Over my recent vacation I spent a week a a family cabin in the George Washington National Forest west of Staunton. One of the great pleasures of this cabin is the bookcase full of classic literature and history. This time I read in the Woolcott readers, anthologies compiled in the early 1930's by Alexander Woolcott. There were stories by Willa Cather, Dorothy Parker, Kenneth Grahame, Clarence Day, Somerset Maugham, Ernest Hemingway and many others. Wonderful stories that were bestsellers in their day, and might be bestsellers of any day, but we don't read them anymore, because the hits keep coming. And we keep reading new stories by new authors.
When I am reading a good story I rarely wonder about the author. Though after finishing a good story I do like to find out about the author.
I sometimes wonder about the author of my life. In more sober moments I realize I am just a character. I could never be the author. Sometimes I think there isn't an author at all. But in more reflective moments I know there is an author, and I wonder about who it is and what they are trying to say.
In Sunday's reading the apostle Paul says, God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all. How are you imprisoned? What is the nature of your disobedience? Look there for the revelation of the author of life itself. And for God's merciful goodness.