Now I See
Sermon
How to Preach the Miracles
Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It, Cycle A
Object:
As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "Neither this man or his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is still day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man's eyes, saying to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam" (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see.
-- John 9:1-7
I went to my optometrist a few years ago because I was having difficulty reading the small print on medicine bottles and on other such essentials. The doctor increased the power of my bifocals by two increments -- and suddenly I was able to read medicine bottles again, and the back of cereal boxes and soup cans. I was greatly relieved, but my relief was nothing compared to that of this man born blind. His whole experience of the world was changed dramatically from that moment on. Everything he had known before would now have new meaning. He had previously known the world only through touch and sound. Now, suddenly, he would come to know a whole different dimension of reality, and those around him would benefit from this rare perspective he would bring to everything he saw.
When I was a boy growing up on the farm, we used to listen to the radio every night in the barn while milking the cows. One of my father's favorite programs was a religious broadcast with one of those old-fashioned gospel preachers. This evangelist, whose name I don't recall, was not only a good preacher, he had a compelling personal story. He had been blinded by an accident when he was a child. I remember wondering what it must have been like to live life as a blind person. One evening he announced to the radio audience that it had become possible for him to have an operation that might restore his sight. He asked for our prayers and I imagine that thousands of people prayed for his sight to be restored. Then came the day he announced that the operation had been a success. He was able to see for the first time in many years. His voice was filled with joy as he told about what it was like to see after all those years of blindness.
Susan Ivany tells about the moment a whole new world was opened for her ten-year-old son when he put on prescription glasses for the first time.
We were sitting in the living room one evening, watching television, when my son asked me what time it was. There was a clock on the VCR, which was right in front of us below the television, so I said, "See for yourself; it's on the VCR." He gave me a strange look and said, "No one can see those little numbers, Mom; you have to get close up." Oops. It seems he had been moving closer to the front of the classroom at school for some time. His teacher hadn't noticed his squinting and neither had his parents. By the end of that week, the optometrist brought my son's new prescription glasses out for him to try for the first time. The office has a wonderful view of the harbor; the optometrist turned my son toward the window, placed the glasses on him, and said, "This is my favorite part of the job." As we looked on, the veil was quite literally lifted. The expression on my son's face was exquisite. He was speechless as a whole new world opened up to him....1
Sheila Hock is a British housewife who had been blind for thirty years, and had never seen the face of her husband, until one day it became possible for an eye operation that might restore her sight. When they took off the bandages, this woman who had never seen before said,
It was like an electric shock, as if something hit me ... I looked at the pavement and it was moving and the lampposts and the trees were moving so fast that I wanted to shout stop ... I never knew the world was so beautiful. I had a picture in my mind of what I thought my husband looked like because I had felt his features, but he was a lot better looking than I thought and I was pleased about it.2
R. Buckminster Fuller, the great twentieth-century inventor and thinker who gave the world the geodesic dome, and a new synergetic geometry, which revolutionized mathematical thinking, was blind for the first four years of his life. His eyes were crossed and unfocused so that he could see only "masses of color with no distinct outlines." He recognized family members by voice and by the size of their blurry shapes. He was thought to be a hopelessly clumsy child until the day he was given eyeglasses. Fuller said, "For the first time I saw leaves on a tree, small birds, and lovely butterflies; I saw the stars and the shapes of clouds and people's faces. It was a time of utter joy as though all those things had been created just for me ... I was filled with wonder at the beauty of the world and I have never lost my delight in it."3
Fuller reflected later in life that his years of blindness "proved to be a blessing in disguise." When he put on his glasses he saw everything differently than he would have if he had never been blind. Tony Campolo, in his book, Carpe Diem, writes: "[Fuller] ... contended that society had trained him to view the world in a taken-for-granted fashion. But the hold society had on him had been broken by his blindness." His time of blindness had forced him to rely on other ways of knowing the world and he had developed an extraordinary creative imagination. Campolo writes: "Fuller's visual re-engagement with the world was accomplished by a sense of awe and new passion for discovery that others seldom know ... his excitement for life was intensified beyond anything that would have been possible had he always been able to see."4
How happy the family and friends and everyone in the community of the man born blind must have been when Jesus healed him that day.
Not so, you say? How could that be? There is more to this story than meets the eye.
Getting Beyond Stereotypes
The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, "Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?" Some were saying, "It is he." Others were saying, "No, but it is someone like him." He kept saying, "I am the man." But they kept asking him, "Then how were your eyes opened?" He answered, "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, 'Go to Siloam and wash.' Then I went and washed and received my sight." They said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I do not know." They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a Sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, "He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see." Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath." But others said, "How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, "What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened." He said, "He is a prophet." The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?" His parents answered, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is he now sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him, he is of age. He will speak for himself." His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, "He is of age; ask him." So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, "Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner." He answered, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see."
-- John 9:8-25
J. Robert Stimmel tells the story of an incident in the life of a seminary classmate that he says has helped to shape his own ministry.
Many of the details have slipped my memory. It took place on a bridge, but I can't recall the name of the bridge. I don't think I ever knew the name of the town. Those details don't really matter. It is a true story.Many of the details have slipped my memory. It took place on a bridge, but I can’t recall the name of the bridge. I don’t think I ever knew the name of the town. Those details don’t really matter. It is a true story.
My classmate was walking one night, on the bridge, in the misty early twilight of evening. It was the moment of evening when it is dark enough to see the outlines and shadows; yet a bit past the time for easy recognition. As he walked along the bridge, he came upon a woman standing there at the side of the bridge, leaning against the railing. There was some strange fear and anticipation in the night air; my friend said he knew what she was going to do.
He looked at her, standing there beside the railing, hesitant, apprehensive, tentative. She looked at him, uncertain, skeptical, bewildered.
He said, "I looked at her; she looked at me; and I looked away. When I looked back again, I was alone on the bridge."
It must have been only a split second, an infinitesimal moment in history, hardly more time than it takes to blink, yet he was alone on the bridge, and her life was gone because he did not look, and he did not see.5
Not seeing can have devastating results. How often have you kicked yourself because you didn't see something that, in retrospect, you realize should have been very clear? They say, "Hindsight is twenty-twenty." They also say, "If it had teeth, it would have bitten you." This was one of my family's favorite sayings, which popped out every time I was looking for something but couldn't see it, though it was, as they also used to say, "right there under my nose."
I have a guilty pleasure. I read murder mysteries, usually before I go to bed. I find them relaxing. Don't ask me what that says about my personality or character; I prefer not to know. I read all kinds of these potboilers, good ones and bad ones. I don't particularly try to guess whodunit; I just enjoy the ride.
My favorite series was written by Rex Stout, who cranked out 73 Nero Wolf mysteries between 1934 and 1975, the year he died at the age of 89. I have read thirty or forty of them and I am always looking for one I haven't read. Recently, my sister Ruth, who is a bookseller, gave me a volume I had not seen before, and when I opened it I was thrilled to discover that it was the very first book in the series.
