Friday, October 13, 2006
Miracles Mostly in Eye of Beholder?
Miracles sure come cheap these days. My definition of "miracle" was always limited to events that could not be explained by any means other than some sort of divine intervention.
Apparently, a lot of people in general and the Catholic Church in particular have lowered their expectations of the miraculous to new lows. Take the case of the second miracle attributed to Mother Theodore Guerin, the 19th century nun who spent a lot of time in Indiana and is being sainted this coming weekend.
Basically, the second "official" miracle for Mother Guerin involved an Indiana man with a swollen eye who was probably facing cornea transplant surgery. The man, not a Catholic himself, prayed for his eye, and, as an afterthought, asked Mother Guerin to put in a good word for him with The Big Guy. Then, the next day, the swelling in his eye went down and, in the end, he didn't need the corneal surgery.
And, voila, there you have a miracle, at least in the minds of those who were campaigning for sainthood for the Hoosier nun and eventually in the minds who run the Catholic Church. What? I'm sure the Indiana man was quite relieved he didn't have to have surgery, but how did his episode rise dramatically above that of an unexpected and pleasant surprise to a full-fledged miracle?
I mean, it's not like millions of people haven't had the same experience, almost all of them without appealing to a saint or a saint-in-waiting. Sometimes without praying to anybody or anything. People sometimes get better without doing anything. I have. Surely you have, too.
Certainly, I'm happy for the guy, and I'd never argue against the idea that, sometimes, somehow, praying becomes a form of self-healing (or even group-healing).
Doctors around the world can tell you stories about patients who have "miraculously" recovered from things far worse than an infected eye. The Indiana man's own ophthalmologist stopped far short of calling his patient's turnaround a miracle.
Even I, who doesn't believe in praying -- we're on our own, I figure -- have had at least four incidents in my life where, on hindsight, I was fairly convinced that I had narrowly avoided almost certain death, or at least severe injury -- one of them involving a pilot-less jet plane flying into a hotel lobby -- but I never, ever called them miracles.
To me, a "miracle" has to involve some pretty heavy divine lifting. Loaves and fishes. Water into wine (without a professional magician being involved). Walking on water. A burning bush (well, at least in the days before matches were invented). Jonah. Lazarus. But a swollen eye that gets better with a good night's sleep? I don't think so.
Maybe the Catholic Church -- not exactly the most flexible of institutions -- needs to rethink its whole position on miracles. Shouldn't it be enough for a person to lead a saintly life to attain sainthood? Never mind if they laid their hands on someone and suddenly they could see (or hear or get it up for sex) where they couldn't before. Why should Mother Guerin or Mother Teresa or two of the past three dead popes have to be supported by proof that they once cured a eye infection or a hangnail?
I don't expect the monolithic church in Rome to change, on this or anything else that is more appropriate to the 21st century than to the 14th century, like, say, abortion or contraception or female priests. But it should think about it.
Maybe I'll change my opinion when the prayers of thousands are answered and the Indianapolis Colts make it to the Super Bowl, or the Cubs win the World Series. But I'm not holding my breath (after fifty years of cigarette smoking, that would be a miracle in itself).
Apparently, a lot of people in general and the Catholic Church in particular have lowered their expectations of the miraculous to new lows. Take the case of the second miracle attributed to Mother Theodore Guerin, the 19th century nun who spent a lot of time in Indiana and is being sainted this coming weekend.
Basically, the second "official" miracle for Mother Guerin involved an Indiana man with a swollen eye who was probably facing cornea transplant surgery. The man, not a Catholic himself, prayed for his eye, and, as an afterthought, asked Mother Guerin to put in a good word for him with The Big Guy. Then, the next day, the swelling in his eye went down and, in the end, he didn't need the corneal surgery.
And, voila, there you have a miracle, at least in the minds of those who were campaigning for sainthood for the Hoosier nun and eventually in the minds who run the Catholic Church. What? I'm sure the Indiana man was quite relieved he didn't have to have surgery, but how did his episode rise dramatically above that of an unexpected and pleasant surprise to a full-fledged miracle?
I mean, it's not like millions of people haven't had the same experience, almost all of them without appealing to a saint or a saint-in-waiting. Sometimes without praying to anybody or anything. People sometimes get better without doing anything. I have. Surely you have, too.
Certainly, I'm happy for the guy, and I'd never argue against the idea that, sometimes, somehow, praying becomes a form of self-healing (or even group-healing).
Doctors around the world can tell you stories about patients who have "miraculously" recovered from things far worse than an infected eye. The Indiana man's own ophthalmologist stopped far short of calling his patient's turnaround a miracle.
Even I, who doesn't believe in praying -- we're on our own, I figure -- have had at least four incidents in my life where, on hindsight, I was fairly convinced that I had narrowly avoided almost certain death, or at least severe injury -- one of them involving a pilot-less jet plane flying into a hotel lobby -- but I never, ever called them miracles.
To me, a "miracle" has to involve some pretty heavy divine lifting. Loaves and fishes. Water into wine (without a professional magician being involved). Walking on water. A burning bush (well, at least in the days before matches were invented). Jonah. Lazarus. But a swollen eye that gets better with a good night's sleep? I don't think so.
Maybe the Catholic Church -- not exactly the most flexible of institutions -- needs to rethink its whole position on miracles. Shouldn't it be enough for a person to lead a saintly life to attain sainthood? Never mind if they laid their hands on someone and suddenly they could see (or hear or get it up for sex) where they couldn't before. Why should Mother Guerin or Mother Teresa or two of the past three dead popes have to be supported by proof that they once cured a eye infection or a hangnail?
I don't expect the monolithic church in Rome to change, on this or anything else that is more appropriate to the 21st century than to the 14th century, like, say, abortion or contraception or female priests. But it should think about it.
Maybe I'll change my opinion when the prayers of thousands are answered and the Indianapolis Colts make it to the Super Bowl, or the Cubs win the World Series. But I'm not holding my breath (after fifty years of cigarette smoking, that would be a miracle in itself).
