Now and then I wish the car rear view mirror was a camera. Not because of the irresponsible tail-gaters, and not to watch the car I just ovetook vanish in the distance, humiliated because overtaken by an elderly Corsa with a mileage that would take it round the world 3 and 3 quarter times. No. I want a rear-view camera not to glower or gloat, but to glory in the beautiful artwork of God.
This morning, around 5.15 am, driving round the sweeping corner towards Stonehaven, the sun in the space of several seconds, drew a brilliant fine line on the horizon using a fine-point silver and gold pen borrowed from a generous Creator. Just where sky and North Sea meet, the line became stronger in colour, broader in reflected brilliance. That was the rear view. In front of me a sky that was blue, long broad brushed clouds that were contrasting grey softened by projected, but out of place pink, except that it didn't seem at all out of place - it was beautifully apt, mixed on the palette of an expert in light, who knew how to suffuse greyness with glory, and how to draw a new day's dawn with pencil line precision.
And today at College I read some of that beautiful, wise book by the late Michael Mayne, This Sunrise of Wonder. The title comes from words of G K Chesterton, quoted on page 7:
At the back of our brains, so to speak, there is a forgotten blaze or burst of astonishment at our own existence. The object of the artistic and spiritual life is to dig for this sunrise of wonder.
Now and then broad brush grey clouds all but cover our sky. Reflected glory, grey suffused with hope, this sunrise of wonder - this masterpiece of embroidered light and shadow, pink and gold and grey and blue, is God's intimation that as sure as day follows day, so new every morning are the blessings of God. .
Comments