tinkerbell that you believe in her.”
Across North America, children of all ages who were watching must have clapped. I know we did.
As we watched, we could see Tinkerbell’s light grow strong and bright. She flitted back to life, and then the story could go on. She almost had faded away, but we believed in her, and she lived.
We want miracles to happen, don’t we? I have prayed for miracles of healing in hospitals and homes where good people from my congregations have faced horrible diseases and dark reports from their doctors. We know that God performs miracles, and that Jesus told his disciples to ask and they would receive. Yet miracles rarely seem to happen, even when we pray fervently for them.
Still, we need to believe and trust that God can perform miracles, and that they still occur. After all, this is the “Fourth Sunday of Easter,” and we are still energized by the miraculous light from Jesus empty tomb…
Acts 9:36-43
Sometimes people talk about the Bible as a book of miracles, as if on every page there are stories of healings and exorcisms and blind people seeing and the dead being raised. But if we read the Bible straight through, from beginning to end, we would find that miracles actually occur in four clumps: (1) during Israel’s flight from Egypt and travels to the promised land; (2) when the prophets first appeared on the scene (think of Samuel, Elijah and Elisha); (3) in the amazing years of Jesus’ life and ministry; and (4) when the apostles first began to preach about Jesus in the days following Pentecost.
It seems as if, even in the Bible, miracles served a specific purpose. They accompanied God’s two big interruptions of human life as God initiated God’s special mission activity through Israel and Jesus, and then they occurred as those raised up as divinely authorized spokespersons (prophets and apostles) moved the message out into society.
That seems to be in the background of today’s lectionary reading from Acts. Jesus did his incredible thing, and then turned the mission over to his disciples. Among them, Peter was a key leader. People had to know that Jesus was with Peter, and that Peter was merely following orders as he preached and taught this amazing good news. So miracles happened. Yeah!!!
Revelation 7:9-17
In John’s second major vision of Jesus, the scene shifted from Earth to heaven (Revelation 4–5). God was not represented by creatures or beings or shapes or symbols, but only as the shimmering of pure light itself, in pulsating and changing hues covering the whole spectrum. The throne from which God ruled was not backed against the wall of some palace room, but was at the center of all things so that all of created reality flowed out from it, surrounded it with worship, and received its light and life from God. Everything everywhere participated in synchronized waves that emanated out from this point of origin, and the pulsating undulations sent back to the throne of God choruses of praise and songs of reverence.
Occupying the key places of honor closest to the divine throne were the 24 elders, representing the combined leadership of the people of God through biblical history—twelve patriarchs in the Old Testament, twelve apostles in the New Testament. As the rhythms of worship resounded, and caught everything in heaven and on Earth and in the seas in their vibrations and beats, a new element was suddenly introduced: A scroll was extended out from the indescribable light of the one on the throne. This parchment was covered with writing and appeared to be of critical importance for whatever had to happen next. Yet no one seemed to have access to the scroll, so John wept.
Quickly, however, John was told that the “lion of the tribe of Judah, the root of David,” was approaching, and that he would unfasten the seals that bound the scroll. Expecting a roaring and powerful beast, John was amazed to see instead a “lamb, looking as if it had been slain.” It was “standing in the center of the throne.” Subsequent lines made it clear that this one was Jesus. In these quick descriptors, John announced several things.
First, Jesus was human, a king in the line of David. Meanwhile, he was also the “root” of that whole royal family, giving the rest of its members their royal authority. At the same time, he was the one who died as the true Passover lamb, fulfilling the meaning of that ritual right, which gave identity to the nation of Israel. But he also came alive again in the resurrection of Easter Sunday and ruled over all things with supreme and unequaled authority. He was, in fact, truly God (notice that he stands at the center of the throne, which is a position that can solely be claimed by the Creator deity of the universe).
Jesus slowly, but deliberately, opened the seven seals in succession. As they were cracked, scenes of partial devastation wreaked upon earth, and human societies provided anticipation of the coming comprehensive judgment of God. Before the full impact of these things annihilated humanity, however, a group symbolically numbering 144,000—but visually identified as “a multitude that no one could count”—was ceremonially protected from the combined destructive power of evil and the awful judgment of God (Revelation 7). It is important to pay close attention to the manner in which John records his vision here, because the symbolic 144,000 and the innumerable host are identified as one and the same group. Since John brings this number back again in Revelation 14:1, it is critical to understand 144,000 as a descriptive collective, rather than an itemized tally.