The plot revolves around the murder of a prominent university president on a golf course. Nero Wolf, the eccentric genius, who never leaves his house, and who weighs one-seventh of a ton, is an epicure with a full-time cook who prepares "world class meals" three times daily. Wolf, who also has a live-in gardener who cares for 6,000 orchids in the plant rooms on the third floor of his old brownstone townhouse on West 35th Street in Manhattan, has his legman, Archie Goodwin, round up four caddies who were present at the scene of the murder. He then begins a marathon interview session with these four young men with this statement:
Mr. Goodwin has heard two of your stereotypes; I fancy the other two are practically identical. A stereotype is something fixed, something that harbors no intention of changing. I don't expect you boys to change your stories of what happened on the first tee; what I ask is that you forget all your arguments and discussions, all your recitals to families and friends, all the pictures that words have printed on your brains, and return to the scene itself.
Wolf then takes them through the events surrounding the murder, moment by moment, and sure enough, discovers the critical clue, something previously over looked, which leads to the identity of the killer. This is what I like about mystery novels; unlike the mysteries in my own life, everything is always neatly resolved.6
There is so much that we overlook in life because it is not what we expect it to be; we have no reference point, no experience that enables us to bring it into focus. Some things can only be seen with the guidance of someone who helps us to look in a different way than we have ever looked before. This is what Jesus tries to do with his disciples over and over again, and often unsuccessfully. In this case they could not look beyond the commonly accepted world view that this man was blind because someone had sinned, "this man or his parents" (John 9:2a). Jesus tries to broaden their view by getting them to look from a different perspective. "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him" (John 9:3).
Jesus then shows them what he means by healing the blind man. He applies the saliva and mud, sends the treated man off to wash in the pool of Siloam, which John makes a point of telling us "means Sent" (John 9:7a). He goes and washes and comes back able to see. End of story? Hardly.
John goes on to describe what we might call a three-ring circus of responses from everyone in the neighborhood. No one can see beyond the stereotype that sickness can only mean that someone has sinned.
The neighbors, who presumably have seen him every day since he was a child, are incredulous. "Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?" He kept telling them, "Yes, it's me." And they could only respond, "Then, how were your eyes opened?" (John 9:8-10). It was just not possible for them to believe that little blind Sammy who had grown up to be Samuel the beggar could now see. It is usually the people closest to us who have the greatest difficulty accepting dramatic changes in our lives. Ask a friend who is a recovering alcoholic what makes it most difficult to stay on the road to recovery, and likely she will tell you, old friends who still insist on treating her in the same way: "Oh, come on, one little drink won't hurt."
The Pharisees are only concerned that Jesus has done this healing work on the sabbath, thus making him a lawbreaker: "How could a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" They ask the formerly blind man what he believes about Jesus and when he tells them, "He is a prophet," they pass the buck to other religious authorities who, in their official capacities, do what most officials are prone to do to protect their positions: They stall by insisting on an investigation. They would not accept that "... he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents...." The blind man's parents will only confirm that he is indeed their son, but will say nothing else, John says, because they feared the religious authorities would cast all of them out of the synagogue, something they knew happened to anyone "who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah." It is safer to say only what is "politically correct." "... We know this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is he now sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him ..." (John 9:18-23).
"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush." Everyone is dancing around the truth. No one can see or will accept what is plainly true, as the blind man states matter of factly, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see" (John 9:25).
Rachel Naomi Remen cites Talmudic teaching to explain this kind of social and personal blindness in her book, Kitchen Table Wisdom:
We do not see things as they are. We see them as we are. A belief is like a pair of sunglasses. When we wear a belief and look at life through it, it is difficult to convince ourselves that what we see is not what is real ... Knowing what is real requires that we remember that we are wearing sunglasses, and take them off. One of the great moments in life is when we recognize we have them on in the first place.7
Former first lady, Betty Ford, wrote about the day her family confronted her about her alcohol and drug addictions in a carefully planned intervention aided by Captain Joe Pursch, a navy doctor who was the head of the Alcohol and Drug Rehabilitation Service at the Long Beach Naval Hospital. One after another, they told her how she had let them down and finally convinced her that without treatment she would surely die. She agreed to sign herself into the rehabilitation hospital. When they took her up to what she assumed would be a private room, she was shocked to discover she would be sharing a room with three other women:
I balked. I was not going to sign in ... Captain Pursch was used to this sort of thing, and perfectly able to handle it. "If you insist on a private room," he said, "I will have all these ladies move out."
The former first lady of the land, who had lived in the White House with servants to care for her every need and secret service agents to protect her round the clock, relented. "No, no, I won't have that ..." and an hour later I was settled in with three roommates.8
That was the beginning of Mrs. Ford's healing, but her eyes were not fully open yet; the worst was still to come. She believed she was only addicted to medications: "Now these doctors wanted me to admit I was also an alcoholic." Mrs. Ford's response was tears and more tears, and when the president strongly encouraged her to come to grips with what she had to do, she tells of "... sobbing so hard I couldn't get my breath. My nose and ears were closed off ... my head felt like a balloon. I was gasping, my mouth wide open, sure my air was going to be cut off. I hope I never have to cry like that again. It was scary, but once it was over, I felt a great relief." Mrs. Ford issued a statement to the press saying she was addicted to alcohol as well as the medications she was taking for her arthritis. Betty Ford was beginning to see.9
By telling her story, Betty Ford has helped millions of people to open their eyes to their own addictions. At the Betty Ford Center, which Mrs. Ford cofounded with Leonard Firestone in 1982 in Rancho Mirage, California, everyone has three roommates.
Like Betty Ford, this man born blind was able to see, when given the opportunity, despite the unpleasantness of the spit and mud and the hostile responses of everyone around him. It is as the psalmist writes: "The Lord opens the eyes of the blind" (Psalm 146:8). But there are some who seem to be beyond even God's help, as we shall see.
How Could They Be So Blind?
They said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" He answered them, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?" Then they reviled him, saying, "You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from." The man answered, "Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." They answered him, "You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?" And they drove him out.
-- John 9:26-34
"The prophet Isaiah wrote about a servant God would send to '... lead the blind by a road they do not know ...' " (Isaiah 42:16a). Jesus had certainly led the religious authorities here down an unfamiliar road: "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind" (John 9:39).
After these authorities have judged the man born blind, denying the credibility of his witness to his own healing by telling them, "... God does not listen to sinners ..." but only "... to one who worships him and obeys his will," they drove him out (John 9:31-34). John goes on, heaping irony upon irony as Jesus gives the formerly blind man an opportunity to do what the willfully blind authorities refuse to do, asking him, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" His response is what John hopes will be the response of everyone who reads his gospel, "... 'Lord, I believe.' And he worshiped him" (John 9:35-38).
Those who were the acknowledged spiritual guides of the community are shown not only to have relinquished their authority, arrogantly denying the truth of a healing in that "a blind man could see," but also "nail the lid on their own coffins" as we might say, giving Jesus one of the all time great set up lines: "Surely we are not blind, are we?" Well, duhhh, Jesus says to them, "If you were blind you would not have sin. But now that you say, 'We see,' your sin remains" (John 9:40b-41). Is it really possible that anyone could be so blind?
