God's infinite creation

The planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home...


Last weekend, Lori and I went for a little urban adventure in Washington DC. We visited the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum but skipped all the airplanes. We went to see Beyond: Visions of Our Solar System, an exhibit of spectacular photographs of the planets and moons of our solar system taken in space by NASA astronauts and spacecraft. The photographs have been blown up and put in art frames.

The exhibit took my breath away.

Someone asked me if I had seen the "face of God." No, not really. But these stunning photographs were a enormous reminder to me of how endlessly beautiful God's creation is, and how only an infinitesimally tiny segment of God's creation can be seen and experienced on earth.

The canyons and mountains of Mars are deeper and grander than any on earth. The moons and rings of Saturn are as gorgeous as any rainbow on a summer day. Jupiter is so huge and spins so fast my mind can barely comprehend it. The texture of the moon Europa is better than a Jackson Pollock painting.

This exhibit was also a reminder to me of how small our earth is. The problems of our planet are, in the scheme of the universe, not so big. We ought to be able to solve our ills because our ills really aren't that large.

And we get this gorgeous, beautiful planet, with rich hues of blue and green.

Here are a few photos from NASA. To see a slide show of the photos from the exhibit, click HERE.

And here are a few prayerful words from Eucharistic Prayer C:

God of all power, Ruler of the Universe, you are worthy of glory and praise.

Glory to you for ever and ever.

At your command all things came to be: the vast expanse of
interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home.

By your will they were created and have their being.

What it means to live

A regular contributor to this space, Karen from Tennessee, sent this email the other day along with a poem. I was very touched when I read this, and so I give it to you today, along with the poem that came with it:

From Karen. . .

I have a friend whose husband is dying. We stood on her porch the other night in this oppressive heat and spoke plainly about death, that most essential force in determining and understanding what to means to live.

Almost a year ago when April passed away, we were all together— physically, spiritually, emotionally— we were bound to her and to each other (and I believe, we all still are) whereas my friend is essentially facing this personal loss on her own. And yet she is doing so with a great bravery and dignity, she had a strength in her face that belies any kind of platitudes. There are many ways to live, and to love each other……

Stars

By Keith Douglas, 1939

The stars still marching in extended order
move out of nowhere into nowhere. Look, they are halted
on a vast field tonight, true no man's land.
Far down the sky with sword and belt must stand
Orion. For commissariat of this exalted
war-company, the Wain. No fabulous border

could swallow all this bravery, no band
will ever face them: nothing but discipline
has mobilized and still maintains them. So
Time and his ancestors have seen them. So
always to fight disorder is their business,
and victory continues in their hand.

From under the old hills to overhead,
and down there marching on the hills again
their camp extends. There go the messengers,
Comets, with greetings of ethereal officers
from tent to tent. Yes, we look up with pain
at distant comrades and plains we cannot tread.

Photo: The Trifid Nebula (M20), by Robert Gendler, NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day

This Earth, our island home

Our friend Karen sent this poem the other day. I've read it several times. Take your time with it. Savor the sabbath, enjoy the Earth, and the dance that is life in this moment ...

The Ball

by Wislawa Szymborska

As long as nothing can be known for sure
(no signals have been picked up yet),
as long as Earth is still unlike
the nearer and more distant planets,

as long as there's neither hide nor hair
of other grasses graced by other winds,
of other treetops bearing other crowns,
other animals as well-grounded as our own,

as long as only the local echo
has been known to speak in syllables,

as long as we still haven't heard word
of better or worse mozarts,
platos, edisons somewhere,

as long as our inhuman crimes
are still committed only between humans,

as long as our kindness
is still incomparable,
peerless even in its imperfection,

as long as our heads packed with illusions
still pass for the only heads so packed,

as long as the roofs of our mouths alone
still raise voices to high heavens--

let's act like very special guests of honor
at the district-firemen's ball
dance to the beat of the local oompah band,
and pretend that it's the ball
to end all balls.

I can't speak for others--
for me this is
misery and happiness enough:

just this sleepy backwater
where even the stars have time to burn
while winking at us
unintentionally.

Photo of the Earth by Apollo 17, displayed on NASA's Astronomy Picture of the Day.