Miracle

The very word 'miracle' itself, and for that matter the words 'natural' and 'supernatural', are in fact symptomatic of a very different range of possible worldviews from those that were open to Galilean villagers in the first century. The evangelists use words like paradoxa, things one would not expect; dunameis, displays of power or authority; terata or semeia, signs or potents. The closest we come to 'miracle' is the single occurance of thaumasia, 'marvels', in Matthew 21:15. These words do not carry, as the English word 'miracle' has sometimes done, overtones of invasion from another world, or from outer space. They indicate, rather, that something has happened, within what we would call the 'natural' world, which is not what would have been anticipated, and which seems to provide evidence for the active presence of an authority, a power, at work, not invading the created order as an alien force, but rather enabling it to be more truly itself.

—N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (1996)

And they wake up the next morning as always

I walk up Beverveien towards the Metro station by the shopping centre. It is twelve o'clock. Over the rooftops I can hear the bells ringing after church. It's still cold, but the sky is all blue and the sun is thawing the mud on the road, and it leaves grey-brown stripes on my shoes, and outde the station there are shards of glass and bloodstains on the tarmac. They are pink and pale after the night. On the corner in front of Stallen, which used to be Glasmagasinet, people are looking at the display they have seen a hundred times before. They're pretending to be out for a Sunday stroll. But I know them and know they are circling the centre waiting for Geir's bar to open at one. They just can't stay at home any longer and keep their fists in their pockets to hid their shaking hands. I feel like yelling at them, for Christ's sake pull yourselves together, and stay out of my way! I know they won't pull themselves together, it's too late. They are old, their days are over, everything they have known is gone, all the things they could do, and now here they stand, scraping their feet against the ground, letting the clock tick them closer to their first gulp, and then they'll sit and drink until their bodies calm down and will talk rubbish about everything being so wonderful, and when evening comes, they have to go home, and so they fall asleep early and hope their dreams won't be too bad, and then they wake up the next morning as always. 

--Per Petterson, It's Fine by Me (1992)