You’ll wait a long, long time for anything much To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
Taken from Robert Frost’s “On Looking Up By Chance at the Constellations”
No one denies that much of our life is spent focused on our own life. The entire universe swirls around us, and yet we exist each day as if we are the center of the universe. We do this because, to some extent, we are the center of the universe. All the information we receive about the world around us comes to us through our sensory organs and personal consciousness. We are like the prism through which the white light of the universe is refracted and then split into a rainbow of colors, which we name “nature,” “family,” “science,” and “God.”
This activity can be exhausting. We are constantly processing information about the world around us (Are we safe? Is that person a friend or foe? What will tomorrow bring?), even as we know that: 1) We are aware of only a fraction of the activity around us; 2) We can never predict what tomorrow holds. It can fill us with anxiety and a sense of hopelessness about our human condition.
“The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch…
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.”
Faith is about perspective—both seeing things in perspective and keeping things in perspective. If we are the center of the universe, then our existential angst is justified, for we can never be equal to the task of understanding all that is and all that will be, given our limited human capabilities. But when we look at the heavens, when we consider the moon and the stars above (cf. Psalm 8), we are presented with a different perspective—of a wonder, order, and immensity that assures us there must be some other center of the universe than our meager body and soul. The fact that, as Frost says, nothing much happens up there, where planets travel along their heavenly parabolas and galaxies continue their steady race toward the outer boundaries of the universe, is actually a source of comfort for all of us wrapped up in our busy, earthbound existence.
Frost’s contemplation of the constellations ends with this poignant line: “That calm seems certainly safe to last tonight.” At the center of the universe is a calm, a calm that has been revealed to be consistent, patient, intentional, and loving. Even more miraculous, this calm is personal in that it has been personified in Jesus Christ, the eternal Wisdom and Heart made flesh. So while the Hubble telescope reminds us of quasars in the heavens, and the daily paper reminds us of upheavals here on Earth, there is a deeper calm that is neither disrupted or disturbed by the goings-on of the universe. “That calm seems certainly safe to last tonight.” Thanks be to God.