By Maria Sermersheim
Meditatione Ignis
What qualifies as a miracle, and according to which criteria? This question has been asked in many places and times, including the halls of the Vatican, centuries ago, when determining the requirements for canonizing saints, and in the classrooms of the University of Notre Dame last fall, for one of my seminars, which focused on miracles and magic in the New Testament and the ancient world. In each of these contexts, there may be slightly different answers or parameters, especially regarding the degree of verification. The Vatican fastidiously proves and disproves miracles for the sake of canonization, while students of the ancient world have a different task, not of proving or disproving, but of interpreting theological and historical significance.
Presently, I wish to offer yet another context, with yet another answer. This context is Psalm 139, especially verse 14, which has been rendered (in a very idiosyncratic translation), “Your works are miraculous, as my soul knows exceedingly well.” Most English translations describe God’s works in this verse as “marvelous” or “wonderful,” but “miraculous” is part of the same word family, so the translation is not wrong, only irregular — and it contains a truth that spurred this reflection. In this context, the Lord’s works are miraculous in the way that he tends so directly and particularly to each of our hearts. The miracle is this: the intervention of the God of the universe in the tiny details of our lives, touching our hearts with little gifts in ordinary days, and designing normal events to pierce or to heal our hearts, as the case may be. This particular attention to each of us is communicated in the second half of the verse, “as my soul knows exceedingly well,” and also throughout Psalm 139 as a whole, which professes God’s nearness and intimate involvement in our lives.
I was studying this psalm over the summer during a difficult time, but also a time in which the Lord was clearly present to me in many little ways. After a series of encounters with the Lord in mundane things that were perfectly orchestrated for my peace, it was clear that all the recent works of the Lord that I had witnessed were certainly miraculous for me. I needed each detail as an antidote to my fears or pain, and yet none of the works would qualify as a miracle toward canonization or the like; they were simply miracles for me, uniquely designed to rest my soul. They were miraculous, as my soul knew exceedingly well.
The miracle here is not the sudden cure of disease or the control of natural forces; the miracle is the depth of divine love demonstrated in all the little, ordinary things that are designed for the delight and healing of human hearts. My soul knows exceedingly well how much I needed that friend on the other side of the world to pick up the phone, despite the time difference and her always-busy schedule; my soul knows how exactly right my other friend’s song recommendation was, the lyrics including a refrain from my personal prayer in those months; my soul knows how deeply comforted I was by the “chance” encounter with a classmate in the street when I really needed some company. These little works of God are miraculous — as most translations would have it, they are “wonderful.” So let us wonder, let us marvel, let us treasure the miraculous works of God’s careful and attentive love for each of us in particular.
Maria Sermersheim is pursuing her doctorate in biblical studies at the University of Notre Dame and is a graduate of Reitz Memorial High School. She welcomes emails at msermersheim@evdio.org.