Editorial May 20, 1991 Issue

The inevitable morning light

Michael D. Rissler

Picking up the morning newspaper, I looked up and saw the first wave of golden light as the sun covered a small hill and a stand of trees. Too early for the drama of autumn red, yellow, and orange mixed with the gentle grays and browns that would be brought to other plants by frost, the scene was still rich in the dark green of late summer.

It was a simple neighborhood setting, lifted above the ordinary by just the right combination of sunlight, solitude, and noticing. During busy days, those trees are usually over-looked, the hillside hardly noticed. But on this morning there was a difference.

I wonder what the hills around Galilee must have seemed like to people who looked out on them day after day. They must have become quite ordinary. But then those people, gathering in some open area, spend three days with the Master as he speaks to them about many things. They must have seen and heard things they hadn't seen or heard before. They were fed in a way that they'd never been fed before—even a handful of fish and a few loaves of bread were enough for the Master to find the means to serve them all.

Send a comment to the editors

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE

Testimony of Healing

With a heart full of gratitude I am sharing my testimony...