Signs and Wonders

In today’s Gospel, the Lord Jesus admonishes that “it is an evil generation that asks for a sign,” and that no sign shall be given it except the “sign of Jonah”---the prophet’s three days in the belly of the fish serving as a figure of Christ’s three days in the tomb before His Resurrection. Paradoxically, St. John’s Gospel---written entirely in light of the Resurrection---explicitly and repeatedly speaks of Jesus’ miracles as “signs.”   

Perhaps the resolution of the apparent contradiction lies in the spiritual state of how one approaches the mystery of the Lord. Clearly, many of Jesus’ interlocutors were hostile or even just opportunistic. They constantly put Him to the test, seeking to leverage His power to gain some advantage for themselves, to satisfy their non-committal curiosity, or even to provoke His failure, humiliation, and death. To these no sign will be given.

But to those who will walk the way with Christ in trusting obedience, whatever the temporary anxieties, even serious ones (The wedding couple has no more wine.; How are we going to feed these crowds?; We are perishing in this storm!; Leave me, Lord, I am a sinful man!; etc.)---to those who risk the adventure of faith, every word and deed of Jesus “signifies” the very wisdom and power of God.

When the medical condition of my jaw began seriously to deteriorate, my heart would regularly be consumed by bouts of anger, which only resolved when I recovered the presence of mind to bring all of the pain and seeming hopelessness of the situation to the Lord. As I did so, I gradually and imperceptibly began to discover signs of St. Thérèse of Lisieux’s peaceful and reassuring accompaniment---unbidden and seemingly from out of nowhere.

As a Carmelite, it was in the spiritual genetics of St. Thérèse’s religious profession never to put God to the test by miracle-chasing or whining for consolatory signs. In fact she suffered terribly at the end of her life from tuberculosis, which robbed her of any earthy comfort she might cling to. And yet she famously promised: “When I die, I will send down a shower of roses from the heavens, I will spend my heaven by doing good on earth.”

In my own case, let’s just say that the Little Flower (St. Thérèse’s popular and well-deserved nickname) has had pity on me with her promised roses on multiple occasions too numerous and embarrassing to count---from my seminary days, throughout my Priestly ministry, but especially in the months leading up to my surgery (perhaps a future blog post will give the Theresian “prequel” to the story I am going to tell . . . ). In any case, in her earthly life, St. Thérèse prayed with special passion for Priests---devoting even her sufferings for them---because she knew the infinite greatness of the gifts entrusted to them for the salvation of souls and how exposed to temptations of mediocrity, inadequacy, and discouragement the clergy are.

Thanks in no small part to the Lord’s gift of this hidden friendship with le petite Thérèse, I became very peaceful from last September onward about the prospect of TMJ surgery. As I mentioned, she would make her presence felt in the most simultaneously simple and startling ways; the gestures were seamlessly incontrivable, utterly gracious, and always beautiful. But now to the story at hand:

I had about a week of pre-operative appointments in Florida before January 24, the date of surgery. During this time I jogged and walked all along the waterfront and seaside parks of St. Petersburg every day. Given the rather confined geography of this tourist paradise, I became quite familiar with the regular features and even the small, day-to-day changes in what had become my temporary natural habitat.

After the five hour jaw operation during my 24-hour stint at the Edward White Hospital, Dr. Piper released me with the instructions that even with my head swollen and gait a little unsteady from all of the medications, I was to resume some ambulatory routine right away. So, on the afternoon of January 25---the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul---I went walking. My caregiver, Larry Garatoni, accompanied me. I remember that the splint in my mouth was still very awkward and difficult to negotiate. At that time, I had only one little blowhole in it to speak through (I was later given an extra two at the Piper Clinic!), so I was practically mute. Dr. Piper encouraged me to get rid of the portable whiteboard I had been using in the hospital after surgery to express myself.

So as I am making with Larry my first post-surgical amble back into the real world in forced silence, as we were walking in the park, we passed a little sign propped up in the ground that read: “SPEAKING ROSES: We Print on Fresh Roses.” It apparently was an ad for a floral service that writes personalized messages on roses. Below the words on the sign was a picture of three examples, each reading in turn: “Happy Anniversary,” “I Love You,” and “We Love You.”

I think I was too drugged up to be shocked, but I was nonetheless surprised. As we walked on farther, I saw another one of the same signs, and then a third, and a fourth. By the time Larry and I returned from our stroll, an identical “SPEAKING ROSES” sign had been placed in front of our hotel! The last of these signs that I saw was actually outside of the new location of the Piper Clinic. I am utterly certain that none of those signs was in any of those locations before I went in for my surgery. I am also certain that the Lord delights when heaven and earth speak to one another, even through roses. And within this mystery, the Little Flower lives for her gifts to bloom again!

So what is the meaning of the florist’s sign, you ask? Beyond clever commercial exchange, it is a reminder that speaking takes many forms---a great consolation for one whose mouth is rubber-banded shut. And, romantic that I am, I like to think that St. Paul sent me his “Happy Anniversary,” St. Thérèse spoke her “I Love You,” and the rest of the Communion of Saints chipped in to communicate the prayers of all those at Queen of Peace and beyond praying for me that “We Love You.”

It is a less widely known fact that the Little Flower’s full given name in religious life was (and remains) St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face. As my face heals and I am reduced to relearning some of the basic functions of life like a child (eating and drinking and speaking), I think more deeply of the miraculous sign of the Child of Bethlehem, the Eternal Word who for love of us allowed His Holy Face to suffer violence and silence so that He might---with surgical precision---save us by His Passion, Death, and Resurrection. This is the sign of Jonah we have all been given to share: Seeking and contemplating what the Holy Face of Jesus signifies and allowing our faith to have the boundlessness of a child’s love (of the Child’s love), we too can---like our little sister of Lisieux---fully and finally stake our lives on being raised up in the One who rose.