Behold: Beauty. The necessary maintenance is being done for flowers for the Immaculate Conception by what seems to be yet another flower. Amazing.
While I’m surely going to make a thousand philosophical mistakes in speaking about beauty, please forgive my exuberance.
Created beauty is beauty not because I, in my relativistic emotionalizing fallen human feelings hold it to be such, but because it actually reflects the goodness and truth of the Creator. We can appreciate beauty if we are the little children of God. We cannot if we are not His little children.
I snapped this picture after such a scene was pointed out to me by one of my firearms instructors the other day up in the backsides of the beyonds of my parish. We watched this little fellow with simple childlike amazement while we rested from killing paper targets and little sticky “dots” with some of the most, um… efficient tools one could ever use this side of angelic intervention. That we were lost in wonder with smoking guns in our hands is not ludicrous, incongruous, or even somehow odd. Why should it be?
Being trained up for self-defense of self and others is simply an act of charity in which the children of God can and sometimes must participate for the sake of the children of God. The children of God rejoice with enthusiasm in the creation of our Heavenly Father.
Since we had been speaking of interreligious dialogue, I now spoke of ISIS and their burning and decapitating and crucifying and dismembering of little children. Leave it to me to bring that up! ;-) I said that they could not possibly appreciate the fragile beauty before us now. It’s a little thing, I said, but one which throws a light on where people are at before God and neighbor, and so it is not so little of a thing at all. To deny beauty is to deny the Incarnation of the Son of God. It is to be an iconoclast on a most basic level. It is to deny an analogy of reason between us and our Creator. It is to deny the existence of love and therefore of God Himself.
To see flowers and to think of Jesus’ good mom is, instead, that in which even this enfant terrible with one of his firearms instructors can and does rejoice.