I opened my kitchen blind this Sabbath morning and beheld a rainbow, outlined in pastel against the gray of a partially overcast and rainy sky.
From the east the sun cast a golden glow and the bow seemed to rest in the distance on a gold-hued tree, as though the myth of rainbow's end were true.
Strangely, I had just read this sentence: "We no longer love the things we were created to love in the purity and innocence that Adam knew before the fall."
Which brought to mind a particular piece of music which I have been enjoying over the last week:
Such aural and visual richness has been indescribable to me, as has been the joy with I experienced it and shared it.
Surely, I thought, the writer of the sentence is wrong. Surely the love inspired by such beauty must be pure and innocent, as are the meditations upon it.
And then the rainbow. Reminding me of the first rainbow and its promise.
But "I ain't so hot," as Jimmy Cagney once observed. So even my reflections upon beauty observed are tainted somehow?
Perhaps, though, looking through eyes of faith, there can be a nearness to the wonder and awe our first parents felt when encountering the new and perfect world.
And perhaps an anticipation of all things being made new and the assurance that in my flesh I shall see God, and my eyes shall behold, and not another.
How my heart yearns within me!