on the necessity of believing in miracles

He loves you; and hourly miracles
For you, and such as you, is working now;
From all eternity has worked them for you.
(G.E. Lessing, Nathan the Wise)

C. S. Lewis has an apologetic that is, of course, great, on the subject of miracles. Either you believe they are possible or you don’t, and if you don’t, you will never see one, even when it happens.

That comes at it from the perspective of believing that miracles are possible at all. But what for those who, having committed themselves to the belief in their possibility, want to know how far they should commit themselves to the likelihood of miracles?

We’re not being skeptical. We’re only being polite. Wishing not to be presumptuous. It’s fine if there won’t be any available for us—just thought we’d ask.

Six years ago, I got kicked in the head that the whole issue of salvation is one of presumption. The better you understand Jesus, the better you understand grace, and the better you understand what an intolerable interloper you are.

And that you are just the cutest damn thing—to put it in human, grandparental terms that we all ought to understand—to the one who is granting you grace.

“Oh, look what a man he thinks he is, grabbing that toy out of my hands! Watch him run off to play with it. Oh, look out, he’s going to stab himself in the eye with it. Yeah, that’s right, come back over here, you can sit on my lap until it feels better.”

We get just a little bit older, to where we have learnt our manners, how to say please and thank you to God. And that it’s rude, when He gives us a new bike, to say, “but I wanted the one like the kids ride on TV.”

The differences are several, because God is not your grandparent. He only thinks you’re cute because, by virtue of being God, He has made it so, and there are plenty of other Godly character traits that would influence Him to treat you like the presumptuous interloper you would be if He had not made it so.

If you’re still following me, the point is that believing that miracles are not only in stock, but arrayed on the shelf, is directly linked to believing in this particular God and His salvation.

Shyness of presumption is good as long as it is shyness to make miracles the currency of our belief. That’s like marrying for money, and we all know not to do that. But think of it this way:

“Happy anniversary, darling!”
“Oh, Charles, thank you. It’s so lovely being married to you.”
“I’m ever so glad you think so, my love. And I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to, Charles, really!”
“Yes, I have, darling! If you’ll come with me to the jewelry shop downstairs, I want you to look round and pick out anything you’d like to have that you see there. Anything at all.”
“Oh-ho-ho! Charles, what a sweet thought! But I don’t need fancy presents to make me love you. I love you just the way you are.”
“I know you do, darling. It means ever so much to me. That’s why I want to buy you something nice. Come down, let’s go!”
“Really, Charles, I can’t imagine… I mean, this really isn’t necessary.”
“I know, darling, but I want to do it!”
“But—”
“Whatever is the matter, darling?”
“Charles, how can you possibly? I mean, how can you? Anything in the shop? Without knowing what I might ask for?”
“I mean it, darling. You didn’t know, but I’ve been keeping by a little, and you can believe me, I’ve got the resources. No matter what you might pick out.”
“Charles… The shop below is Cartier.”
“Yes, love, I know.”
“Charles…”
“Don’t you believe I mean it, when I say I’ve got it?”
“Charles…I know what a hard worker you are.”

No, we should never marry for money. But should we marry for poverty? Or rationality? Or respectability? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Jane Austen, it’s that we should marry for the man himself. Quite often he turns out to be much more agreeable or rich than anybody thought at first.

(first published 8.2.07, 3.23pm)