Wonderstruck (12 page)

Listening to Sophia, I realized that when the registrar assigned her this particular professor at that time in her life it wasn’t a coincidence. Among a wide selection of potential schools and possible professors, God had been actively at work orchestrating a wondrous masterpiece of divine restoration. Sophia was a living, breathing example of the wonder of restoration.

She revealed the faithfulness of God and his commitment to restore us—no matter what we’ve experienced. Like spiritual smelling salts, Sophia awoke me to the wonder that God is in the business of restoration. God is committed to bringing us to wholeness and transforming us into conduits of his redemption and renewal.

The professor recognized the spark of divine life in Sophia and through loving compassion rekindled her faith.
He
didn’t restore Sophia. God did. But God often prefers not to work solo. Sophia’s story alerted me to how often I pass by uncounted opportunities to participate in the restorative work of God. Asleep to the work of God all around, I fail to join in the marvelous event. How many people have I dismissed that I should
have embraced? How many sparks of life have I extinguished rather than rekindled? How many times have I refused the invitation to join God in his supernatural work?

Like the Old Testament prophet Ezekiel, all I see are dry bones.

Counted among thousands of Jews exiled to Babylon, Ezekiel becomes a political and religious prisoner whom God selects as his mouthpiece. Ezekiel experiences a spate of divine visions, riddles, and parables that pulsate with rich imagery. He prophesies the toppling of Jerusalem, the judgment on nations who rejoice in its destruction, the hope of freedom for those trapped in captivity. Like his contemporaries, Ezekiel calls people to shut their ears to false prophets and abandon idolatry.
¹

One of the most startling scenes the prophet encounters is a valley full of skeletal remains.

Skulls and scapulas.

Vertebrae and ribs.

Femurs and phalanges.

Shoulder blades and tailbones.

Ezekiel makes the archaeological discovery of a lifetime.

“Can these bones live?” the Lord asks.
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Unsure how to respond to this potentially trick question, Ezekiel admits he has no idea: only God knows. God perhaps
takes pleasure in this answer because he invites Ezekiel into the process of speaking life into a graveyard. As the syllables leave Ezekiel’s lips, the prophet hears the soft clacking of cartilage as the bones click together. Ezekiel watches as tendons sprout and sew bones to flesh.

Again, the Lord tells Ezekiel to speak life to the boneyard. A miracle unfolds before his eyes: the same Spirit who breathes life in the beginning also breathes life in the end. The prophet feels the air sucked out of the scene as tens of thousands of lungs take in their first breath. Instead of a bone yard, the prophet stands before a sea of sparkling eyes and pink cheeks, life beaming in all directions. The wonder of restoration probably took Ezekiel’s breath away.

The prophetic scene becomes a potent message of encouragement for the Jews, a promise of their return to Israel and restoration after captivity. Israel had been dispersed, splintered in a thousand irreconcilable pieces. God promises to bring them together again.

In reflecting on Ezekiel’s imagery, I found myself fiddling with the question:
When I look at others, do I see dry bones or the children of God?
On more days than I want to admit, I find myself distracted by the lifelessness, instead of the possibilities. I lose sight of the truth that God’s perspective is wildly different from mine. Ezekiel’s vision not only serves as a challenge to love and serve and hope and wait but also to speak life. Ezekiel’s encounter isn’t just an ancient prophetic word but a reminder
of what we’ve been entrusted with as children of God. To exhale life, the same God-life breathed in us, to others. Yet how often do we miss finding God in the graveyard?

How often do we mistake children of God for piles of bones?

Rather than become involved, we retreat, recoiling at the scene and scent of the carcasses. Yet the wondrous calling of God on our lives is to become conduits of a holy replenishment. As children of God, we’re meant to live on high alert, watching for the possibility of divine restoration in the lives of those around us. We’re called to look where no signs of life are found, where others dismiss its possibility. And we’re invited to speak life—words of encouragement, hope, and peace that embody the goodness of God—whenever possible.

The wonder of restoration is exemplified through the visions of an exiled Old Testament prophet, and realized throughout the life of Christ. In Jesus’ journeys, he routinely looked on piles of dead bones, people the religious leaders dismissed, and spoke life, leaving those who watched awestruck by the wonder of restoration. Such moments invite us to inhale and exhale divine restoration more fully.

One of the most meaningful encounters for me is the story of blind Bartimaeus—someone who never selects the hardships he experiences in this life; they’re preselected for him. Can’t most of us relate? Though God forbids mistreating the blind, the ancient world lacked effective treatment or support, leaving many to suffer in darkness without hope.
³
Shoved to the
margins of society, Bartimaeus grew up uneducated and poor, dependent on begging as a means of survival.

Bartimaeus finds a place on a ribbon of road where he announces to bystanders, “Give to God!” as an initiation and challenge for everyone in earshot to demonstrate honor and compassion. Whenever a gift is received, Bartimaeus, like the other beggars, declares in loud voice the giver’s nobility and asks for God’s blessing. The public praise is a token of gratitude in exchange for the alms.
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Without physical vision, Bartimaeus develops a strong listening ear. When someone mentions that Jesus of Nazareth is among the crowd leaving the city, Bartimaeus sucks in extra oxygen before hollering, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
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Bartimaeus acknowledges Jesus as the promised Messiah, King David’s descendant for whom Israel has been waiting.

