Every time I saw it, floating lower and lower in the water, it seemed no longer a vehicle for moving people from place to place, but something having a life of its own, but dying.
That airliner was a huge flying bird, struck down, floating there, dreadfully sick, but now more like a terminally ill whale at the shoreline, its nose submerged, its “eyes,” (the windshields) peeking at me just above the waterline.
I actually felt something for that drowning jetliner.
The passengers had been saved, but the whale was dying, a metaphor, possibly, for so many sacrifices in life that miraculously turn out to have purpose, a metaphor even, for the stories of The Passion of the Christ.
It was a “perfect storm” in reverse, an extraordinary combination of circumstances that made possible what people are calling a miracle, a miracle on the Hudson.
Miracle in a hospital room
I was in a room in the intensive care unit at St. Francis Hospital Thursday when channel 4 began coverage of the event.
I was visiting Bob, the Bob we’ve been including in our Prayers of the People for the past few weeks.
Bob had major surgery this week.
Things had been going well when I saw him Tuesday.
The talk was focused on getting out, going home, getting better.
I was out of town Wednesday.
But Thursday I called on Bob again.
Got to his room.
Someone else was in “his” bed.
Well that’s a discovery you don’t want to make very often.
I was imagining all sorts of dire explanations.
A few minutes later, though, the woman at the nurse’s station was able to find him and direct me to the room they’d moved him to.
Something had gone very seriously wrong on Tuesday night.
His temperature had gone up.
His whole body was shaking uncontrollably.
He was vomiting unrecognizable stuff.
And he was scared to death.
In another time and place, he probably would have died.
Turns out they had to “open him up” again.
They did that, and by Thursday, the day I found him in the ICU, it seemed that a miracle had occurred.
Bob was sitting up.
Still attached to medical equipment, but sitting up, carrying on intelligent conversation, once again talking about getting better, going home, recovering.
Overnight, a miracle.
The birth of a child
This morning, in a way, we’re celebrating another miracle, the miracle of the birth of a young couple’s daughter, and her grandparents’ granddaughter, and her uncle’s niece, the birth of a brand-new member of the human race.
This morning what we’re celebrating is a holy miracle that Madelyn May Millar, born just four months ago, was born a child of God, a “Human Wonder.”
(While we’re at it, we might want to celebrate the miracle, that Maddy slept all the way through the night on one night this past week.)
About miracles
Miracles don’t only occur in such noticeable ways as a new birth, or a dramatic recovery from surgery, or a completely unpredictable Hudson River jetliner landing.
Miracles occur in ordinary situations as well.
Miracles bubble up
Deepak Chopra is the Indian-American medical doctor who has written extensively about spirituality and on such topics as mind-body medicine.
This guy suggests that miracles happen every day, not just in remote country villages, not just at holy places halfway across the globe.
Miracles happen here, he says, in our own lives.
Miracles bubble up from their hidden source.
Miracles surround us with opportunities, and then they disappear.
Miracles are the shooting stars of everyday life.
When we see shooting stars, their rarity makes them seem magical.
But, in fact, they streak across the sky all the time.
We just don’t notice them during the day.
They don’t show up in bright sunlight.
At night they show up only if we happen to look up at the right place, at the right time, on a clear, dark night.
Although we think of miracles as extraordinary, miracles also streak across our consciousness every day.
We can choose to notice miracles, or we can choose to ignore them, unaware that our destinies may hang in the balance.
Dr. Chopra suggests that we should tune into the presence of such miracles, and in an instant, life can be transformed into a dazzling experience, more wondrous and exciting than we could ever imagine.
Ignore a miracle, and an opportunity is gone forever.
Samuel’s miracle
In the first reading this morning, the young boy Samuel heard a human voice in the night.
Eli gave Samuel some advice, basically told him to expect a miracle, suggested that he listen for God in a human voice.
And Samuel did.
It was a miracle.
Nathanael’s miracle
In our reading from John’s version of the story of Jesus this morning, Nathanael goes to meet Jesus for the first time.
Jesus seems to already know Nathanael personally, although they’ve never met.
For Nathanael, that was the miracle.
It was a life-changing moment for Nathanael, who suddenly recognized Jesus as the long-awaited one sent from God.
Two ways to live your life
Samuel and Nathaniel, touched by God, Madelyn May Millar, a new member of the human race, Bob recovering in a hospital room, an unforgettable water-landing on the Hudson, and the everyday miracles that mostly go unnoticed.
Believe or don’t believe.
It’s a choice.
Albert Einstein said, Albert Einstein said this:
"There are only two ways to live your life:
one is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as if everything is.
I believe in the latter,” he said.
Prayer
Let us pray.
Eternal God, the Great Mystery that is outside everything and yet at the same time inside, keep alive in each one of us the search for a faith that is real, a faith that helps us to live happier lives, a faith that gives us a fuller meaning to life and the events of life.
Bring us to know the goodness that flows from the heart of the universe and may we be expanded in heart and soul by that goodness. This is our prayer. Amen.
My last trip to visit Amelia (and Jenn and José, of course) was an entirely different experience. She wasn't quite walking much on her own, but she was definitely ready -- and finished crawling. My day Friday was spent mostly playing with her toys, letting her lead me around by my index finger, helping her with lunch, walking her in her stroller. No longer an infant in my eyes. A little girl now.
