Vulnerability. How like are we to the moon that reveals itself in various stages - at times an intriguing and anticipatory sliver and at others the bare-faced and cathartic full sphere. It's strange to remember each night that the light we see is nothing of the moon's but a reflection of the sun. How entranced we are when the celestial bodies align in a way that allows the sun's light to illuminate that entire bald surface. I'm sure we can each remember a time when a full moon was bright enough to reveal an entirely new noctural world in blue coolness. I remember a few times when the moonlight was bright enough to keep me awake, and I felt like it was an appointment I was obligated to keep.
How similarly we ourselves are designed. Whatever small portion of our faces we turn toward Christ is luminous, in our own perception and in that of others; how glorious are the moments when we turn our gaze directly toward our Light and see a world, cool and serene, as we have never seen it before. How t
hat reflection can bless others, showing how we have been blessed to reflect a portion of the light of God when the source is invisible.
I think also of how the dark side of the moon is always dark, meaning that even as it orbits our moon never turns its back on the sun. It is we who only see in portions the illuminated part. Might I be reminded that the fullness of light always shines directly upon me, whether I can see it or not.
This observation convicts me to make my nose the needle on my compass and turn my face always into the warming light of God. I flip through my journals (which is probably unnecessary because these moments are unforgettable) and find my delight as I read about the time another person's gaze was so steadfastly fixed on Jesus that I saw my world anew in the reflection. I hope I have let you know it. May we all take our turns at this post.
I am reminded of a gorgeous idea I heard at a C.S.Lewis conference at Oxford from an Eastern Orthodox priest named Kalistos Ware. He spoke about the human component that bears the Imago Dei, the image of God. He said that we bear the image all along, and through our journey come to attain a likeness. He alters the speech we use to describe our Christian walk: instead of saying "I am saved," he urges us to believe, "I trust that by God's grace I am being saved." We do not claim to know God, but instead rejoice in the gift that we might devote our breath and life to getting to know Him.
It was he who gifted me with the title I gave this blog - he closed his talk with J.R.R. Tolkein's concluding words in The Hobbit, "Roads go ever on." The universe continues to expand outward from the Big Bang. The grace of God only abounds. And so do these roads go on, and shall continue to do as we find our bliss in their exploration.
