Even though I have heard some mixed reviews about them, the new "smart phones" with the Android operating system offer an amazing app called "Google Sky." When the phone is held out to the horizon, the screen shows the stars and constellations visible at that trajectory. It’s the digital equivalent of the star chart wheels we used to play with in science class. It’s really cool, and it’s an amazing learning tool. But it can teach you more than astronomy. I contend that it can teach you theology.
Picture the psalmist sitting out on a Palestinian hillside. Black skies are pierced by stars in a way that most of who live in or near electrically lit cities don’t even know how to imagine. He’s just stunned — stunned into worship and reflection.
If God’s glory has been set above the heavens, then imagine, if you even can, God’s astonishing glory, considering how almost incomprehensively vast the universe is.
If you have seen some of the images from the Hubble telescope, just imagine what David could have written about the glory of God if he had seen them. The star filled sky inspired him to more words than most of the rest of us could come up with. And even the Hubble is only scratching the surface.
Just for grins, here are a few simple statistics:
• A beam of light takes eight minutes to cross the 93 million miles between Earth and the sun.
• If you make our solar system — the sun and eight planets — the relative size of a quarter, that makes our galaxy the size of North America.
• If you were to count the stars in our galaxy, one per second, it would take you 2,500 years to count them all.
• The Milky Way galaxy contains billions of stars, but our galaxy is only one of at least 200 billion galaxies.
But in contrast to how big God is, this vast universe is simply tiny. After all, the psalmist wrote that God’s fingers set the stars into their places. That would make God’s massive hands billions of light years wide. Psalm 147:4 says that God not only determines the number of the stars, he gives to all of them their names.
Kind David is looking at the heavens and saying that God is more majestic than the starry host. But then it gets personal. If God is that big, then what is God doing paying attention to something as small as — *gulp* — me?
If our earth is that quarter somewhere in North America, then our state is like that molecule of pocket lint on it. And we’re like a quark in the nucleus of one atom of pocket lint. Trade in the telescopes for microscopes; the truth is that we are so small, we’re nowhere to be found.
Given this comparative sizing, how heart-stopping is the realization that God is mindful of — caring toward — each of the 300 billion lint atom quarks on this quarter?
While God counts and names the trillions of stars, God goes so much further with each of us, designing us each uniquely. God knows what makes us tick, hears our prayers when we cry out and cares about each one of us. We should feel awe. Honor. Divinely inflated self-worth. All that beauty to look at, and God pays attention to us.
Google the question "Is there life on other planets?" and you’ll find scores of Trek-geek chat pages debating the question. You’ll read a common argument in favor of E.T. — there must be life on other planets because the universe is too large if it is just a habitat for us.
But what if the universe doesn’t exist just to be a habitat for life? What if the primary purpose of the universe is nothing but a mind-blowing, infinite art display by God? What if it is so vast that its purpose is to dwarf us and magnify its Maker? What if the reaches of the cosmos serve to remind us that God is better to us than our small perspectives suggest? That’s how astronomy stunned the hillside psalmist into theology.
David sees the majesty of God in all of creation, not just the heavens, the moon and the stars, but also in the sheep and oxen, the beasts of the field, the birds of the heavens and the fish of the sea.
God's accuracy may be observed in the hatching of eggs. For example: