They’re not always showy events that dazzle the onlookers.
We needn’t discuss Lourdes, nor the Miracle of the Sun at Fatima in 1917, nor any other of the visually or audibly impressive occurrences the Church has investigated. There are grounds on which even events such as those, witnessed by thousands, can be “explained away.” That those explanations are themselves disputable – they certainly aren’t irrefutable – is also beside the point. Were God’s hand provably the reason for a proposed miracle, faith would not be necessary.
But faith is necessary. Everyone has one. No one can go through life without adopting a creed of some sort. The hardest of hard-core atheists holds to propositions that are both unverifiable and unfalsifiable.
Few who choose to believe in God would claim that He is not purposive. While there are conceptions of higher beings and higher planes that incorporate that premise, it has few adherents. Thus, the believer not only looks to miracles as demonstrations of Divine power; he also seeks to know the reason for them.
Consider the following, recent event.
The celebrant, a Catholic priest, said afterward that he was overwhelmed by his sudden sense of the weight of God’s power and of human sin. Has it happened to others? Yes. Therefore it wasn’t a unique event. But does that mean that it could not have been a miracle? Emphatically no!
There’s no imaginable reason why an interior experience can’t be of miraculous origin. Many have had such experiences and have wondered why afterward. They’re seldom explainable by reference to a particular train of thought or an environmental influence. They happen, and we are moved by them; nothing more definitive can be said about them.
Emotion itself, with its many benefits and perils, is something of a miracle. Scientists have labored to explain the emotions by referring to aspects of brain chemistry and the complexity of the central nervous system, but their hypotheses are as unverifiable and unfalsifiable as any religious doctrine. What we colloquially call “the heart” remains a mystery. So does the phenomenon of the man unable to feel certain common emotions, including love.
As a writer of fiction, I hold to a common premise about narratives and their relevance to their consumers: You can’t get more out of it than you put into it. That applies quite as strongly to narratives about real-world events as it does to fiction. Believers, who start from the premise of a purposive God, can draw meaning, power, and reinforcement for their beliefs from an event such as the one depicted above. Nonbelievers have less chance of doing so.
That should come as no surprise. Men are highly variable. Faith is a choice. No two persons share absolutely identical beliefs about anything. We manage to form societies because, thanks to some subconscious awareness of the need, we tolerate differences of vital premises and important convictions among us without allowing them to propel us to violence.
And that may well be the greatest miracle we know.
May God bless and keep you all.