In the spring of 2006, the unimaginable happened in the life of a member of my church—Unity of Greater Cleveland.

Marcia, a teacher, had been a congregant of the church since 2003. Having come from a very restrictive religious background, she took to metaphysics like the proverbial dry sponge to water. Marcia loved her spiritual studies, as she did her academic studies, where she was completing her second master's degree.

Her personality was exuberant. She was always aglow with life and spirit, the kind of person others are just naturally drawn to. People loved her, and she loved people. Life was good.

Then one day, not unlike any other day, the unthinkable happened. A former boyfriend, a social worker with whom she had been out of a relationship for months, rang her doorbell. When she opened the door, Marcia never had time to react to the gunshot which tore into her face from close range. The bullet entered her left cheek and lodged in the back of her neck at the top of her spine.

Marcia was on the phone with her friend Sheryl, a spiritual practitioner at our church, when she answered the door. When Sheryl heard Marcia scream at the other end of the line, even though she had no idea what had occurred, she immediately called 911.

The emergency unit and the police quickly arrived, and Marcia was rushed to a world-class trauma center in Cleveland. The prognosis was grim. At best, she had days to live. Any attempt to remove the bullet would result in her immediate death. She was paralyzed with very little brain function, and she could not hear or see.

As her minister, I raced to the hospital as soon as I heard about what happened. I steeled myself before visiting her for the first time, knowing I would be witness to a formerly vivacious young woman now at death's doorstep.

When I entered her room and stood beside her, she seemed barely alive. I placed my hands on her and prayed out loud … and cried. There was a shell of Marcia lying in intensive care, but not much else—no aura, no discernable life force. Running my hands about two inches above the surface of her body, I felt no energy. There was nothing, nothing at all. She seemed to be already gone.

On Sunday, having already called Silent Unity for prayer support, I asked the congregation to pray for Marcia. I asked them to ask everyone they knew to pray for her, to pray for whatever was in her greatest good to come to pass swiftly and peacefully. When I visited her again, I stood at her side and prayed for her release.

A few days later the news came: the “plug” was to be pulled. There was no hope. If she did survive, we were told, she would be in a vegetative state. Once again Marcia's best friend Sheryl was at her side, along with the doctors who briefly discussed what was about to occur.

Then Sheryl spotted a single tear slowly making its way down Marcia's cheek. Everyone was stunned.

The plan to unplug Marcia was put on hold, and that is when the truly miraculous began to happen. Shortly thereafter she began to awaken from her coma. Her consciousness returned, and even though she couldn't yet speak, she signaled. A few days later she was able to write a word or two. Then physical therapy was begun, and soon she was transferred out of intensive care. Meanwhile we continued to pray, pray, pray. It was as if her recovery was on fast-forward.

Two months later at church, as our congregation was singing one of my personal favorites, “I Behold the Christ in You,” Marcia appeared at the door. None of us had any idea she was well enough. I was stunned. My heart began to overflow with joy and gratitude as I listened to those most meaningful words, “… here the life of God I see.” Of the thousand different songs we could have been singing, we were singing this one.

I then heard the Holy Spirit speak to my heart. Go get Marcia, it instructed. I walked down the center aisle past the standing congregation and invited Marcia—now walking very slowly with a cane and blind in one eye—to accompany me up to the stage to allow the congregation to love her in person.

Marcia slowly walked with me as the congregation kept singing, now to her, “I behold the Christ in you.”  We saw her pure Christ presence standing before us on that summer day, a miracle revealed before our very eyes. Everyone present realized what was happening and was in tears—tears of wonder, joy and gratitude.

Marcia is a noble being. She holds forgiveness and compassion in her heart for her former boyfriend who lost his spiritual direction. Her healing journey is ongoing, as she continues to inspire each of us.

Miracles do happen.
 

This excerpt originally appeared in Unity Magazine®.

Joan M. Gattuso, founding minister of Unity of Greater Cleveland, is the author of A Course in Love, A Course in Life, and The Lotus Still Blooms. For more information, visit www.joangattuso.com.