Astronomers tell us that our galaxy is home not only to our own sun and its family of planets, but to billions of other stars. They further explain that our disk-shaped galaxy is about 100,000 light-years wide and about 2,000 light-years thick. Even more amazing is their claim that this “cosmic disk” (itself made up of billions of stars) is only one of billions of galaxies known to exist in the universe.
Seems to me that thinking about the unfathomable expanse of such a cosmos should cause me to praise its Creator. But I have other emotions. For the moment at least, I find little comfort in a God whose creation is measured in light-years and billions of galaxies–each of which is made up of billions of stars.
Don’t get me wrong. I want to believe God is greater than his creation. If he wasn’t, we might be riding a physical world or universe that is spinning out of control.
But what some see through a telescope doesn’t warm me to God until I also think about what others have seen through a microscope. Through a microscope we see that the God of Creation is great enough to give unlimited attention to the nano-details of life.
The inexpressible systems and details of microscopic life allow me to find great comfort and credibility in the God of little things who reassures us that the hairs of our head are all numbered (Matt. 10:29-31), that a sparrow doesn’t fall to the ground unnoticed, and that we are of much more value to Him than many birds.
Yet, as I think about the Lord of little things, my mind still goes places that unnerve me. I sense that in our Creator’s attention to detail, he ceases to be safe. Jesus said that we will have to give account for every careless word we have spoken (Matt. 12:36). King David said God not only knows when we stand up and when we sit down, but also what we are thinking (Psalm 139). Solomon said that on a final day of judgment God will examine the secret motives of our heart (Eccl. 12:13-14).
Once again, my heart cools– until I remember the cross. It is at “at the foot of” that first century Roman rack of execution that my heart finally seems to find rest and wholehearted praise. At Calvary, I sense the immeasurable love of the God of the galaxies, the One who counts the hairs of my head and the steps of my feet. At Calvary, I find myself gratefully overwhelmed by the price that it took for Him to pay for the least and worst of my sins, to buy my salvation, and to call me into His undeserved kindness. At Calvary, the God who formed the galaxies becomes the God who loves me-as much as I need to be loved. And for that I want to praise Him. Now… and forever . . .
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