I think I can imagine glory, but I am probably wrong. After all, how can one imagine glory in this land of stain and shadow? Yet we can, for even here, glory leaks out all over. It leaks in constant declaration. Everything that was spoken into being, every art of the human viceroy, the whole of it has no choice but to shout. The wordless proclamation continues however contorted the received message.
The one who spoke everything, who crafted the viceroy, is glorious beyond imagination. Indeed, for the unveiled soul, his glory is an undoing. The power of glory cannot be contained; its persistence cannot be hindered. It continues despite humanity's best efforts to ignore it. Glory leaks through every moment and all with ears to hear and eyes to seen will perceive the message.
Glory speaks as the sun glows amber at the horizon. It speaks in the slow elegance of the snail. It speaks in the simplicity of craft. It speaks in the wonder of a child. It speaks in the sorrow of loss. It speaks in work done well.
Creation cannot help but speak God's glory. It remains for us to learn to hear.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
If flowers were merely mechanisms for reproduction, I do not see the purpose of the beauty. In fact, it seems to be a waste of plant effort. The beauty speaks of something additional (note, not in place of, for reproduction is crucial and beautiful), something, dare I say, to be enjoyed by those who will understand the beauty. Flowers speak of something beyond what is visible, for appreciation is beyond what empirical science can see.