As far as we know, humans have always been big on miracles. Always big on believing that more is possible than what we were taught. Than what we have experienced. Than we logically assume. We humans have consistently at least wanted to believe that sometimes things happen which are outside the laws of nature. (Assuming, of course, that we understand all the laws of nature.) We call these miraculous happenings “acts of God.” Or “unexplained phenomena.” California La-La’s or those who spent too much time in the 60’s might call them “alien-induced,” “mind-controlled,” or “vortex spin-offs.”
The truth is, of course, that we understand very little of the life that goes on around and within us each and every moment. We say that we’re alive because our heart pumps blood and our lungs pump air. But, anyone who has been through 7th grade science knows that millions of other processes have to be constantly happening to keep us even upright. Much less, conversant, cognitive, cool and cocky. A case could be easily made that each of us and each part of us from goatee to gonad to goober is pure miracle. Each of us, a walking, talking miraculous goofball.
In December, lots of different folks in Western Civilization (is that an oxymoron?) celebrate miracles: Jews celebrate the miracle of an oil lamp that burned 8 days on less oil than it takes to sauté an anchovy. They call this celebration “Hanukah.”
Christians celebrate the miracle birth of a baby god who was conceived without benefit of man or sperm. They call this “Christmas.”
Wiccans celebrate the miraculous return of the sun to the higher sky on the Solstice.
Folks of African heritage celebrate the miracle of home, love and community and call it “Kwanza.”
Almost everybody celebrates the miracle of a new year and the miraculous possibilities which lie in store.
And Christians, with “Epiphany,” celebrate three pagan astrologers who followed a star to find what they thought would be “King of the Jews,” but, was actually a very humble baby named Jesus.
So many miracles to celebrate. So little time.
But, just maybe, each of these miracles points to something beyond themselves. Maybe each of these unexplained and unexplainable phenomenon holds up a wise, ancient finger and points to the stars, to the galaxies, to the oceans and rivers, to the jet stream and Gulf Stream, to our hearts, to our DNA, to love.
Perhaps each of these ancient stories are there to be celebrated as a reminder that we are all part of an ancient, miracle story. A grand and gory, glorious and ghastly story. A story of crushing pathos and irrepressible joy. A story of blunder and wonder, each and all miraculous. Each and all, marvel.
The point of each of these A.H.S.C.K.NY.E. miracles just might be to remind us that we are all acts of God. We are all unexplained phenomenon. We are all oily, home-loving, star-following, light shining miracle births.