As published at the Episcopal Cafe’s Speaking to the Soul
In the beginning, at the very beginning, on page one God separates the day from the night, and there was evening and there was morning, a day never to be remembered by a living soul, except for the One brooding over the deep waters. It was a day without history or precedent, never to be repeated; a day like no other.
Since then, each day comes with its burden of proof: the anniversary of a kiss; the caked-on accretions of a birthday; the unthinkable number of days, weeks, hours that have passed since she died.
We face the paradox that each day is a new and joyful creation of God, and that there is nothing new under the sun.
The action of turning the calendar page is a challenge to understand how each day anchors us in that moment between the gravity of time and the weightlessness of eternity; a moment in which to remember, and to rest upon the constancy of the One who watched the sun rise over the newly born day, and proclaimed that it was good.