Genesis 1:26–31
My internal clock woke me about five minutes before the alarm was set to sound. It’s amazing how the body will do that—especially when the clock is set for 3:25 a.m. I dressed, made some hot chocolate, and woke my son, Ryan.
We drove over to Jacob Russell’s house, Ryan’s childhood friend. Jacob and his father, David, had invited us to sit under the stars and watch the sky. The experts promised a meteor shower, and they did not disappoint.
It was like a Fourth of July fireworks show. Streaks of light raced randomly across the night sky, several every minute. Occasionally one left a tracer against the blackness, like those we sometimes see on the news after anti-aircraft fire.
“Look, Ryan, look!” I said.
“I see it! I see it!” he shouted. “It’s going to crash into the earth!”
One fireball lingered for several seconds, unlike anything I had ever seen. We quickly forgot we were sacrificing sleep. We were having too much fun experiencing a part of God’s world with which we were far too unfamiliar.
As I lay there watching, I felt a twinge of shame that I hadn’t been more intentional about introducing my sons to more of God’s creation.
Too many of us don’t take the time to study what’s above us, around us, or beneath us. We don’t learn the names of trees or plants, the constellations of the stars, or the stories written in rocks. We know little about our own bodies—how blood clots or cells reproduce.
It’s a sign of our arrogance that we take so little interest in the universe. As long as the earth keeps turning and the sun rises again, many of us give little thought to the surrounding oceans, the heavens above us, or the ground beneath our feet.
Taking an interest in the earth is a holy thing. It shouldn’t be only a political concern; it ought to express faith, regardless of political persuasion.
Genesis tells the beautifully choreographed story of how God brought the heavens and the earth into being. By the time creation reaches its climax, Scripture says of humanity—male and female made in God’s image—that God looked upon all he had made and declared it very good.
That distinction matters. Of days one through five, God said creation was good. On the sixth day, when human life was formed in God’s image, it was very good—exceedingly good. We were the exclamation point at the end of creation, God’s crowning achievement.
What did we do to deserve that place? Nothing. If grace is unmerited favor, then Adam and Eve experienced grace from the very beginning. From the moment God breathed life into them, they were recipients of gifts they did not earn.
Since caring for creation was one of humanity’s first responsibilities, I struggle to understand why so many Christians resist making earth care part of their worship.
Perhaps it has something to do with greed. In an affluent, consumer-driven society, where the goal is often to get as much as possible while leaving as little as possible for others or the next generation, care for creation becomes inconvenient.
There are exceptions. Many years ago, I met Brian Gray, a man who is passionate about astronomy. The appearance of Comet Hale-Bopp sparked his interest in 1997. Using a Celestron telescope, he learned astrophotography and captured breathtaking images—one of the Trifid Nebula showing a star being born, and another of a dying star in the Dumbbell Nebula.
Studying the birth and death of stars deepened Brian’s faith. Like the psalmist, gazing into the heavens caused him to wonder, worship, and believe.
“The heavens declare the glory of God,” the psalmist wrote, “the skies proclaim the work of his hands” (Psalm 19:1–3). Creation speaks a universal language, bearing witness to its Creator.
Some take a different view. Stephen Hawking once suggested that the laws of physics remove the need for God, claiming the universe could create itself from nothing. Yet, he offered no explanation for how nothing becomes something, or why order exists rather than chaos.
Ironically, such claims step out of science and into faith. It takes faith to believe the universe came from nothing. Hawking simply placed his faith in the laws of physics—laws he could not explain the origin of.
As science continues to explore the universe, it increasingly acknowledges a beginning point it cannot fully explain. Brian saw this mystery not as a threat to faith, but as a pathway to God.
Astronaut John Glenn once said that looking at the earth from space made it impossible for him not to believe in God. It strengthened his faith.
Christianity proclaims that God is the source of all creation—ex nihilo, out of nothing. Science seeks to understand how creation works. The two need not be enemies.
Good science does not threaten Christian faith, and honest faith does not fear good science. Both invite us to wonder.
The universe is vast beyond our comprehension. Because it reflects its Creator, some of it will always remain mysterious. That should never stop us from asking hard questions or seeking deeper understanding.
“When I consider your heavens,” the psalmist wrote, “what is man that you are mindful of him?” (Psalm 8:3–4).
It should not surprise us that the night sky has guided people to faith. Long ago, wise men followed a star to find a newborn king.
I don’t know what darkness may surround you today. But remember that Jesus called himself “the Bright Morning Star” (Revelation 22:16).
Take the time and look up—really look—and you may find that even in the darkness, the Bright Morning Star goes before you, showing you the way.