By Tom Burke / Herald Columnist
My life was majorly transformed two weeks ago by something near-heavenly.
Of course, today, all my excitement about what happened is probably pretty mundane with a rational explanation; but still, I’m think’n it was … a miracle.
But before I describe my experience, a bit of a preface.
First, there are two different types of miracles (at least from my perspective).
The first is the truly-religious, “praise Jesus” true-believer miracle. This is serious stuff and follows a set of very strict and rigorous theological standards — here defined by the Catholic Church — that miracles must be attributable to divine power, beyond the abilities of nature, beyond nature’s order, seemingly extraordinary, and must be perceptible by the senses.
The kind of thing that gets people down on their knees thanking God for his kindness and mercy.
The best-known of these divine acts were performed by Jesus during his ministry when He transformed water into wine; healed the leper in Galilee; fed 4,000 with a few loaves and fishes; and raised Lazarus from the dead.
And there are the other miracles “acknowledged” by the Cathloic Church as well. They are a bit lesser-known and were/are performed by, among others, the Saints of the Catholic church; such as the healing of Sister Marie Pierre by Pope John Paul II. She was a French nun, diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, and the Church says her healing was scientifically inexplicable and due to the intercession of now Saint John Paul II.
And then there are the “miracles” that don’t raise the doers to the level of sainthood but can transform lives: such as an answered prayer for healing, the calming of storms, and, of course, the most dramatic miracle of all, the creation of life itself from the union of man and woman.
Now in our secular world the use of the term miracle has lost much of its religious connection, although research shows that about 80 percent of Americans still believe in the religious sort.
I suspect one could say the sun’s rising and setting each day; small seeds that grow into mighty trees; and how the vast universe is ordered in such a precise fashion are miracles.
But then there’s another type of miracle, the secular sort, such as a whole bunch of little, electrically charged electrons running through a laptop where something miraculous happens, and the power of the whole wide world’s intellect is at one’s fingertips or how one can stream “Shogun” on Hulu instead of reading all 1,299 pages of James Clavell’s novel. To me, that is a miracle (although the book is better than either TV series). The win of the 1980 American Olympic hockey team over the Soviets was called the “Miracle on Ice;” and we heard Donald Trump actually telling the truth, saying, “I was able to kill Roe v. Wade,” that too is a miracle. (Him telling the truth, not the “death” of Roe v. Wade.)
But my particular miracle, while not as dramatic as Saul being struck blind and then reborn, sighted, as the Apostle Paul, is of a similar vein.
Ya see, I had cataract surgery. On both eyes.
And I can see clearly now (as Johnny Nash sang in 1972).
The day before the surgeries (two weeks apart) it was like looking through a badly fogged/clouded-up car window all day and all night, even with my glasses on. The day after the procedure: the world was clear as a bell; colors were vibrant; details sharp as a razor’s edge; and driving at night was no longer terrifying.
In just a few minutes some deft handiwork by a surgeon changed my world back to what it had been before age took its toll on my eyes.
And if that ain’t a miracle, what is?
Oh, I know, cataracts were operated on as far back as the 5th century B.C. and it’s one of the most common surgical procedures performed worldwide. But in the 21st century it’s become really, really perfected. Or as the National Institutes of Health says, “Cataract surgery may be considered one of the most successful treatments in all of medicine.”
The story-teller and sage Hans Christian Andersen once said, “The whole world is a series of miracles, but we’re so used to them we call them ordinary things.”
So “ordinary things” like pacemakers, covid vaccines, EVs, the LED light bulb, digital cameras, air fryers, MRIs, antibiotics, Alexa, the first transplant of a pig kidney into a human, GPS, moveable type, indoor plumbing, the vacuum cleaner, the IBM typewriter with a spool of correcto-tape attached, and the zipper are all, from my perspective, miracles.
“Horse-puckey,” says you. “They’re just clever things invented by a clever man or a clever woman, not by divine intersession.”
“Oh yeah?” says I. “Who says some higher power didn’t inspire those inventors?”
Well, whatever the inspiration, we live in an age of miracles. I recall carrying a dollar’s change for the pay phone on the corner and our big cabinet of 33 1/3 LP records has been replaced with, “Alexa, play…….”
Every time I look up and out across our backyard stream I am amazed, grateful, mystified and moved at the wonder of man and thankful for Dr. Samuel K. Seto at the Eye Clinic of Edmonds. He may (or may not) have been as inspired by god as Ananias, who cured Saul of his blindness was, but he certainly caused the scales to fall from my eyes.
And all I can say about that is, “Amen.”
Slava Ukranini.
Tom Burke’s email address is t.burke.column@gmail.com.
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