During World War II, there was a Navy pharmacist's mate who performed a successful appendectomy on a fellow sailor in a submarine beneath enemy waters. The seaman, who would have otherwise died, survived -- but like the Pharisees and religious authorities who chastised Jesus for working on the sabbath, the naval medical officers were very angry that this lowly seaman had dared to go beyond navy regulations; never mind that he had saved someone's life. The Navy never officially recognized the pharmacist's mate for his heroism until two months before his death in April of 2005. Associated Press reporter, Steve Hartsoe, wrote about this remarkable feat performed by a young seaman on the USS Seadragon 120 feet below the surface of the Pacific Ocean over sixty years ago.
Lipes, then 22, relied on makeshift instruments -- bent spoons for retractors and alcohol from torpedoes for sterilization. He and an assistant wore pajamas rather than operating room gowns ... The surgical environment was less than ideal: The patient, Darrel Dean Rector, was too tall to lay on the makeshift operating table, so a nearby cabinet was opened and Lipes put the patient's feet in the drawer. The table was bolted to the floor, so Lipes had to stand with his knees bent throughout the operation. After nearly two hours, Lipes removed a swollen five-inch appendix that had several inches of blackened tissue.10
What was even more remarkable than the successful submarine surgery, was the reaction Lipes received from the Navy medical community. One doctor reminded him that he was not authorized to perform surgery and said it would have been better if he had let Darrel Rector die. Another physician actually tried to hit him. Others in the medical community, according to a National Public Radio report, spread rumors that the surgery had never taken place, that it was a lie.11
Wheeler Lipes told about this most puzzling response from Navy authorities in a statement he gave to the Naval Historical Center.
After we submitted our report, there was a great deal of consternation in the Bureau of Medicine and Surgery. Everyone did then exactly what they would probably do now. They reacted to a situation they knew absolutely nothing about. There was an old warrant officer I knew back at BUMED (US Navy Bureau of Medicine and Surgery) who was on duty the night the message came in about the operation. He told me later how much trouble I had caused him. There were many doctors back there who were very upset about what I had done.12
How could they have been so blind?
Sometimes the blindness to the healing God has made possible, is more subtle, more what is not said than what is said. Verna Windrem tells how she was healed as the result of a dream and what did not happen after she told her doctor and others about her healing. God's call to minister came late in life for Verna Windrem.
Only A Dream?
Verna Windrem
I am a grandmother who went back to school in 1983. I was commissioned in 1987, as a Diaconal Minister, in the United Church of Canada. This designation is part of the Order of Ministry in our denomination and the job I was received into was as the sole minister to a three-point charge.
Healing ministry has always interested me, but I had little time to investigate it. It was like a rollercoaster took off in our lives while I was still in studies. My husband was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. After that, the disease would return again and again, causing much suffering through both the illness and the treatments of radiation and chemotherapy. Mind you, there was lots of prayer that went up for him, and again and again, he returned to health.
In 1993, the cancer returned again. We were preparing to move to another pastorate and, as he wasn't well, it fell to me to do most of the packing. Books! How could I have stacked up so many? Box after box was marked and I carried them to the basement out of the way.
After the move, everything needed doing again, in reverse. Along with this hard work came the challenge of a new job in a four-point charge. There was much to be done. In the process, my back became very painful. Hoping for help, I went to a chiropractor who told me to expect healing to take a long, long time. I prayed. Nothing changed.
One night, I had a dream. All I remember was that the setting seemed to be at a prayer meeting where people were praying for one another. A man and a woman stepped up behind me as I sat in a chair. They laid their hands on my shoulders and began to pray. I felt as if a bolt of lightning was going through me, powerful but not painful. It zapped my spine and I woke knowing my back was healed. It was that fast!
Now, eleven years later, I am retired and we have moved back to our farm home. My husband and I have toted those same books; we have worked on renovating the house and moved gardens. I give thanks to God that I am well, and so is my husband! I have not shared this event in my life often, but when I do, people seldom make a comment. I did tell our family doctor and he didn't comment either. After all, perhaps it was only a dream. But God and I know better!13
How could they have been so blind?
Sometimes healing comes when our illness enables us to see in a different way. The formerly blind man may have had an advantage on the religious authorities. Perhaps the suffering he endured each day because of his blindness helped him to open his heart not only to the healing Jesus offered, but also to the new life he would have with Christ. "He said, 'Lord, I believe.' And he worshiped him" (John 9:38).
Vanessa Bruce Ingold came to Christ as a result of healing that occurred after a devastating accident in which every long bone in her body (a total of 111) was broken, except for one.
Hope In The Midst Of Pain
Vanessa Bruce Ingold
Two weeks after my 23rd birthday, I awoke to a foggy, winter morning in southern California. Having cried myself to sleep, I felt foggy, too. Yet, dressed for aerobics, I began my usual bicycle route to the gym. Since there was no bicycle lane, I pedaled alongside the parking lane of the four-lane business district roadway. If it weren't illegal, I would have ridden against traffic instead. Ahead of me was a car in the parking lane. Just before I drew up beside it, the driver opened the door. I swerved. Traffic noise seemed to intensify as I veered into the left turn lane for on-coming traffic. Simultaneously, a Ford Ranger truck entered. I was trapped! Scenes from my life flashed before my eyes, while my mind raced. Will I be able to walk? Am I going to die? Will I go to heaven? Then the truck hit me.
Following the truck's piercing screech was the sound of a two-car collision. Debbie, the owner of a pet shop, ran to the sidewalk. Instead of two cars, she saw the truck next to my smashed bicycle. I lay in a pool of blood. Debbie called 911.
"She looks like a doll whose legs and arms are turned all the wrong way, the lower part of her left leg is like a balloon!"
Employees from other nearby shops encircled me. Debbie joined and directed traffic. The man who had opened the car door fled. Police questioned the truck driver. His truck, having left a brief skid mark, was damaged in the front and had to be towed.
Paramedics rushed me to Long Beach Memorial Hospital. All four tires of the truck had run over me. I was screaming and crying hysterically and was in and out of shock. Wheeling me into the emergency room, they yelled, "Trauma code yellow!" In one of my lucid moments, I said, "Call my friend, Ray," and mumbled his phone number. A nurse called Ray. He gave the phone number of the hair salon where I worked. The salon owner provided my emergency contacts, then the nurse phoned my out-of-state family.
A heart surgeon, Dr. McConnell, entered. His eyes widened as he saw tire tracks going across my chest. My heart rate was 147, as if I was doing high-impact aerobics. After evaluating, he said, "We've got to get her into surgery, now." During surgery, I had sixteen blood transfusions. They found gross, unstable blood in my abdomen; my liver was severely lacerated, my heart's papillary muscle was ruptured, and my mitral valve was ripped.
Every long bone in my body was broken except one, totaling 111. My lower left leg had the largest open wound, from which a fragment of the tibia -- the bone that extends from the knee to the ankle -- was sticking out of a six-inch longitudinal laceration. Plus, many short, flat, and irregular bones were fractured, including knees, wrists, ankles, ribs, left clavicle, pelvis, and the C7 section of my cervical spine. A cervical collar was placed around my neck.
