Awe

Sermon

Space—the final frontier… With those words began the “Star Trek” television series, which spawned more TV shows and several movies. But back when it began in the late ’60s, creator Gene Roddenberry envisioned a future time when the exploration of not only galaxies but also universes was possible, and because of that widened frontier, the people of earth were united as one. On that earth in the 25^th century, there was no war, no poverty, indeed, no money. Idealistic, sure. A good dream, absolutely.

So perhaps this week, as the first images from the James Webb telescope were released, we had a tiny sense of unity at the beauty and wonder that fill the skies we cannot see with the naked eye. These pictures have taken my breath away and brought tears to my eyes—they are a wonder.

You might excuse me, then, for not sticking with the lectionary-scheduled readings and preaching on Mary and Martha and turning instead to the psalms, and these words that have captured what I—and maybe you, too—have been feeling all week. “The heavens are telling the glory of God” indeed.

These images—and the technology and science that enabled them—have re-created a sense of awe in us. They have reminded us of how tiny and maybe insignificant we are in the big scheme of things. And they have spoken to many of us people of faith about the nature of God and our relationship to the One who created not only us but the universe as well.

Awe. When was the last time you felt sheer awe? When we were on vacation in Chicago, Gregg and I saw an exhibit by the contemporary artist Nick Cave. When we stepped out of the elevator onto the floor where the exhibit was, we were met by a room full of dancing mobiles—I cannot describe it for you in any way that is adequate, but it was beautiful and magical and I felt awe.

And then this week, this pictures of dying stars and galaxies we didn’t know existed brought back awe to my heart and soul. And then—do you know about this telescope? The reason these images are so much clearer than the amazing pictures from the Hubble telescope is that by using infrared technology, all the dust in space has been visually filtered out and the image is so much more clear. Amazing.

As people of faith we are not only grounded in awe but nourished by it, too. Theologian Dorothee Sölle said, “I think that every discovery of the world plunges us into jubilation, a radical amazement that tears apart the veil of triviality.”

In her essay about these images, science writer Shannon Stirone says, “The world watched as the images were shared. Moments like these are rare not just because telescopes this powerful are few and far between but also because collective experiences are, too, at least ones so overwhelmingly positive. That is its own feat, and it’s what space exploration does: It reminds us of our inherent connection. Viewing images like these can also provide a profound sense of insignificance—they offer a sense of proportion and understanding of just how small we are on the grand scale.”
(The New York Times, “Gawking in Awe at the Universe, Together,” July 12, 2022)

Because that’s something else these images might do—make us feel small and young in light of the universe. As Stephen Crane put it so pithily years ago,

“A man said to the universe:

‘Sir, I exist!’

‘However,’ replied the universe,

‘The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.’”

Or as the psalmist put in in Psalm 8, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?”

Images of the universe elicit in us a sense of insignificance but they may also put the problems we face in perspective too. Two of my favorite faith writers responded to these images and their words resonate.

Diane Butler Bass wrote this earlier in the week. “Looking at pictures of events from four billion or more years ago puts a different frame around our problems, adjusts our attention, and calls us to see our lives more clearly.

“Yesterday’s news was also filled with an array of really bad stories. Fires in California threatening the world’s oldest trees. The horrible video of the Uvalde school shooting. Fallout from the abortion ruling. High gas and food prices. A black man’s body riddled with bullets. The January 6 hearings. Climate change, gun violence, the rights of women, inflation adding to economic inequality, racial violence, and the crisis of democracy—a single day in America….

“In effect, suffering and evil are the gods that defeat us when we mortals forget the reality of creation and the vastness of the universe. When we lose the sense of our lives in the cosmic web. Only the Voice [of our Creator] can call us back to the truth of things—we are part of something much larger than ourselves. When NASA released the pictures, I couldn’t stop looking at them.

“And, for just a short time, the universe seemed to reorder itself. I saw things differently, and I knew that more is afoot in the world than the machinations so breathlessly reported on cable news.” (https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/on-stars-and-the-news?utm_source=email)

Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber had a slightly different take on it. She tweeted, “I thought we could start a list of things that make no sense whatsoever in light of these images of our universe from 13 billion light years away.”

And she begins her list: nationalism. Others responded with: Self-aggrandizement. Superiority. My concern with shaping my eyebrows. The “better than you” mentality. Having a nice lawn. If I disappoint my family. COVID weight. Obsession with which bathroom everyone is using.

And she suggests making looking at these images a sort of spiritual practice. “When my ego wants once again to seek attention or take umbrage at slights or know itself only in comparison to others, I think I may try and undertake the practice of pulling up the latest images from the Webb telescope. Feel free to join me in this. Perhaps then I will remember that most of the [stuff] I get wound up about just doesn’t matter. The cosmos is unbelievably big and yet here we are breathing our delicious gaseous oxygen and moving these glorious bodies and getting to have perfect dogs and eat pretty good pizza and love each other….”
(https://thecorners.substack.com/p/it-used-to-give-me-anxiety-now-i?utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email&utm_content=share)

It may be that these images—and if you haven’t seen them yet, there is one right there on your bulletin cover—that these images leave you feeling insignificant, tiny, having no particular beauty, uninspiring. Or it may be that these images remind you that the universe is cold, that the stars and galaxies we are now able to see are long dead. They may conjure up ideas of a God who is so very far away, distant, uninterested.

So let me share one last thought with you. The God who created this universe, these nebulae, the black holes, the supernova, our earth and the planets we’ve dared to name—this Creator God made us, too, and according to the writer of Genesis, made us—you and me, with all our tired muscles and age spots and stretch marks and pimples and imperfections—made us in the divine image.

But way more important than all of this is that the Creator of All That Is, the divine artist who painted these extraordinary galaxies and invented the science behind them—that God loves us beyond all imagining. Us! Us, with our anger and pettiness and our depression and anxiety, us with our doubt and our apathy for neighbor and our inability to get things right on a consistent basis—that God loves us, and always will, and absolutely nothing we do will change that love. It is as the apostle Paul said. “I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

At the end of his book “Under the Banner of Heaven,” Jon Krakauer wrote this. “Most of us yearn to comprehend how we got here, and why—which is to say, most of us ache to know the love of our creator. And we will no doubt feel that ache, most of us, for as long as we happen to be alive.”

If looking at the far reaches of the universe leaves you with an ache for God, I hope that this is a balm for you: The God who created that universe billions of years ago created you, too, and whatever artistic pride God may take in the beauty of space is utterly eclipsed by the love God has for you. For you. For you.