the greater things

what if that's not what jesus meant

In case you didn’t know - I grew up pentecostal. Deeply so. I’m a child of testimony time and testimony time was a time to celebrate all the ways God had won that week. One by one the people would come to speak about God’s faithfulness into a microphone to the congregation. It was the good, the miraculous, the answered prayer. Financial provision, healing, clean medical reports, stories that make you stand in awe of God’s goodness and believe that he can be good to you too. Real faith building stuff.

There was exactly zero talk, teaching, or testimony about God being present in the hard things unless it was with the hope of those hard things being over with soon - whether here on earth or in heaven. If you had a problem, God would solve it and then it would be your turn on the mic. I knew that God was supposed to be good all the time (and all the time he was good!), in and in spite of our circumstances, but I also was taught that it wasn’t God’s intent for us to struggle so if we were, we just needed enough faith to get out of it.

Miracles were ones you could see, touch, taste. And we all believed strongly for them. There’s something beautiful about a belief framework that looks at something awful happening and says, “God’s gonna get us through this.” But the reality is that sometimes God doesn’t. At least not in the way we hope he will. Sometimes the medical report doesn’t come back clear. Sometimes the loved one dies. Sometimes you don’t get the job. Sometimes there isn’t a spiritual cure for your depression and anxiety. What then?

There’s a verse in Scripture that was drilled into my bible college bones for four full years a - “You will do even greater things than these.” And if you don’t think every single one of us Bible college kids believed that meant we were each going to do something bigger than raising the dead—well, my friend, you are mistaken. We would scream that verse at each other at the altar. We would hype each other up to go out into the world and find someone who needs a miracle. We were soldiers prepared for battle and we truly believed that we would do bigger and greater miracles than Jesus.

I haven’t kept up with all my classmates, but I haven’t seen anything on facebook about an alum raising someone from the dead or turning water into something else. And rest assured that would be all over the fb algorithm. But even if that were happening to some degree, Jesus was speaking about an entire generation, not one or two with a special gift. And we have yet, in 2,000+ years of Christian history had an entire generation of miracle workers.

Until now.

But only if you welcome a different interpretation to what Jesus meant when he said “greater than this.”

What if Jesus was talking about miracles that can’t be seen at all - not with physical eyes, anyway.

What if he was talking about the kind of pain and brokenness that can’t be seen?

• anxiety

• depression

• spiritual trauma

• ptsd

• self hatred

• anger

• betrayal

• relational trauma

These are things that take time to heal. They require patience from the people whose lives brush up against those who suffer. Time and patience aren’t something church bodies have endurance for. We want someone to get past their pain quickly because it affects us. If they have a broken leg, we’ll bring them a casserole and help pick their kids up from school. But if their suffering falls into any of the aforementioned categories, we’re much more likely to gossip, tsk-tsk, get impatient, grow weary, dismiss their pain, question their spiritual integrity, push them out of community. We want our people to be reasonably broken, not extraordinarily so.

But what if - what if - the “greater things” we’re meant for is the gritty kind of healing? Not a pray and pass kind of thing, but a get in the dirt and figure it out with them kind? I already see an entire generation with their sleeves up, doing the hard, messy, painful work of healing relational, mental, emotional, and spiritual wounds. Wounds they had no part in causing, by the way.

The church sees “church hurt” and “deconstruction” as spiritual warfare against the teachings of Jesus - a lie from the pit of hell, a distraction, a slippery slope. I see it as holy (albeit imperfect) work to repair the harm of toxic theology, legalism, and religious indoctrination.

The church sees the “obsession” with therapy, feelings, emotional intelligence, and gentle parenting as self centered navel gazing, soft faith, parents who coddle and are afraid to hurt kids’ feelings. I see it as a generation doing hard work to repair broken identities and prevent passing down trauma and self hatred to the next generation.

The church demands certainty and theological compliance which pushes the questioner and the doubter to the outskirts of community, stifling their growth and maturity as believers. But I see an entire generation actively seeking Jesus to try to understand him more and to better apply his teachings to the culture and world we’re living in right now.

I wrote about this a little in my upcoming book -

But what if that’s not what Jesus meant? What if he wasn’t talking about miracles you could see, touch, and taste? When Jesus said that we’d do “even greater things,” I wonder if he saw a future where an entire generation takes responsibility for harm they didn’t cause and heals wounds that may not be visible. When Jesus healed, he did it supernaturally, usually instantaneously. The miracles he performed could be seen, touched, and ­ measured— water to wine, storms calmed with a word, a few loaves and fishes multiplied to feed thousands of people. Maybe the “greater things” he said we’d do aren’t necessarily in the awe and wonder of instant, tangible healings. What if the miracles we’re to perform are the slower, less obvious work of healing the spiritually sick, wounded, traumatized, and broken? What if the bride of Christ can present itself as holy because we have carried one another into wholeness?

It’s a beautiful thought, isn’t it? To embody the “one anothers” in Scripture so fully that we would be willing to take crosses that aren’t ours and carry the fragrance of Christ even to the messiest, most uncomfortable places?

I am relentlessly, hopelessly a defender of the Bride of Christ and believe in her so deeply. But I’ve come to understand that it’s easy to see someone like me as bitter if you see people who are desperately trying to hold onto their faith as fake Christians. If you think the work of healing emotional and spiritual harm is silly or unnecessary, then sure. You can’t imagine that the work that I, and many other likes me, do is done because we love our faith - not because we have a vendetta against it. If you don’t see the value in healing harm you don’t think justifiable, you dismiss it and with it, the people who are harmed and the people who are healing that harm.

That’s really, really sad.

I fully believe that we’re in the days of the greater things.
And you might be missing it.

As long as you’re critical and dismissive of people who have pain and doubt - you’ll never know. You will never know what it’s like to see the light slowly return to someone’s eyes. You’ll never know what it’s like to step into the mud with someone and watch them fight for joy, life, and abundance. You’ll never be in someone’s life long enough to know how much their joy cost because you grew weary of their pain. You’ll never have the reward of longsuffering because you are not longsuffering. You’ll never have the honor of holding someone’s grief so it feels a little less heavy for them. You’ll never see the supernatural moment of healing when two people understand each other and feel seen, held, and understood for the first time. You’ll never get to see baggage fall off someone’s back. You’ll never get to see what it’s like to watch someone drag their feet into a room and leave the room dancing.

If these are the greater things, will you be a participant? Or will you be like the pharisees and sadducees, criticizing the where and when and how of the miracles taking place?

It is uncomfortable, messy, misunderstood, unglamorous work. You won’t be able to take the mic at testimony time and give a quick recap of the miracle that took place. Words will often fail you. Moments will feel too sacred to write down or use as a conversational antidote or “proof” that God is on the move. Your only exchange of miraculous stories will be in the moment you make eye contact with someone who knows exactly what you mean. And even then - any words you can speak will be outpaced by the sacred understanding happening between you.

God is doing something. And he has been, for a really long time. He’s healing trauma, the effects of spiritual abuse and the perpetuation of it, he’s bringing comfort and hope where depression and anxiety have ruled, and he’s repairing broken identities, and ending cycles of generational abuse in and outside of the church. And he’s doing it the way he said he would - through his hands and his feet - the beautiful Bride of Christ.

Open your eyes and see.

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