At 7:30 p.m., my family members arrived. Dr. McConnell told them, "Her mitral valve is hanging like a thread, but we're trying to prolong replacing it because of the multitude of injuries and blood loss." Relatives were allowed to see me. They and the nurses laughed as I told a funny childhood story about my brother terrorizing me by putting my beloved stuffed animal in the freezer. Laughter was interrupted. I had a heart attack. "Now our only hope is to replace her mitral valve," Doctor McConnell explained. Immediately a priest was sent to read me my "last rites." He asked if I understood. With closed eyes, I nodded.
After a ten-hour open-heart surgery, my chest couldn't be closed, because of severe pulmonary edema, coupled with edema of my heart. Thus, it was left open three days, covered with an Esmarch bandage. Paralyzing drugs kept me from moving. After it was closed, I awoke with Dad at my bedside. I knew it must be bad if Dad was there. My parents had divorced when I was in the first grade. We were not a close-knit family.
My broken bones prevented me from wiping my tears. I was too weak, anyway. I remembered having prayed the night before the accident, "Please change me, God." Now I asked, "Why'd you let this happen, God? Am I being punished for my out-of-control party life?" With tears on my face, I sensed him reply, "It will all work together for good." At least it can't get any worse, I thought; this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!
But, gangrene of my forefeet worsened. Still, oxygen therapy had to be postponed until excess fluid that had accumulated in my chest was drained. With my legs elevated, I could see my black toes.
Two weeks after my chest was closed, I was brought to hyperbarics twice daily, where I was transferred into a single person oxygen chamber that was seven feet long and 27 inches wide. Each time, I was kept for one-and-a-half hours, with hopes to save my feet and legs. Two weeks passed, and I was told, "We'll be amputating all ten of your toes." Again, I nodded my head.
During almost four months in the Intensive Care Unit, my ventilator alarm sounded because I lacked oxygen, a blood infection nearly killed me, and because of constant fever, ice packages surrounded me.
Nevertheless, I witnessed God's love. My Christian trauma nurse visited me during her off-hours. And a Christian family who met my family while I was having heart surgery, frequently visited me. Trying to wean me off of the ventilator was a battle. Oxygen couldn't be reduced for long, because I panted. "We're worried she'll be dependent on it forever," I heard doctors say.
After nearly four months of dependence, a doctor was changing my tracheal tube. When she pulled it out and quickly tried to replace it, she couldn't insert the new tube. "The incision in your neck has closed!" Finally, I was independently breathing. An oxygen tank was placed next to my bed, but I never needed it. "Now you can begin rehab," a nurse said.
I frowned, "Rehab?" I breathily, hoarsely whined. "I thought as soon as I was off the ventilator I'd be able to leave."
After a day in rehab, I questioned doctors. "You mean I broke over 111 bones, had seventeen surgeries, and over 100 blood transfusions?" Wow, it really was a miracle I was alive! I began to see God's purpose for my life.
After a six-month hospital stay, on a clear, sunshiny day, with a cast on my left leg, accompanied by two friends from whom I would be renting a room, I cheerfully left the hospital. Six months later, a friend with whom I had worked at the hair salon invited me to church. Many there had been praying for me. The assistant pastor and his wife had visited me while I was in ICU, where they had anointed me with oil, while praying for my healing, as stated in the book of James. Now I sat in the front row at church next to them. After worship and Bible study, the teaching pastor said, "Whoever wants to receive Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior tonight come to the front." I stood and closed my eyes as he led in prayer.
The following Sunday, the pastor read from Romans, chapter 8, "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to his purpose." Wow, that's the scripture of my life! What the enemy had tried to use for evil, God was using for good. The accident had drawn my family together. Broken relationships were being re-built. Trauma was bringing healing. A few weeks later, I visited my orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Peek. For ten months I had been in a cast. Hoping my tibia had finally hardened, he once again shaved the cast off. Still soft, my tibia actually bent. While he plastered a new cast onto my leg, I said, "I'm going up to the mountains today for our church retreat. I'll just pray the whole weekend for God to heal it." The following Wednesday, Dr. Peek announced, "Amazing -- your tibia has hardened." He never replaced the cast.
Eight years later, I participated in a two-day bicycle trip to San Diego, a 110-mile ride, with a church group. I rode thirty minutes behind, and was last to finish the ride. Although I'm not as fast, my hope will last! Since then, I've had nine more surgeries. Yet, in the midst of pain, God has blessed me. Now life is especially more pleasurable since I have a cycling partner, my best friend and loving husband, Greg.14
____________
1. Susan Ivany, AHA! magazine, Wood Lakes Books, Winfield, British Columbia, Jan/Feb/March, 2003. Susan Ivany is an ordained pastor with the United Church of Canada. She and her partner, Peter, live in Thunder Bay, Ontario. Their sons, Derek and David, are embarking on their own careers and continue to make their parents exceedingly proud. In addition, Susan and Peter are owned and operated by two very spoiled cats. Susan loves to write, and has a profound respect for the power of words to transform lives.
2. William J. Bausch, Telling Stories, Compelling Stories (Mystic, Connecticut: Twenty-third Publications, 1991), p. 11.
3. Alden Hatch, Buckminster Fuller: At Home In The Universe (New York: Crown Publishers, 1974), p. 11.
4. Tony Campolo, Carpe Diem (Nashville: W Publishing Group, 1994), pp. 16-17.
5. J. Robert Stimmel retired after 35 years of ordained ministry in both parish and connectional ministries in The United Methodist Church. Now living on the central coast of California, Bob works full-time running his own tax preparation business, which also offers payroll and bookkeeping services. He finds it spiritually beneficial that his office features a view of the local pier and the Pacific Ocean. He continues his church involvement by serving as treasurer of his local church, which is engaged in a seven million dollar building project. Occasionally Bob preaches, writes, and contributes to preaching publications.
6. Rex Stout, Fer-De-Lance: A Nero Wolfe Mystery (New York: Bantam Books, 1983), pp. 168-169. (Originally published in 1934.)
7. Rachel Naomi Remen, Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories That Heal (New York: Riverhead Books, 1996), p. 77.
8. Betty Ford, The Times of My Life (New York: Harper Collins, 1978), pp. 281-285.
9. Ibid.
10. Steve Hartsoe, Associated Press, The North Carolina News, February 21, 2005.
11. National Public Radio, February 19, 2005.
12. From recollections of Pharmacist's Mate Wheeler Lipes collected for the Naval Historical Center. http://www.history.navy.mil/faqs/faq87-3a.htm.
13. Verna Windrem, the daughter of a United Church pastor, grew up in the village of Omemee, Ontario, where she attended elementary and high schools and married Earle Windrem, a farmer from the Cavan area. They have two sons, David and Verne, and grandchildren ranging in age from 10 to 23. In 1983, Verna went back to school through the Centre for Christian Studies in Toronto and the University of Toronto -- as a grandmother, with lots of support and help from family. In 1987, she became Diaconal Minister, and served three rural churches in Cold Springs Charge, near Cobourg, Ontario. In 1993, she transferred to Warsaw, Ontario, and served four country churches for twelve years. Verna and Earle retired on their farm near Cavan in 2004, where they live with a lovely little schnoodle named Millie.
14. Vanessa Bruce Ingold says people often tell her, "You're a walking miracle!" She and her husband, Greg, live in Fullerton, California, and attend Capo Beach Calvary Chapel. Jcnessa@aol.com.