The opening of the seventh seal (Revelation 8:1) triggered the beginning of the blowing of seven trumpets that announced the near arrival of holocaustic divine judgment. New visions accompanied these blasts, and with each, the seismic tremors on Earth increased in intensity, as more profound destruction ensued. Just prior to the blowing of the seventh trumpet, John was given a scroll to eat (Revelation 10), clearly marking him as a prophet like Ezekiel (Ezekiel 3), whose earlier visions provide many of the themes and expressions that are part of the revelation to John.
Before the bowls of plagues were poured out (Revelation 15–18), accomplishing the final judgments of God and the time of transformation into the eternal age of renewal, there was what appeared to be a kind of face-off between the superpowers who were behind the scenes and who shaped the battlefield skirmishes of this conflict. In Revelation 12 and 13, evil in personified form was shown to mirror the identity and activities of the Holy Trinity. As the Father is Creator and sustainer of all things, so the dragon tears at these material wonders, skewing and destroying them in a wild rage to harm God’s people and God’s plans (Revelation 12). Defeated in a bid to kill the divine Messiah born of the woman (symbolically drawing together the representation of the great mother, Eve of Genesis 3:15, the nation of Israel that was God’s bride and gave birth to the Messiah, and the Church of the New Testament age, which is under attack, all combined into a single descriptive package), the dragon conjured up helpers from the human arena. The beast from the sea (Revelation 13:1–10) was an unholy counterpart to Jesus, receiving power and authority from its wicked master and displaying a “fatal wound” that had been healed, mimicking Jesus’ own death and resurrection. Because it took up residence in the human realm, this beast began to receive worship from all of humankind. Its authority was enhanced when the beast from the Earth emerged, eliciting fire from heaven and miraculous signs at its appearance, just as happened when the Holy Spirit of God came to Earth on Pentecost (Acts 2). And like that third person of the holy Trinity, this unholy entity turned the attention of the human race to the one who came before, which was, in this case, the beast that had the fatal wound that healed.
In striking images, John portrayed the nasty game of imitation that evil tried to play in a bid to win humanity away from its true relationship of worship with the Creator. In fact, Revelation 13 ends with the great and mysterious marking ceremony, in which all of humanity was branded with 666. While many interpretations swirl about, in reality, John made it clear that this was a devilish counterpart to baptism, since the only ones who escape the trauma of this identification were those who instead wore the names of God (Revelation 14:1–5). The 777 mark of belonging to Father, Son, and Spirit was the only antidote to the mesmerizing and dehumanizing promises issued by the great enemy of God and of God’s people. While they glowed with tantalizing power, they ended up short (only a 666) and were destined for the ultimate trash bin, where everything imperfect was consumed or purified by fire.
Despite the power and wily maneuvering of the dragon and his helpers, they were no match for the true God. Revelation 14 concluded with a harsh indictment upon the unholy trinity and all who fall under its sway, and a great promise that soon the final judgment would begin. Indeed, in chapters 15–18, the stored-up wrath of God upon evil and sin was poured out from seven bowls, which replayed the majority of the devastations brought upon Egypt during the days of Moses (Exodus 7–11). In the end, the personification of evil as it coalesced in the human community was destroyed, doomed just as ancient Babylon was ruined because of its part in attacking the people of God (Revelation 17–18).
John 10:22-30
John organizes a very deliberately shaped encounter with Jesus. The seven “miraculous signs” of chapters 2–11 not only provide healing and hope to those who were first the objects of divine grace through Jesus, but they also dig deeper into biblical history to replay major scenes of the Old Testament in a way that reasserts the mission of God, while shifting its agency from Israel to Jesus. For instance, just as sin first disrupted the marriage of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, so Jesus first displays his regenerative powers by restoring the celebration at a wedding (chapter 2).
