Some secondhand stories of miracles:
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Another friend who became a priest, John K., had a brother who was deaf who died at a young age. One night soon after, John had a dream that he was sitting a church with his sister and his now-deceased brother came in. The brother spoke to them about heaven and how he could hear now and how wonderful it all was and that they shouldn’t grieve. Not so unusual, right? Except the next day, as he was telling the story to his sister, she told him that she’d had the same dream: the church, their brother, John, the same conversation.
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My brother and his wife were in Medjugorje, Croatia, just after Easter several years ago (before the war et al). All kinds of people—pilgrims, residents, and so on, told them that that between Good Friday and Easter Sunday morning the 100-ton, 30-foot concrete cross on the top of a nearby mountain disappeared. Poof. You could walk around on the spot. On Sunday, it was back.
- My sister-in-law Kathy was dying of cancer ten years ago. It was near the end of her time and she was mainly incoherent most of the time from the pain, the drugs, and the cancer. But when the priest would walk into the room, carrying the Eucharist to her, she would become fully awake and would greet him brightly and normally.
There are many more, longer stories. If you believe in Christ, you should expect miracles; the lack of them should be the unusual circumstance. “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” (Matt 17:20).