-- John 9:1-7
I went to my optometrist a few years ago because I was having difficulty reading the small print on medicine bottles and on other such essentials. The doctor increased the power of my bifocals by two increments -- and suddenly I was able to read medicine bottles again, and the back of cereal boxes and soup cans. I was greatly relieved, but my relief was nothing compared to that of this man born blind. His whole experience of the world was changed dramatically from that moment on. Everything he had known before would now have new meaning. He had previously known the world only through touch and sound. Now, suddenly, he would come to know a whole different dimension of reality, and those around him would benefit from this rare perspective he would bring to everything he saw.
When I was a boy growing up on the farm, we used to listen to the radio every night in the barn while milking the cows. One of my father's favorite programs was a religious broadcast with one of those old-fashioned gospel preachers. This evangelist, whose name I don't recall, was not only a good preacher, he had a compelling personal story. He had been blinded by an accident when he was a child. I remember wondering what it must have been like to live life as a blind person. One evening he announced to the radio audience that it had become possible for him to have an operation that might restore his sight. He asked for our prayers and I imagine that thousands of people prayed for his sight to be restored. Then came the day he announced that the operation had been a success. He was able to see for the first time in many years. His voice was filled with joy as he told about what it was like to see after all those years of blindness.
Susan Ivany tells about the moment a whole new world was opened for her ten-year-old son when he put on prescription glasses for the first time.
We were sitting in the living room one evening, watching television, when my son asked me what time it was. There was a clock on the VCR, which was right in front of us below the television, so I said, "See for yourself; it's on the VCR." He gave me a strange look and said, "No one can see those little numbers, Mom; you have to get close up." Oops. It seems he had been moving closer to the front of the classroom at school for some time. His teacher hadn't noticed his squinting and neither had his parents. By the end of that week, the optometrist brought my son's new prescription glasses out for him to try for the first time. The office has a wonderful view of the harbor; the optometrist turned my son toward the window, placed the glasses on him, and said, "This is my favorite part of the job." As we looked on, the veil was quite literally lifted. The expression on my son's face was exquisite. He was speechless as a whole new world opened up to him....1
Sheila Hock is a British housewife who had been blind for thirty years, and had never seen the face of her husband, until one day it became possible for an eye operation that might restore her sight. When they took off the bandages, this woman who had never seen before said,
It was like an electric shock, as if something hit me ... I looked at the pavement and it was moving and the lampposts and the trees were moving so fast that I wanted to shout stop ... I never knew the world was so beautiful. I had a picture in my mind of what I thought my husband looked like because I had felt his features, but he was a lot better looking than I thought and I was pleased about it.2
R. Buckminster Fuller, the great twentieth-century inventor and thinker who gave the world the geodesic dome, and a new synergetic geometry, which revolutionized mathematical thinking, was blind for the first four years of his life. His eyes were crossed and unfocused so that he could see only "masses of color with no distinct outlines." He recognized family members by voice and by the size of their blurry shapes. He was thought to be a hopelessly clumsy child until the day he was given eyeglasses. Fuller said, "For the first time I saw leaves on a tree, small birds, and lovely butterflies; I saw the stars and the shapes of clouds and people's faces. It was a time of utter joy as though all those things had been created just for me ... I was filled with wonder at the beauty of the world and I have never lost my delight in it."3
Fuller reflected later in life that his years of blindness "proved to be a blessing in disguise." When he put on his glasses he saw everything differently than he would have if he had never been blind. Tony Campolo, in his book, Carpe Diem, writes: "[Fuller] ... contended that society had trained him to view the world in a taken-for-granted fashion. But the hold society had on him had been broken by his blindness." His time of blindness had forced him to rely on other ways of knowing the world and he had developed an extraordinary creative imagination. Campolo writes: "Fuller's visual re-engagement with the world was accomplished by a sense of awe and new passion for discovery that others seldom know ... his excitement for life was intensified beyond anything that would have been possible had he always been able to see."4
How happy the family and friends and everyone in the community of the man born blind must have been when Jesus healed him that day.
Not so, you say? How could that be? There is more to this story than meets the eye.
Getting Beyond Stereotypes
The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, "Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?" Some were saying, "It is he." Others were saying, "No, but it is someone like him." He kept saying, "I am the man." But they kept asking him, "Then how were your eyes opened?" He answered, "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, 'Go to Siloam and wash.' Then I went and washed and received my sight." They said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I do not know." They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a Sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, "He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see." Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath." But others said, "How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, "What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened." He said, "He is a prophet." The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?" His parents answered, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is he now sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him, he is of age. He will speak for himself." His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, "He is of age; ask him." So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, "Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner." He answered, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see."
-- John 9:8-25
J. Robert Stimmel tells the story of an incident in the life of a seminary classmate that he says has helped to shape his own ministry.
Many of the details have slipped my memory. It took place on a bridge, but I can't recall the name of the bridge. I don't think I ever knew the name of the town. Those details don't really matter. It is a true story.Many of the details have slipped my memory. It took place on a bridge, but I can’t recall the name of the bridge. I don’t think I ever knew the name of the town. Those details don’t really matter. It is a true story.
My classmate was walking one night, on the bridge, in the misty early twilight of evening. It was the moment of evening when it is dark enough to see the outlines and shadows; yet a bit past the time for easy recognition. As he walked along the bridge, he came upon a woman standing there at the side of the bridge, leaning against the railing. There was some strange fear and anticipation in the night air; my friend said he knew what she was going to do.
He looked at her, standing there beside the railing, hesitant, apprehensive, tentative. She looked at him, uncertain, skeptical, bewildered.
He said, "I looked at her; she looked at me; and I looked away. When I looked back again, I was alone on the bridge."
It must have been only a split second, an infinitesimal moment in history, hardly more time than it takes to blink, yet he was alone on the bridge, and her life was gone because he did not look, and he did not see.5
Not seeing can have devastating results. How often have you kicked yourself because you didn't see something that, in retrospect, you realize should have been very clear? They say, "Hindsight is twenty-twenty." They also say, "If it had teeth, it would have bitten you." This was one of my family's favorite sayings, which popped out every time I was looking for something but couldn't see it, though it was, as they also used to say, "right there under my nose."
I have a guilty pleasure. I read murder mysteries, usually before I go to bed. I find them relaxing. Don't ask me what that says about my personality or character; I prefer not to know. I read all kinds of these potboilers, good ones and bad ones. I don't particularly try to guess whodunit; I just enjoy the ride.
My favorite series was written by Rex Stout, who cranked out 73 Nero Wolf mysteries between 1934 and 1975, the year he died at the age of 89. I have read thirty or forty of them and I am always looking for one I haven't read. Recently, my sister Ruth, who is a bookseller, gave me a volume I had not seen before, and when I opened it I was thrilled to discover that it was the very first book in the series.
