Did God need a burning bush
to meet Moses on Mount Sinai?
Did Jesus need His spit-made-mud
to give a blind man sight?
Did He need a fish and a loaf
to feed the multitude?
Could He just have said,
to fill their empty stomachs?
Does a miracle need material to be a miracle?
What would a matterless miracle be?
To command, “Be Satisfied!”
is but to invite mere enthusiastic response
to His powerful voice.
one fish after another,
pulled from a basket,
by gill or tail,
till all hunger is assuaged
or mud applied to blind eyes
so a beggar sees…
Miracles are made of matter
different than what it was
before its incarnation,
somehow heavier, warmer, older?
Does its new “active ingredient” alter
the nature of matter?
Is mud, made by mixing
sacred spit with profane dirt,
different in some forever way?
When the bush stops burning
does it remain, once scorched by God,
Ought we build a tabernacle round about it,
so to pilgrimage once a year up the mountain
to worship the once inconsequential,
now consecrated bush?
A millenium later ought we remove our shoes,
the ground around now and still, sacred?
Is all creation Holy,
called into existence by its Creators voice,
the Big Bang but a Divine Whisper
at the beginning of everything?
Is all matter:
mud and bush and fish
Holy from eternity,
destined to reveal divine purpose
at some preordained moment,
a cripple skips,
a leper, kissed, is cured,
Lazarus kicks away his funeral wraps,
the stone closing Christ’s tomb
I don’t know.
But I hold to it,
this evidence and substance of my faith
like some ant evangelist,
at the contrails of the Concorde,
straight white streaks against blue sky,
preaching to his congregation on their anthill,
proclaiming how it is to be
Seated in that cockpit.
Soaring through the air!