I saw an article today on the apparent arising of the "Java renaissance" from the dark ages, referring to Oracle's recent acquisition of the Java platform. "With Oracle's acquisition of the slowly fading Sun, things are looking brighter and 'we' can finally make some progress." The Sun they are referring to, of course, is none other than the fabled Sun Microsystems of old, maker of Java, and the question that inevitably comes to our minds is, What will the new day bring? Java's new owner purports to bring a brighter future for the platform. As an avid fan of a Java-based platform, Android, I've been somewhat discouraged though by the recent litigation brought by Oracle against Google and Android. I can only hope that this new day and the blossoming renaissance of Java apparently in our midst will herald not the darkness of lawsuit, but the warm glow of many new smartphones in the hands of common folk and rain down new wireless spectra into the hungry antennae they hold. Only time will tell how long the night will be before the new day arrives.
But more importantly, the article reminded me of a completely unrelated musical piece I came across entitled, "The Disappearance of the Sun," coupled with a montage that casts the daily disappearance of the sun as a sort of daily celebration of an honest day's work. The sun may be fading, and the next day so uncertain, but there is reason to rejoice in the conclusion of another day of life and work that God has granted us.
And one day when "the heavens will be set on fire and dissolved, and the heavenly bodies will melt as they burn," when the sun itself melts and disappears one last time, we can look forward to the rising of a new sun, the "new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells" (2 Pt 2:12-3), and the everlasting Son who awakens us there.