Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Awe and Wonder


I can still remember that magical (yes, it was magical) moment when I experienced awe, and wonder for the first time.  It was a mild fall evening in El Paso, Texas, in 1966.  I was lying on the grass looking at the moon through a 20x telescope I’d received as a gift that year.  For an eleven-year-old boy, that telescope was the invitation to worlds unknown.  Never mind that it wasn’t any better than a good pair of binoculars, or that it was almost impossible to hold it still without a tripod.  It was my ticket to the stars.  On that fateful October evening, my arms grew tired, forcing me to lay the telescope down to let the blood return to my arms once more.  The moon was just a sliver in the crisp desert night sky, and there were more stars that night than I’d ever seen before.  As I stared into the depths of space, I wondered where it all ended?  Where was the end to the vast field of stars that beckoned me?  What was beyond the end of the universe?. 
I couldn’t imagine an end.
As I peered upward, and outward, I experienced awe for the first time in my life. My heart rate went up, and seemed to suddenly stop.  The air left my lungs in a long slow breath as my infantile, finite mind tried to cope with the infinite.  The harder I tried to comprehend the vastness of the universe, the more awestruck I became.  In that instant, I became fascinated with all things ‘space’.  It was a good time for it.  The ‘space race’ was at its peak, and it seemed every day was a new leap forward to the cosmos.  I had tons of questions, and an insatiable curiosity.  Even as I became enthralled with science, astronomy, and rockets, I was also coming to know the creator of the universe in a much smaller space, my heart.  At first, the two seemed to be worlds apart.  It seemed as if science was trying to dispel the notion of God, while at the same time, religion as I experienced it, was at odds with science.  I wrestled many long nights with doubt, and disbelief. I knew within my heart, and spirit, that I was experiencing the presence of God through faith in Christ, but at the same time I knew what I was learning in the classroom didn’t allow for the idea of God.  The awe, and wonder of that magical fall evening slipped into a dull ache for the truth.  For a few years, I enjoyed the rapture of science as I became increasingly interested in visiting worlds beyond this rock we call home.  Science Fiction novels were a daily diet. Scientific American magazines littered my room.  My favorite atomic particle was the neutrino, and a paper I wrote in the 9th grade on it, won me a trip to a science symposium at the University of New Mexico.  This was heady stuff for a wide-eyed teenager.  The tug of war between science, and faith went back and forth  throughout my school years.
I couldn’t imagine an end to the conflict. 
 A great sadness followed me for many years as I wrestled with my faith in God, and my love of science.  After High School, I became less concerned with science, and followed my faith.  When I was amongst Christians, I would never discuss science for fear of being revealed as a closet scientist.  I wouldn’t talk with anyone about the way I’d come to peace with both aspects of my being.  I didn’t want to be labeled a heretic, or unbeliever, when actually the opposite was the truth.  I’d raged war with myself, the tough stuff was over, and I was  believer in more than a savior.  I’d fallen in love with more than a cold, judgmental God.  I’d pushed past the dogma of both science, and faith,  into an intensely personal relationship with the One I know created the infinite.  It didn’t matter what others thought about my beliefs, I knew I loved the savior of my soul, His creation, and even the people on both sides who demanded absolute obeisance to their dogma.  I could talk with, walk with, touch, and feel the creator of this physical vale. 
I couldn’t imagine an end to this relationship with the Creator. 
Fast forward forty-seven years to a cold October morning where I came face to face with that same feeling of awe and wonder, and it came from the strangest of places.  I was reading an article on the internet concerning the Higgs-Boson, and its implications for the universe.  The article was this vast exploration of the different theories surrounding this elusive particle.  Almost every model created for studying the existence of the Higgs, ended in a catastrophic end to the universe.  The vast reaches of the universe had an end to it.  The Big Bang would end in a big entropic collapse.  Bummer!  Most particle physicists, and those who report on them embrace the end of the universe with the same religious fervor of fundamentalist Christians.  It becomes all they can talk about.  Particle physics becomes like the book of Revelation, a foretelling of impending doom.  Unified theories are just as elusive as proof of God’s existence.  String theory, superstrings, dark matter, gravity lensing,  everything we can think of comes to an eventual end.  Suddenly as I thought of all the struggle these scientists were facing in dealing with ‘how’ this universe works, I came face to face with my own struggle once more.  The men and women who obsess over what makes this universe work, and those who obsess over the One who makes it work, all have bills to pay, families to support, spouses to love, and children to nurture.  This universe goes on as it has for eons, and will go on for more time than we will live.  The profound things of the spiritual, or scientific are only profound to those who share in its intricacies.  At either end of the spectrum of faith, the zealots will beat their drums, and call for the death of the non-believers.  Somewhere in the middle of this silly debate, people like me, see the beauty of the Creator written in a little child’s giggle, or in the dance of sunbeams over orange, and fire laced clouds.  Life is more than what you can see in an equation, or in a spiritual icon.  This moment, this instant is infinitely more precious than infinity.   Whether you believe in God, or not, the question isn’t ‘what’ you loved, but ‘who’ you loved.  Throughout the world, cemeteries are filled with heretics, agnostics, fanatics, and scientists.  Parked next door to them are evangelists, pastors, prophets, and lay people of all creeds.  These things seem to get lost when the fires of passion rage among the faithful in either camp.  As I sat there considering the forecasted lifespan of our universe, it happened again, nearly forty-seven years after that fateful October night, I had another moment where my heart took off like a rocket, and my lungs emptied themselves in a slow exhale.  I know the answer to the problem, but it isn’t something I can put to numbers.  In the word of God, it says that in the end, God will roll up the universe like a scroll.  The prophets are right, and the scientists are right.  Both sides say it will all end, someday.  
Problem is, I still can’t imagine an end.   Therefore, I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, put my hands behind my head, and smile smugly. I experience the awe, and wonder once more, feeling the familiar presence of God more than ever before.  

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