Again, while Adam and Eve mourned the loss of their son through murder brought about by sin, a new nobleman (John deliberately sets this character above national, tribal, or ethnic limitations that are otherwise used to identify all other persons in the gospel) receives back his son from the dead (chapter 4). Next, Jesus encounters a man who has been ailing for 38 years (chapter 5) and who can only otherwise be healed by passing through waters that have been divinely disturbed. Interestingly, Moses, in Deuteronomy 2:14, gives the only other reference to the number 38 in all of the Bible, mentioning it as the amount of time that the Israelites have been wandering in the wilderness, waiting for the shalom that can come to them only if they pass through the waters of the Jordan River, which will be divinely disturbed in order to make the crossing possible.
In this way, John continues to portray Jesus as the new agent of divine redemption, functioning in parallel to the manner in which God dealt with Israel of the Old Testament. Jesus, too, feeds the people of God in the wilderness (chapter 6) and tames the raging waters that in the darkness prevent God’s people from entering the promised land (chapter 6). Furthermore, as Isaiah was told about the blindness of the people in his day (Isaiah 6), Jesus contends with similar dysfunctional eyes (chapter 9). And just as Ezekiel had to preach to the dead nation of Israel in order to resurrect it from the grave of exile (Ezekiel 37), so Jesus brings back to life one of his dear friends who has died (chapter 11), symbolizing the ultimate goal of divine grace.
It is only after the dissemination of the seven signs to the broader world that “Greeks”—John’s metaphor for the global community beyond the Jewish domain—begin their quest to find Jesus (12:21). Then, immediately, Jesus declares that his “hour” has come. Why? Because the salvation of God sent to this world (John 3:16–17) has been recognized through the signs and has been received by the world. It has begun to make an impact, and the world will never again be merely content with darkness. Dawn is breaking.
Application
Fouke was the baker in a small Frisian town named Faken. He was a very righteous man. In fact, it seemed often that when he spat out his few words, they sprayed righteousness from his thin lips. He walked with upright dignity, and no one could find a fault in him. Except, maybe, that few found him warm or tender. But then, one does not become as righteous at Fouke by blurring the edges of rigorous spirituality through relational compromises.
Fouke was married to Hilda, and they lived a rigid life of regular hours and faithful church attendance. Fouke carried his Bible prominently in his arm as they strolled with purpose to and from worship services each Sunday, and all could see that this book was well used in between. Fouke was a righteous man, and expected others to be as well.
So it was shatteringly shocking when he came home from the bakery one day to find Hilda in bed with another man. How could she do such a thing? How could she violate their bed? More importantly, how could she tarnish the righteousness of their home, or Fouke’s reputation in the community?
Word spread quickly in the small town of Faken, and soon everyone knew that Fouke was about to send away his wife in disgrace. So all were surprised when that didn’t happen. Fouke chose, instead, to forgive Hilda and to keep her on as his wife. Fouke made it very clear that he was choosing to forgive Hilda, like the Good Book said. Everyone knew it, and they commended the baker for his fine show of spiritual depth and mercy.
But Fouke’s forgiveness was something he wore like a badge of prideful humility, and never did it actually penetrate his heart of hearts. Not a day went by but Fouke reminded Hilda of his gracious mercy toward her and how undeserving she was of it. She was a tramp, a hussy, a damaged woman with a weak and willful conscience, and she should be glad that a man of his righteous stature did not get rid of her or hold her to public ridicule.
Every day Fouke’s righteousness and forgiveness sparkled like a cheap bauble that weighed them down like costume jewelry. But in heaven Fouke’s fakery didn’t sit well. Every night an angel was sent down to Faken to drop a small pebble into Fouke’s heart. In the morning, when he exercised again his righteous vindictiveness, a sharp pain slashed through his body.
Day after day the tiny pebbles accumulated, and the hurting in his chest increased. Before long, tall and upright Fouke began to walk with a bit of a bend, and stoop more when he was working. And his boundless energy seemed sapped by the changes taking place in his body. Within several months, Fouke trudged down the street nearly doubled over, and his face wore a constant grimace of pain. In desperation, he cried out to God. Surely he did not deserve this! What was happening to him? How could he find relief and release from the awful torment?
