This shows us the special power of the liturgy and the anointing of the church itself. A parish is on holy ground, and we do well to seek that as our place of intuition.

God speaks to us in a special way when we are in communion with Him and when we are open to the "happenstances" He may send (in whatever form) as guideposts.

"From the moment of my ordination, I have been conscious of the presence of angels, most especially at the Consecration," comments Father John LoSasso, a remarkable priest in the Bronx, New York. "When I elevate the sacred Host, I call upon the angels to adore Him with me at the altar. The Blessed Mother stands to one side of the priest, and St. Michael on the other side. The church begins to fill with angels also at the Holy, Holy, Holy. My eyes do not see this, but my soul does."

The photo above is of a simple moth -- nothing overtly miraculous. It was on a pew during Mass recently in Coventry, Connecticut [above left]. "I don't know if this moth is common or not, but those who have seen these images have never seen one like it before," says Michael T. Marciano, who spotted and photographed it. "Just wanted to let you know of an awe-inspiring moment for me recently." It reminded him vividly of the Blessed Mother at a poignant, meaningful time.

The miracle, notes Michael, was in the feeling of the moment.

"I attended the 7:30 a.m. Mass on a recent Sunday this month," writes another viewer, from Santa Barbara, California. "The  electric power was out and father decided to proceed without lights, organ music, or microphone. The very moment he raised the chalice, the lights in the entire church came on. That timing created a wonderful moment."

Again, it's the Mass. It's the moment. So often, you have to be there!

It happens in church but can occur anywhere.

Then there is the intercession of saints. This account made us sit up and take notice. Is God really watching everything?

"When I was sixteen, my sister Mary and I took the bus from our home in Arlington, Massachusetts, to the coffee shop in Cambridge where Mary worked as a waitress with the intent of collecting her paycheck," writes Theresa Nixon. "My dad had recently left my mother and my family relied on Mary’s meager salary to help with groceries. 

"When we arrived at the coffee shop, one of Mary’s waitress friends gave us coffee 'on the house,' and we had an amiable chat while we waited for the boss to come with the paychecks. When she did arrive it was with the news that the paychecks had been delayed. Mary was told to come back the next day. 

"Crestfallen, we started to leave when the boss demanded that I pay for my coffee.  We had no choice but to pay, leaving us one nickel short of bus fare to get home. It was the middle of March and bitterly cold; we were new arrivals from Southern California and my white go-go boots were no match for the snow which crunched beneath my feet as we began trudging our way back from Cambridge to Arlington.

"Simultaneously, we both said, 'Let’s say a prayer to St. Anthony to send us a nickel so we can get the bus home.' 

"We stopped and closed our eyes, fervently beseeching St. Anthony. No sooner did we open our eyes then something glinting brightly in the sun caught our attention. I reached down and plucked it from the snow. Immediately I began to laugh until tears rolled down my cheeks, unable to catch my breath to speak. Mary kept asking, 'What’s wrong? What’s wrong?' I held out the object to her. She, too, began to laugh uncontrollably, for unbelievably, inexplicably, I held in my hand a brand-new, shiny 1967 nickel!  It was just enough to cover bus fare to get home."

9/13/06

[resources: The God of Miracles]