Is about how long it would take you to get from Cana to Capernaum today. With good traffic. Not too bad.
In the first century, it would be about a 7 hour walk. A bit faster if you were in a hurry and in decent shape. Even faster if you had some modern footwear. Even faster than that if you had a horse or a donkey.
Imagine for a moment that your child is dying in Capernaum, but you’re away on official business in Cana. Because your boss, to put it lightly, is not the kind of man you’d say “No” to. Your heart is breaking. The doctors have done all that they can do. The end is imminent. You can’t get home fast enough. Even 40 minutes feels like an eternity, let alone a few hours.
So you do the only thing you can think to do: Beg for a miracle.
We need miracles when we’re at our wits end. When we’re stuck and helpless. When we’re far away and powerless. When we can’t even be present with someone we love that we ultimately lack the ability to help.
My relationship with miracles is complicated. I believe in the goodness and power of God—because I’ve experienced them first-hand. I’ve seen impossible healing happen with my own eyes. But I also believe in the complicated nature of life—I’ve lived through it. I’ve seen death with my own eyes.
Even still, all my disappointment and cynicism aside, I’m not above begging for a miracle.
Sometimes Jesus provides that miracle. Sometimes he simply honors my request to walk back into my suffering alongside me.
Thanks be to God.