The plot revolves around the murder of a prominent university president on a golf course. Nero Wolf, the eccentric genius, who never leaves his house, and who weighs one-seventh of a ton, is an epicure with a full-time cook who prepares "world class meals" three times daily. Wolf, who also has a live-in gardener who cares for 6,000 orchids in the plant rooms on the third floor of his old brownstone townhouse on West 35th Street in Manhattan, has his legman, Archie Goodwin, round up four caddies who were present at the scene of the murder. He then begins a marathon interview session with these four young men with this statement:
Mr. Goodwin has heard two of your stereotypes; I fancy the other two are practically identical. A stereotype is something fixed, something that harbors no intention of changing. I don't expect you boys to change your stories of what happened on the first tee; what I ask is that you forget all your arguments and discussions, all your recitals to families and friends, all the pictures that words have printed on your brains, and return to the scene itself.
Wolf then takes them through the events surrounding the murder, moment by moment, and sure enough, discovers the critical clue, something previously over looked, which leads to the identity of the killer. This is what I like about mystery novels; unlike the mysteries in my own life, everything is always neatly resolved.6
There is so much that we overlook in life because it is not what we expect it to be; we have no reference point, no experience that enables us to bring it into focus. Some things can only be seen with the guidance of someone who helps us to look in a different way than we have ever looked before. This is what Jesus tries to do with his disciples over and over again, and often unsuccessfully. In this case they could not look beyond the commonly accepted world view that this man was blind because someone had sinned, "this man or his parents" (John 9:2a). Jesus tries to broaden their view by getting them to look from a different perspective. "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him" (John 9:3).
Jesus then shows them what he means by healing the blind man. He applies the saliva and mud, sends the treated man off to wash in the pool of Siloam, which John makes a point of telling us "means Sent" (John 9:7a). He goes and washes and comes back able to see. End of story? Hardly.
John goes on to describe what we might call a three-ring circus of responses from everyone in the neighborhood. No one can see beyond the stereotype that sickness can only mean that someone has sinned.
The neighbors, who presumably have seen him every day since he was a child, are incredulous. "Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?" He kept telling them, "Yes, it's me." And they could only respond, "Then, how were your eyes opened?" (John 9:8-10). It was just not possible for them to believe that little blind Sammy who had grown up to be Samuel the beggar could now see. It is usually the people closest to us who have the greatest difficulty accepting dramatic changes in our lives. Ask a friend who is a recovering alcoholic what makes it most difficult to stay on the road to recovery, and likely she will tell you, old friends who still insist on treating her in the same way: "Oh, come on, one little drink won't hurt."
The Pharisees are only concerned that Jesus has done this healing work on the sabbath, thus making him a lawbreaker: "How could a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" They ask the formerly blind man what he believes about Jesus and when he tells them, "He is a prophet," they pass the buck to other religious authorities who, in their official capacities, do what most officials are prone to do to protect their positions: They stall by insisting on an investigation. They would not accept that "... he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents...." The blind man's parents will only confirm that he is indeed their son, but will say nothing else, John says, because they feared the religious authorities would cast all of them out of the synagogue, something they knew happened to anyone "who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah." It is safer to say only what is "politically correct." "... We know this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is he now sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him ..." (John 9:18-23).
"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush." Everyone is dancing around the truth. No one can see or will accept what is plainly true, as the blind man states matter of factly, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see" (John 9:25).
Rachel Naomi Remen cites Talmudic teaching to explain this kind of social and personal blindness in her book, Kitchen Table Wisdom:
We do not see things as they are. We see them as we are. A belief is like a pair of sunglasses. When we wear a belief and look at life through it, it is difficult to convince ourselves that what we see is not what is real ... Knowing what is real requires that we remember that we are wearing sunglasses, and take them off. One of the great moments in life is when we recognize we have them on in the first place.7
Former first lady, Betty Ford, wrote about the day her family confronted her about her alcohol and drug addictions in a carefully planned intervention aided by Captain Joe Pursch, a navy doctor who was the head of the Alcohol and Drug Rehabilitation Service at the Long Beach Naval Hospital. One after another, they told her how she had let them down and finally convinced her that without treatment she would surely die. She agreed to sign herself into the rehabilitation hospital. When they took her up to what she assumed would be a private room, she was shocked to discover she would be sharing a room with three other women:
I balked. I was not going to sign in ... Captain Pursch was used to this sort of thing, and perfectly able to handle it. "If you insist on a private room," he said, "I will have all these ladies move out."
The former first lady of the land, who had lived in the White House with servants to care for her every need and secret service agents to protect her round the clock, relented. "No, no, I won't have that ..." and an hour later I was settled in with three roommates.8
That was the beginning of Mrs. Ford's healing, but her eyes were not fully open yet; the worst was still to come. She believed she was only addicted to medications: "Now these doctors wanted me to admit I was also an alcoholic." Mrs. Ford's response was tears and more tears, and when the president strongly encouraged her to come to grips with what she had to do, she tells of "... sobbing so hard I couldn't get my breath. My nose and ears were closed off ... my head felt like a balloon. I was gasping, my mouth wide open, sure my air was going to be cut off. I hope I never have to cry like that again. It was scary, but once it was over, I felt a great relief." Mrs. Ford issued a statement to the press saying she was addicted to alcohol as well as the medications she was taking for her arthritis. Betty Ford was beginning to see.9
By telling her story, Betty Ford has helped millions of people to open their eyes to their own addictions. At the Betty Ford Center, which Mrs. Ford cofounded with Leonard Firestone in 1982 in Rancho Mirage, California, everyone has three roommates.
Like Betty Ford, this man born blind was able to see, when given the opportunity, despite the unpleasantness of the spit and mud and the hostile responses of everyone around him. It is as the psalmist writes: "The Lord opens the eyes of the blind" (Psalm 146:8). But there are some who seem to be beyond even God's help, as we shall see.
How Could They Be So Blind?
They said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" He answered them, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?" Then they reviled him, saying, "You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from." The man answered, "Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." They answered him, "You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?" And they drove him out.
-- John 9:26-34
"The prophet Isaiah wrote about a servant God would send to '... lead the blind by a road they do not know ...' " (Isaiah 42:16a). Jesus had certainly led the religious authorities here down an unfamiliar road: "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind" (John 9:39).
After these authorities have judged the man born blind, denying the credibility of his witness to his own healing by telling them, "... God does not listen to sinners ..." but only "... to one who worships him and obeys his will," they drove him out (John 9:31-34). John goes on, heaping irony upon irony as Jesus gives the formerly blind man an opportunity to do what the willfully blind authorities refuse to do, asking him, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" His response is what John hopes will be the response of everyone who reads his gospel, "... 'Lord, I believe.' And he worshiped him" (John 9:35-38).
Those who were the acknowledged spiritual guides of the community are shown not only to have relinquished their authority, arrogantly denying the truth of a healing in that "a blind man could see," but also "nail the lid on their own coffins" as we might say, giving Jesus one of the all time great set up lines: "Surely we are not blind, are we?" Well, duhhh, Jesus says to them, "If you were blind you would not have sin. But now that you say, 'We see,' your sin remains" (John 9:40b-41). Is it really possible that anyone could be so blind?
