Where reasons are given, we don't need faith. Where only darkness surrounds us, we have no means for seeing except by faith.
I flew to London, Ontario the other day and landed in something just above a whiteout--snow blowing horizontally across the runway. Below one-half mile visibility, the planes cannot land. The pilot (generously) said it was a half-mile. We landed safely.
When I left there yesterday the sky was blue and bright--a foretaste of coming home. It's good to be home today and see the transformation in the cherry trees and especially the Bradford pears in just the last few days--today is the peak of bloom. It's as if the snow that barely visited Northern Virginia the last four months has returned in a different form of whiteness.
According to the Washington Post, two Virginia Tech students have sought to harness the power of computer algorithms and neural networks to forecast the blooming dates more accurately than traditional methods. I don't doubt that the potential exists to crunch numbers and quantify the natural course of the annual rhythm of the flowers. Not, I suspect, with perfect accuracy. Can anyone quantify the weight of glory?
This Easter-tide also brings an annual renewal of hope beyond what we can see. There is not, either for me or for any of us, an endless succession of Easter sunrises yet to come--not in this earthly body, this "tent". But the break-out from the tomb brings a foretaste of a transformation that we do not see today, but will--if we keep on walking toward it.