D. L. Moody once wrote that “There are many of us that are willing to do great things for the Lord, but few of us are willing to do little things.” Many of us, if given the chance, would be willing to go to the Jerusalem’s of our time, the temple’s of our time, and do the mighty things we dream of doing for God. And we may, indeed, be called to do just that. But we must be prepared for just the opposite. We must also recognize that the Father’s business involves not only the big things. But also the little things. The small things. The things few see and fewer appreciate.
Sometimes, it’s even the little thing of simply existing. In her book Gilead Marilynne Robinson writes the fictional story of Reverend John Ames. Ames pastors a small church in a small town in Gilead, Iowa in the late 1950’s. Dying of a heart condition, he writes a series of letters to his seven-year-old son. In one letter, Ames tries to help his son understand what a miracle he’s been by merely existing (60-61):
“I’d never have believed I’d see a wife of mine doting on a child of mine. It still amazes me every time I think of it. I’m writing this in part to tell you that if you ever wonder what you’ve done in your life, and everyone does wonder sooner or later, you have been God’s grace to me, a miracle, something more than a miracle. You may not remember me very well at all, and it may seem to you to be no great thing to have been the good child of an old man in a shabby little town you will no doubt leave behind. If only I had the words to tell you…I suppose you’re not prettier than most children. You’re just a nice-looking boy, a bit slight, well scrubbed and well mannered. All that is fine, but it’s your existence I love you for, mainly. Existence seems to me now the most remarkable thing that could ever be imagined.”
There are times when all we’ve been able to do is just be present in a person’s life. We could not or did not find a life-changing job for that person, donate a needed organ to that person, teach that person something profoundly wise or open a much-needed door of opportunity. We were simply present. We existed in that person’s life. We did life with that person. And that seemingly little thing may be far greater than we could ever imagine. A true miracle.
Robinson’s reframing of miracles caught me by surprise when I was recently reading another book. It, too, was an account of a church pastor. This pastor was living and breathing. Not the stuff of fiction. His book is a best-seller. Church leaders and church members have emptied the bookstore shelves of it since its publication a few years ago. The book’s appeal can be summarized in the word “miracle.” The author uses the word more than eighty times. He promises that if readers commit to praying in a particular circular way, they can expect miracles. Their bills will be paid. Their churches will multiply. Their relationships will thrive.
And, if Jesus’ ministry reveals anything, it certainly reveals that God is a God of miracles. At times, we can expect those larger-than-life things to happen in our lives. But what if some of God’s greatest miracles to us or through us are small things we’re often so quick to discount? What if the miracle worth celebrating is that child or parent or friend God’s placed among us who’s done life with us? What if the greatest miracle we could ever hope to be is found in simply being present in loving ways with those near and far from us?