During World War II, there was a Navy pharmacist's mate who performed a successful appendectomy on a fellow sailor in a submarine beneath enemy waters. The seaman, who would have otherwise died, survived -- but like the Pharisees and religious authorities who chastised Jesus for working on the sabbath, the naval medical officers were very angry that this lowly seaman had dared to go beyond navy regulations; never mind that he had saved someone's life. The Navy never officially recognized the pharmacist's mate for his heroism until two months before his death in April of 2005. Associated Press reporter, Steve Hartsoe, wrote about this remarkable feat performed by a young seaman on the USS Seadragon 120 feet below the surface of the Pacific Ocean over sixty years ago.
Lipes, then 22, relied on makeshift instruments -- bent spoons for retractors and alcohol from torpedoes for sterilization. He and an assistant wore pajamas rather than operating room gowns ... The surgical environment was less than ideal: The patient, Darrel Dean Rector, was too tall to lay on the makeshift operating table, so a nearby cabinet was opened and Lipes put the patient's feet in the drawer. The table was bolted to the floor, so Lipes had to stand with his knees bent throughout the operation. After nearly two hours, Lipes removed a swollen five-inch appendix that had several inches of blackened tissue.10
What was even more remarkable than the successful submarine surgery, was the reaction Lipes received from the Navy medical community. One doctor reminded him that he was not authorized to perform surgery and said it would have been better if he had let Darrel Rector die. Another physician actually tried to hit him. Others in the medical community, according to a National Public Radio report, spread rumors that the surgery had never taken place, that it was a lie.11
Wheeler Lipes told about this most puzzling response from Navy authorities in a statement he gave to the Naval Historical Center.
After we submitted our report, there was a great deal of consternation in the Bureau of Medicine and Surgery. Everyone did then exactly what they would probably do now. They reacted to a situation they knew absolutely nothing about. There was an old warrant officer I knew back at BUMED (US Navy Bureau of Medicine and Surgery) who was on duty the night the message came in about the operation. He told me later how much trouble I had caused him. There were many doctors back there who were very upset about what I had done.12
How could they have been so blind?
Sometimes the blindness to the healing God has made possible, is more subtle, more what is not said than what is said. Verna Windrem tells how she was healed as the result of a dream and what did not happen after she told her doctor and others about her healing. God's call to minister came late in life for Verna Windrem.
Only A Dream?
Verna Windrem
I am a grandmother who went back to school in 1983. I was commissioned in 1987, as a Diaconal Minister, in the United Church of Canada. This designation is part of the Order of Ministry in our denomination and the job I was received into was as the sole minister to a three-point charge.
Healing ministry has always interested me, but I had little time to investigate it. It was like a rollercoaster took off in our lives while I was still in studies. My husband was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. After that, the disease would return again and again, causing much suffering through both the illness and the treatments of radiation and chemotherapy. Mind you, there was lots of prayer that went up for him, and again and again, he returned to health.
In 1993, the cancer returned again. We were preparing to move to another pastorate and, as he wasn't well, it fell to me to do most of the packing. Books! How could I have stacked up so many? Box after box was marked and I carried them to the basement out of the way.
After the move, everything needed doing again, in reverse. Along with this hard work came the challenge of a new job in a four-point charge. There was much to be done. In the process, my back became very painful. Hoping for help, I went to a chiropractor who told me to expect healing to take a long, long time. I prayed. Nothing changed.
One night, I had a dream. All I remember was that the setting seemed to be at a prayer meeting where people were praying for one another. A man and a woman stepped up behind me as I sat in a chair. They laid their hands on my shoulders and began to pray. I felt as if a bolt of lightning was going through me, powerful but not painful. It zapped my spine and I woke knowing my back was healed. It was that fast!
Now, eleven years later, I am retired and we have moved back to our farm home. My husband and I have toted those same books; we have worked on renovating the house and moved gardens. I give thanks to God that I am well, and so is my husband! I have not shared this event in my life often, but when I do, people seldom make a comment. I did tell our family doctor and he didn't comment either. After all, perhaps it was only a dream. But God and I know better!13
How could they have been so blind?
Sometimes healing comes when our illness enables us to see in a different way. The formerly blind man may have had an advantage on the religious authorities. Perhaps the suffering he endured each day because of his blindness helped him to open his heart not only to the healing Jesus offered, but also to the new life he would have with Christ. "He said, 'Lord, I believe.' And he worshiped him" (John 9:38).
Vanessa Bruce Ingold came to Christ as a result of healing that occurred after a devastating accident in which every long bone in her body (a total of 111) was broken, except for one.
Hope In The Midst Of Pain
Vanessa Bruce Ingold
Two weeks after my 23rd birthday, I awoke to a foggy, winter morning in southern California. Having cried myself to sleep, I felt foggy, too. Yet, dressed for aerobics, I began my usual bicycle route to the gym. Since there was no bicycle lane, I pedaled alongside the parking lane of the four-lane business district roadway. If it weren't illegal, I would have ridden against traffic instead. Ahead of me was a car in the parking lane. Just before I drew up beside it, the driver opened the door. I swerved. Traffic noise seemed to intensify as I veered into the left turn lane for on-coming traffic. Simultaneously, a Ford Ranger truck entered. I was trapped! Scenes from my life flashed before my eyes, while my mind raced. Will I be able to walk? Am I going to die? Will I go to heaven? Then the truck hit me.
Following the truck's piercing screech was the sound of a two-car collision. Debbie, the owner of a pet shop, ran to the sidewalk. Instead of two cars, she saw the truck next to my smashed bicycle. I lay in a pool of blood. Debbie called 911.
"She looks like a doll whose legs and arms are turned all the wrong way, the lower part of her left leg is like a balloon!"
Employees from other nearby shops encircled me. Debbie joined and directed traffic. The man who had opened the car door fled. Police questioned the truck driver. His truck, having left a brief skid mark, was damaged in the front and had to be towed.
Paramedics rushed me to Long Beach Memorial Hospital. All four tires of the truck had run over me. I was screaming and crying hysterically and was in and out of shock. Wheeling me into the emergency room, they yelled, "Trauma code yellow!" In one of my lucid moments, I said, "Call my friend, Ray," and mumbled his phone number. A nurse called Ray. He gave the phone number of the hair salon where I worked. The salon owner provided my emergency contacts, then the nurse phoned my out-of-state family.
A heart surgeon, Dr. McConnell, entered. His eyes widened as he saw tire tracks going across my chest. My heart rate was 147, as if I was doing high-impact aerobics. After evaluating, he said, "We've got to get her into surgery, now." During surgery, I had sixteen blood transfusions. They found gross, unstable blood in my abdomen; my liver was severely lacerated, my heart's papillary muscle was ruptured, and my mitral valve was ripped.
Every long bone in my body was broken except one, totaling 111. My lower left leg had the largest open wound, from which a fragment of the tibia -- the bone that extends from the knee to the ankle -- was sticking out of a six-inch longitudinal laceration. Plus, many short, flat, and irregular bones were fractured, including knees, wrists, ankles, ribs, left clavicle, pelvis, and the C7 section of my cervical spine. A cervical collar was placed around my neck.
