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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