In other words, Jesus' healing the sick and raising the dead may not be miracles in the abracadabra sense, but rather a predictable possibility of which each one of us is capable — miracle embedded in matter; God welling in our cells. I need the story of Pentecost to remind me of what the apostles knew, that inspiration and connection across the gulf of language and a rapturous, communal unity are part of the human experience. The invisible music stands beyond our perception, but not beyond creation. When I take Communion, I kneel at the cusp of this conclusion. The bread may be yeast and flour or God's body. The wine may be heaven in a cup.
In the end I worship neither the intricate, definitive laws by which the world is governed nor a God who can defy creation's order with one sweeping hand. I worship the sly creative force that inhabits form and lets matter have its way.
— Elizabeth J. Andrew, On the Threshold