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Morning Reflection
June 13, 2025
Appreciation and Wonder
…whether or not [God’s] existence is a factor in the nature of the world, there is a glory in creation to which the hyperbolic celebrations of Scripture are uniquely appropriate. The Book of Job describes creation as the moment when “the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.” In the long final speech from the whirlwind, God names the beasts and the natural forces and luxuriates in their power and strangeness, in overwhelming reply to the questioning of His justice. Granting that this is a difficult teaching to absorb, it can only mean that the world, the cosmos, in its infinite particularity, should be seen as a joy to God Himself. Let us say, therefore, that it is recommended to our attention.
We live at the Earth’s scale, which makes us forget what a mote it is by the standards even of its own galaxy. Evening and morning, seedtime and harvest, it shapes time for us, and the days and the years can seem long enough, though in the life of the universe they are nothing. We should feel awe at the power of this little world to somehow remake time and scale so that we can wander and work and learn and finally grow old, and feel that the dimensions of our lives have been wide indeed.
Marilynne Robinson: “A Theology of the Present Moment”
Reflection by Peter Vanderveen
Almost every day begins for me in exactly the same way. As soon as I stir – whether this is reaching for the alarm clock, or stretching out my body from the curvatures of sleep, or simply lifting a single eyelid as if to surreptitiously take in the moment without committing myself to any action – my two Golden Retrievers immediately position themselves beside the bed and gaze intently at me. Always their tails are wagging, as if they couldn’t be happier. They will stay there, staring, until I show, conclusively, that I’m getting up. And when I do, they race to the kitchen, searching for just the right stuffed animal to present at my feet. They are very particular in their task; and their radiant joy isn’t just in the delivery of something; they give the clear indication that they have clearly made the right choice in what they offer. I’ve never discussed this with them, but they seem sure. In turn, I give them their breakfast, and take them outside. They run into the lawn with an energy that suggests that they’ve never done this before, and all they want to do is play – with me – with the utter confidence that this is what the day is for: this is why the sun rises.
So far I’ve successfully resisted slipping into the habit of checking any digital device before I’ve completed this routine. My dogs know better than I do how to greet the morning, which I appreciate. Sometimes, however, the most mundane things, matters that are completely inconsequential, interrupt and dim the experience for me. Yet true to their names, Happy and Sophia, seem never to be so impaired. They are never double-minded, and in this way they remind me that, above all else, time in this world is to be cherished.
Marilynne Robinson put this same joy into words that stretch the experience to infinite scale. I would never try to expound on her writing. I can only point to it. In two short paragraphs she colors what we often take to be a drab world in the brilliant hues of creation, and she suggests that being made in the image of God means that we, as human beings, have the ability to see the world in this measure – though we rarely do. When was the last time you took just five or ten or fifteen minutes to do nothing but look on the morning with the astonishment she describes?
The mistake we make is in thinking that this joy is little more than a sentiment, a passing emotion that serves as a momentary escape from the real concerns we face. But, in fact, when we realize that joy is utterly fundamental and enduring – the most certain fact of the world – this, then, reframes everything. Joy is the most potent means by which we can transform the world for the better.
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