How sad to be a man deceived, blinded, on the death bed by a second son. And decades ago a father raised a knife above your throat. Oh, Isaac, how sad you must have been in your days, even with a name meaning laughter.
And Laughter. You must belong with sadness, and together, begetting dull and cunning offspring, you leave your promised mark on the world. What is the burden of a legacy, even one you must leave trusting in your feeble hands and cataract eyes? I wouldn't know to laugh or cry, in the end, feeling that nothing was up to me any longer. Still, I admit that I want to leave this life with something to be remembered, be it a child or an encouraging and challenging idea, something that leaves the world better.
Yet, that seems so impossible and fleeting. Not that this earth will only get worse; but better, how can I know or measure?
See, it is best to seek the beautiful rather than better, though I know I am apparently assigning hierarchy here. But the beautiful is beyond hierarchy, an institutionalized concept. The beautiful is even beyond laughter and sadness, though it may evoke both. The beautiful is the good, the end, the telos, to those who seek to concern themselves with the Kingdom of God, that reality which enjoys new wine in fresh skins and bottles. The beautiful preserves itself. Though I have not yet found Beauty, I know when we one day meet, she will keep me, and her words will rest on my lips in silence.
Laughter, in your blind sadness, wake up and seek the beautiful, even in your final moments before the forever evening-morning rises. Be no longer deceived, but find yourself in the will of God, which is good and beautiful.
(Genesis 27:1-5, 15-29, Psalm 135, Matthew 9:14-17)
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