Scripture for the Day: Jesus said to them, The Father judges no one but has given all judgment to the Son, so that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father. Anyone who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent him. Very truly, I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life, and does not come under judgment, but has passed from death to life.
‘Very truly, I tell you, the hour is coming, and is now here, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live. For just as the Father has life in himself, so he has granted the Son also to have life in himself; and he has given him authority to execute judgment, because he is the Son of Man. Do not be astonished at this; for the hour is coming when all who are in their graves will hear his voice and will come out—those who have done good, to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil, to the resurrection of condemnation. – John 5:22-29
Reflection – Ed Happ
Reflection – Ed Happ
"For the theme of judgment in the Gospel text I believe the word of grace prevails.
Here is a poem that tells such a story, written about my daughter twenty years ago."
Beauty
It is an early day of spring,
the budding daffodil stems
bend and flow with the light
wind and rain sweeping through.
I am going to see my daughter,
the gymnast, of the varsity team.
She has been tumbling since
the age of five.
I come to watch her stretch
and move with grace,
each year more lithesome
than the last.
Yet she tells me at the break,
“I’m overweight.”
I search for the shadow
cast by her wiry frame.
“Really?” I say.
“Yes,” she is serious,
speaking a thousand
voices of subtle judgment.
Being of linear mind
(which men are wont to do),
I ask if she would line up
in her mind
her entire high school class
from thin to thick.
Where would she fall,
among the other girls,
the budding flowers?
With difficulty, head down,
she nods when I say,
“well below the average then?”,
(for a young woman, this is
her entire high school class
the realm of imaginary numbers).
She looks up at me
with eyes that say,
“you don’t understand.”
So I tell her how
beautiful she is,
and her head is down again, ,
but I see the edges of a smile.
“Dad, I love you.”
I hug her close
and kiss
the top of the stems
of her hair.
Calling for the sun,
I wonder how
so many flowers,
hide as weeds
before the petals
open to reveal
the angel
hiding there.