That night an angel was sent to Fouke in Faken. Very patiently the angel told Fouke of the observations that had been made, and the decision to drop a pebble into his heart at every expression of righteous bitterness toward Hilda. By this time, Fouke was in too much pain to protest, or to sputter a declaration of his righteousness over against Hilda’s gross waywardness in this sordid matter. All he could do is plead for some way to be healed.
The pebbles could be stopped, he was told, and the pain lessened, if he gained the miracle of Magic Eyes. What might these be, he asked, these Magic Eyes?
The Magic Eyes would allow him to see Hilda as she was before the adultery, Fouke was told. “But you can’t change what happened,” he protested.
That is true, came the angel’s reply. No one, not even God, can change the past. But sometimes the future can be changed. Sometimes hurts can be healed. This is why Fouke needed the Magic Eyes.
“Where do I get them?” he pleaded.
You only need to ask with genuine desire, he was told.
But Fouke was too proud to ask for the Magic Eyes. After all, he was righteous. And besides, Hilda was a guilty woman; why should he look at her in any other way? She was the one who nearly destroyed their marriage. If it were not for righteous Fouke, it could never have been saved.
Yet day by day, Fouke’s debilitating pain increased, as angels continued to drop pebbles into his heart. By the time he finally relented, he was almost walking on his head, and there was no longer any way to hold himself high and rigid with pride. So, in the dark of night, as a lightning bolt of agony ripped through him, he cried out, “O God, save me!”
The relief didn’t happen at once. At least Fouke could not notice any difference for several days. But then life became nuance in little ways. First, through sideways glances from near the floor, Fouke thought that Hilda was looking more pretty. She seemed to have a new glow of beauty emerging from within at times. He couldn’t believe it, of course, for the adultery had made her very ugly to him. Yet there it was, and he found himself looking at her more and more often.
Then the critical edge of his chest pains began to subside. After several weeks, he found he could walk with less bend and stand with less stoop. His work at the bakery was easier, of course, but so was his time at home with Hilda. Another month or two went by, and Fouke was walking the streets upright, with a lighthearted step. More importantly, the citizens of Faken noticed that Fouke often took Hilda by the arm, and that there was a genuine warmth between them. Some thought, too, that Fouke’s lips were less thin than they used to be, and all were certain that the spray of righteousness had subsided.
No one thought Fouke had become less godly in the process, though. In fact, there was a new aura about him that made people sidle up to him in a way they had never desired before.
Hilda was never sure what had happened to her husband. He never told her about the Magic Eyes. But the way things were turning for them, she didn’t need to know.
It makes me wonder though, whether I need those Magic Eyes? How about you?
Alternative Application (Acts 9:36-43)
Victor Hugo called his masterpiece, Les Miserables, a religious work. So it is. The story echoes the gospel message at nearly every turn.
The main character, Jean Valjean, has been beaten hard by the cruel twists of fate. He has seen the sham of hypocrisy on all sides. So he casts the name of the Lord to the ground like a curse. What does God know of him, and what does it matter?
Imprisoned for stealing bread to feed his family and resentenced by the vindictive will of his jailer, Jean Valjean finally manages to escape. On his first night of freedom, he stays with a bishop, who treats him well. But behind Jean Valjean’s thankful mask is the cunning face of a thief, for the bishop has many valuables.
In the early morning hours, Jean Valjean steals away with some silver plates. And when his suspicious appearance brings him under arrest, he is forced to face the bishop again, charged with new crimes.
Then the miracle of grace occurs. For in Jean Valjean’s eyes the bishop sees something that begs forgive ness and hopes for mercy. Instead of taking revenge, the bishop declares that the silver dishes were a gift to Jean Valjean. In fact, he says Jean Valjean forgot to take the two silver candlesticks he had also given him.
In an instant, the bishop declares Jean Valjean innocent and gives him back his life. But with this gift of forgiveness, he commissions Jean Valjean to bring Christ to others. The rest of Jean Valjean’s life becomes a testimony of one who is made new in the grace of divine love. He becomes what he was meant to be.
Not only that, but Jean Valjean spends the rest of his life helping his young charge, Cosette, find love and a good marriage. The redeemed becomes the redeemer. The one who has seen the light becomes the light of life for others.
It is always a miracle story.