Onlookers try to drown out Bartimaeus’ voice.

Be quiet.

Enough.

Hush.

They attempt to silence the rustling from the dry bones. But the opposition only makes Bartimaeus squawk louder. He’s no fool. Bartimaeus knows those he annoys may pull their financial support in the future, but he’s only concerned with one person in the entire crowd. Jesus stops in his tracks and instructs his disciples to call the blind man.

Bartimaeus throws off his coat, possibly his only possession,
and hightails it to the Son of God. The blind man is greeted with one of the simplest yet startling questions, “What do you want Me to do for you?”
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For those studying the Gospel of Mark, the question is familiar. Fifteen verses earlier, Jesus asks the same of two of his closest disciples, James and John. The sons of Zebedee jockey for the highest position among Jesus’ followers and ask for an extraordinary honor. Yet Bartimaeus desires something far more humble and ordinary. And Jesus meets him there—not as a problem or victim but as a person—just as he does us.

Like all the questions Jesus asks, he already knows the answer, but the inquiry provides a moment of honest self-reflection. Bartimaeus didn’t choose blindness, but will he choose sightedness? Will he give up everything familiar to seize the unknown? Will he ask for restoration and the fullness of life to be breathed into his bones?

The man who only knows blindness chooses healing. Jesus speaks life: “Go, your faith has healed you.”
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Bartimaeus’ eyes open for the first time. Rubbing his face, he looks and finds colors flapping in the wind before they take shape. The colors grow brighter with each passing moment. Hues unimaginable. Pigments unexpected. Unlocked from the darkness, he sees beauty everywhere. Awestruck faces surround him in the wake of the miracle they’ve witnessed: a blind man fully restored.

But the wonder of restoration goes even deeper.

Woven into the fabric of this story is a detail that’s easy to overlook: the mention and double meaning of Bartimaeus. With the exceptions of Jesus’ friend Lazarus, who was raised from the dead, and Malchus, whose ear was cut off by Peter, Bartimaeus stands as the only healing miracle with a name. Everyone else is identified in less specific terms, such as the “demon-possessed man,” the “cleansed leper,” or the “afflicted woman.”

In ancient culture, popular theology dictated that blindness was a sign of God’s punishment for sin or defilement. Those familiar with the Aramaic translation of Bartimaeus (
t m’
) as “son of filth” or “son of defilement” understood his name to be consistent with his lot in life. But the Greek version of the name (
tim
) can be translated “son of honor.” When Jesus heals Bartimaeus, he’s in essence revealing who Bartimaeus is called and created to be all along. Jesus isn’t just restoring his physical sight but his dignity as a child of God. The story opens with Bartimaeus sitting by the road and ends with him following Jesus on the road.
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Jesus’ gift to Bartimaeus is free but not without cost. Bartimaeus needs to give up all that is familiar to grasp what Christ has for him. Bartimaeus acknowledges his blindness but refuses to allow it to hold him back. Though the crowd tells him to hush, Bartimaeus chooses to take responsibility for his faith and his future. He doesn’t worry about what others think, only God. In the process, Bartimaeus receives the new life God intends.

When it comes to the restoration business, Jesus owns the entire franchise. The Son of God spends his days reaching the
marginalized, healing the smashedhearted, setting people free from torment, and raising corpses back to life. Everywhere Jesus travels, he affirms life and welcomes people into a restored relationship with God and each other. And he coaches his disciples to carry on the same ministry. When Jesus sends out the twelve, he essentially tells them to find dry bones and breathe life into them. He instructs, “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. Freely you received, freely give.”
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Jesus makes his disciples conduits of the restorative work of God.

Reflecting on the stories of Ezekiel and Bartimaeus renews my desire to recognize life where at first I saw only death, to see divine possibilities where at first I saw only impossibilities, to join God in the wondrous work of restoration he’s doing in lives everywhere.

Dodging traffic at every turn, I hunted treasure alongside someone who was once a pile of bones. I marveled as Sophia bounded across noisy streets with laughter, vibrant with life, radiating God’s love. In her previous condition, would I have passed by or taken pause to become involved? Would I have recognized the spark of life or only the sting of death? Would I have fought with the same compassionate tenacity as the professor?

I can’t say for sure. But Sophia’s presence reawakens me to
the wonder that God places life inside each of us and invites us to recognize this life in each other. Breathing restoration is one of the most powerful displays of God’s unflinching love. As we breathe God’s restoration into our own lives, we are better able to exhale his restoration to others. When we breathe out restoration, we spread the goodness of God. When we breathe out restoration, we release grace and hope immeasurable. When we breathe out restoration, we join God as he beats back hell and unleashes heaven on behalf of those he’s created. More than any other person I encountered in South Africa, Sophia made me want to breathe in and out the fullness of divine restoration.

Will you be a person who sees life in mere bones? Will you believe and respond to those who are on the side of the road? Will you be someone who breathes life into others?

Breathing life begins with the simplest of actions. See someone. Really see. As you reach out and interact, offer your full attention to whoever is in front of you. Listen to someone. Really listen. Give someone the gift of your presence—your fully present, undivided attention. Pray for someone. Really pray. Though it may feel awkward in the moment, ask if you can offer a prayer, and bless the person with kindness. Give to someone. Really give of yourself. Find an unexpected way to help someone whose needs remain unmet. Radiate the generosity of Christ.