At 7:30 p.m., my family members arrived. Dr. McConnell told them, "Her mitral valve is hanging like a thread, but we're trying to prolong replacing it because of the multitude of injuries and blood loss." Relatives were allowed to see me. They and the nurses laughed as I told a funny childhood story about my brother terrorizing me by putting my beloved stuffed animal in the freezer. Laughter was interrupted. I had a heart attack. "Now our only hope is to replace her mitral valve," Doctor McConnell explained. Immediately a priest was sent to read me my "last rites." He asked if I understood. With closed eyes, I nodded.
After a ten-hour open-heart surgery, my chest couldn't be closed, because of severe pulmonary edema, coupled with edema of my heart. Thus, it was left open three days, covered with an Esmarch bandage. Paralyzing drugs kept me from moving. After it was closed, I awoke with Dad at my bedside. I knew it must be bad if Dad was there. My parents had divorced when I was in the first grade. We were not a close-knit family.
My broken bones prevented me from wiping my tears. I was too weak, anyway. I remembered having prayed the night before the accident, "Please change me, God." Now I asked, "Why'd you let this happen, God? Am I being punished for my out-of-control party life?" With tears on my face, I sensed him reply, "It will all work together for good." At least it can't get any worse, I thought; this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!
But, gangrene of my forefeet worsened. Still, oxygen therapy had to be postponed until excess fluid that had accumulated in my chest was drained. With my legs elevated, I could see my black toes.
Two weeks after my chest was closed, I was brought to hyperbarics twice daily, where I was transferred into a single person oxygen chamber that was seven feet long and 27 inches wide. Each time, I was kept for one-and-a-half hours, with hopes to save my feet and legs. Two weeks passed, and I was told, "We'll be amputating all ten of your toes." Again, I nodded my head.
During almost four months in the Intensive Care Unit, my ventilator alarm sounded because I lacked oxygen, a blood infection nearly killed me, and because of constant fever, ice packages surrounded me.
Nevertheless, I witnessed God's love. My Christian trauma nurse visited me during her off-hours. And a Christian family who met my family while I was having heart surgery, frequently visited me. Trying to wean me off of the ventilator was a battle. Oxygen couldn't be reduced for long, because I panted. "We're worried she'll be dependent on it forever," I heard doctors say.
After nearly four months of dependence, a doctor was changing my tracheal tube. When she pulled it out and quickly tried to replace it, she couldn't insert the new tube. "The incision in your neck has closed!" Finally, I was independently breathing. An oxygen tank was placed next to my bed, but I never needed it. "Now you can begin rehab," a nurse said.
I frowned, "Rehab?" I breathily, hoarsely whined. "I thought as soon as I was off the ventilator I'd be able to leave."
After a day in rehab, I questioned doctors. "You mean I broke over 111 bones, had seventeen surgeries, and over 100 blood transfusions?" Wow, it really was a miracle I was alive! I began to see God's purpose for my life.
After a six-month hospital stay, on a clear, sunshiny day, with a cast on my left leg, accompanied by two friends from whom I would be renting a room, I cheerfully left the hospital. Six months later, a friend with whom I had worked at the hair salon invited me to church. Many there had been praying for me. The assistant pastor and his wife had visited me while I was in ICU, where they had anointed me with oil, while praying for my healing, as stated in the book of James. Now I sat in the front row at church next to them. After worship and Bible study, the teaching pastor said, "Whoever wants to receive Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior tonight come to the front." I stood and closed my eyes as he led in prayer.
The following Sunday, the pastor read from Romans, chapter 8, "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to his purpose." Wow, that's the scripture of my life! What the enemy had tried to use for evil, God was using for good. The accident had drawn my family together. Broken relationships were being re-built. Trauma was bringing healing. A few weeks later, I visited my orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Peek. For ten months I had been in a cast. Hoping my tibia had finally hardened, he once again shaved the cast off. Still soft, my tibia actually bent. While he plastered a new cast onto my leg, I said, "I'm going up to the mountains today for our church retreat. I'll just pray the whole weekend for God to heal it." The following Wednesday, Dr. Peek announced, "Amazing -- your tibia has hardened." He never replaced the cast.
Eight years later, I participated in a two-day bicycle trip to San Diego, a 110-mile ride, with a church group. I rode thirty minutes behind, and was last to finish the ride. Although I'm not as fast, my hope will last! Since then, I've had nine more surgeries. Yet, in the midst of pain, God has blessed me. Now life is especially more pleasurable since I have a cycling partner, my best friend and loving husband, Greg.14
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1. Susan Ivany, AHA! magazine, Wood Lakes Books, Winfield, British Columbia, Jan/Feb/March, 2003. Susan Ivany is an ordained pastor with the United Church of Canada. She and her partner, Peter, live in Thunder Bay, Ontario. Their sons, Derek and David, are embarking on their own careers and continue to make their parents exceedingly proud. In addition, Susan and Peter are owned and operated by two very spoiled cats. Susan loves to write, and has a profound respect for the power of words to transform lives.
2. William J. Bausch, Telling Stories, Compelling Stories (Mystic, Connecticut: Twenty-third Publications, 1991), p. 11.
3. Alden Hatch, Buckminster Fuller: At Home In The Universe (New York: Crown Publishers, 1974), p. 11.
4. Tony Campolo, Carpe Diem (Nashville: W Publishing Group, 1994), pp. 16-17.
5. J. Robert Stimmel retired after 35 years of ordained ministry in both parish and connectional ministries in The United Methodist Church. Now living on the central coast of California, Bob works full-time running his own tax preparation business, which also offers payroll and bookkeeping services. He finds it spiritually beneficial that his office features a view of the local pier and the Pacific Ocean. He continues his church involvement by serving as treasurer of his local church, which is engaged in a seven million dollar building project. Occasionally Bob preaches, writes, and contributes to preaching publications.
6. Rex Stout, Fer-De-Lance: A Nero Wolfe Mystery (New York: Bantam Books, 1983), pp. 168-169. (Originally published in 1934.)
7. Rachel Naomi Remen, Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories That Heal (New York: Riverhead Books, 1996), p. 77.
8. Betty Ford, The Times of My Life (New York: Harper Collins, 1978), pp. 281-285.
9. Ibid.
10. Steve Hartsoe, Associated Press, The North Carolina News, February 21, 2005.
11. National Public Radio, February 19, 2005.
12. From recollections of Pharmacist's Mate Wheeler Lipes collected for the Naval Historical Center. http://www.history.navy.mil/faqs/faq87-3a.htm.
13. Verna Windrem, the daughter of a United Church pastor, grew up in the village of Omemee, Ontario, where she attended elementary and high schools and married Earle Windrem, a farmer from the Cavan area. They have two sons, David and Verne, and grandchildren ranging in age from 10 to 23. In 1983, Verna went back to school through the Centre for Christian Studies in Toronto and the University of Toronto -- as a grandmother, with lots of support and help from family. In 1987, she became Diaconal Minister, and served three rural churches in Cold Springs Charge, near Cobourg, Ontario. In 1993, she transferred to Warsaw, Ontario, and served four country churches for twelve years. Verna and Earle retired on their farm near Cavan in 2004, where they live with a lovely little schnoodle named Millie.
14. Vanessa Bruce Ingold says people often tell her, "You're a walking miracle!" She and her husband, Greg, live in Fullerton, California, and attend Capo Beach Calvary Chapel. Jcnessa@aol.com.
