Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.
C. S. Lewis
We think of miracles as displays of raw power. And, of course, they are. But there’s another factor in the miraculous: miracles are events that are out of the ordinary. If everyone had the power to turn water into wine, the events at Cana would have been unremarkable, and the glory of the Lord Jesus would not have been manifested. But Cana was a miracle—a sign—precisely because such a thing was unheard of. The healing of the blind man in John 9 was a sign, because “since the world began was it not heard that any man opened the eyes of one that was born blind” (Jn. 9:32). The Lord’s miracles stand out because they are foreign to us. But, for a moment, let us not think about what is unusual to us, but what was out of the ordinary for Him. Let us consider miracles from His point of view.
On the Mount of Transfiguration, Peter, James, and John were overcome with a brief glimpse of His glory. To them it was an exceptional experience in their years with Him, and they never forgot it. But for the Lord Jesus, that instant of glory was the norm; it was the rest of His time on earth that was peculiar. From all eternity He was the radiance of God’s glory (Heb. 1:3), and no force in the universe could hide that glory. Yet He veiled it Himself, so that He could come close to us without our being consumed. The real miracle wasn’t the flash of glory; it was the grace that veiled that glory for thirty-three years.
We’re impressed that He miraculously provided wine at Cana and bread to the multitudes. But Christ had been sustaining others for as long as the creation existed. The truly astounding thought is that the One who could provide food and drink at will, began His ministry hungry and ended it thirsty.
Men marveled as they saw hints of the deity of Christ. But surely for the Lord Jesus it wasn’t deity that was new. “In the beginning … the Word was God” (Jn. 1:1). The miracle was that the eternal God stepped into time and took on humanity. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn. 1:14).
We’re told that when He returns, the touch of His feet will split the Mount of Olives (Zech. 14:4). Surely that will be spectacular! But isn’t the real miracle the fact that the mountain didn’t split the first time He stood on it? The Creator of the universe—the One who fills heaven and earth—stood on this little speck of His creation and it survived!
We stand in awe of the One who could raise the dead. And well we should. But providing life was no new feat for the Son of God. All life—physical, spiritual, abundant, eternal—comes from Him. The shocking truth is that the One who had inherent life submitted Himself to death.
We wonder at His works of power. But every one of these was simply a natural consequence of His nature. They might be foreign to us, but they were natural to Him. What was unusual for Him? The Bread of Life hungered. The Light of the World was enclosed in darkness. The Life died. In truth, His entire life on earth was a miracle, a sign: a constant manifestation of the glory of God. And it was anything but ordinary.
“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth” (Jn. 1:14).