I had three conversations about miracles in the last 18 hours, and concluded that it still needed some clarification. So here is my fourth and final installment in what became a soap. (Installment 1 here, 2 here, and 3 here.)

What do miracles say?

To summarize the previous 3 posts, we can state succinctly what they don't say. They don't say that God carefully created the "laws of nature" and then whimsically "breaks" them just because He can. Not only is that some sort of dualism (laws being separate from God), but it also promotes a purposeless nominalism (God can do anything He wants for no reason at all.)

Nor do miracles say that the reporter of miracles is untrustworthy, a good storyteller, overly emotional or uneducated. Nor are miracles merely code for something else, a myth that is "true" in some other manner or universe. Nor are miracles rare, limited to certain time-periods, or restricted to gods, demi-gods and extremely holy prophets. That is, miracles are not valuable objects like diamonds, covetted because their existence is scarce, rather, miracles are more like presidential press conferences, valued for what they communicate.

Looking through the Bible, miracles do not occur for their own sake, but in order to serve another purpose. Moses' first three miracles before Pharaoh included turning his staff into a snake, making his skin leprous, and turning water into blood. These were intended to validate Moses as God's messenger and hence his message to Pharaoh that the Israelites should be freed. Pharaoh didn't deny the reality of the miracles, but tested them against his own magicians. When they reported that these were the genuine article, Pharaoh refused the message. The subsequent 10 plagues or "wonders" were then intended to convince the subjects of Pharaoh, the entire Egyptian nation, that Israel was God's people. In fact, the fear of God preceded Israel as it moved up into the Levant. The message of these most famous miracles was the fear of Israel's God.

The miracles of Elijah and Elishah the prophets are the next most famous ones in the Bible, which do not have this overarching message, but seem to be random, acts of personal desire. They call down fire from heaven at will, run faster than horses, multiply oil and flour to feed a family, raise the dead, or float an axe-head that was lost in the river. What is the message here? Each miracle had a story for which the miracle was the punchline.

The wicked queen Jezebel had introduced worship of the thunder-lightning god named Baal, and when Elijah called down fire from a hard blue sky, he was intentionally demonstrating the superiority of Israel's god to Baal. Or when he fed a family with a jug of oil and a jar of flour, it was a demonstration as much for Elijah as the widow, that God is sufficient widows and orphans even in the midst of famine. Or the axe-head that was borrowed and lost in the river, the miraculous recovery shows a concern for private property and personal responsibility.

But without the context, the miracle is of itself meaningless, reminding me of the late great radio host, Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story". I'll never forget the one that began, "At 7:05pm the boiler at a little country church exploded, destroying the sanctuary above. Choir practice began at 7:00pm. But no one was injured." In "the rest of the story" Paul Harvey related in his gravelly voice how everyone in the choir had an unusual reason for being late that night. And suddenly the small-town event became a big-town miracle.

So the first thing that miracles tell us, is that they are the punchline to a story, a very personal story that involves characters who appreciate it most. Those of us who watch from the outside may not feel the impact of the miracle, but like Job's friends or Jericho's citizens, may still feel the awe of the event. Despite the intense personalization of the miracle, its impact can be shared with those who are willing to identify with the actors.

And this is the second thing that miracles say, that participation is required. If we are to understand Paul Harvey's miracle, we have to say "That could have been me!" This is what took Pharaoh so long to grasp, though only temporarily. This is what took a tough, war-hardened sergeant in full gear to fall on his knees before an unarmed, gray-bearded Elijah. This is what the Pharisees never grasped when they schemed to kill the resurrector of Lazarus, but what the Philippian jailor immediately understood when an earthquake unhinged his jail.

That participation isn't always quick or easy. In fact, it sometimes is harsh and demanding. It often forces us out of our comfort zone. When Rahab looked out her tiny window above the massive wall and saw the plains dotted with the tents of the Israelites, she must have wondered if all those miracles in Egypt were possible in her fortress-town of Jericho. To acknowledge that "it could have been me", was to fear that foreign god Yahweh, to submit to the rule of an alien nation, to envision a future without the comforts of her land, her language, her friends. Participation is a commitment that doesn't come easily.

This then is the most important thing that miracles say, because they speak directly to us; they ask us for a decision, no, they demand one. Rahab chose by her action, but the remaining 30,000 inhabitants chose by their inaction. In both cases, they made a choice. Miracles, even miracles in far away Egypt, have a way of judging us.

The eye that is blind to the miracle of life; the heart that is cold to the miracle of love; the hand that is clenched from the miracle of alms; the mouth that is dumb to the miracle of thanks is not just impoverished, it is condemned. For miracles are the message that we are made for a purpose, a purpose not our own. Miracles demand from us submission to the one who really is in charge: "a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God."