The following meditation was written by Dr. Doug Hood’s son, Nathanael Hood, M.Div, Princeton Theological Seminary
“When I look up at your skies, at what your fingers made—the moon and the stars that you set firmly in place—what are human beings that you think about them; what are human beings that you pay attention to them? You’ve made them only slightly less than divine, crowning them with glory and grandeur.”
Psalm 8:3-5 (Common English Bible)
On February 14, 1990, some 3.7 billion miles away from Earth in the great cosmic dark, a small, humble construction of math and metal spun itself around to gaze back upon the world from which it came. Using the last of its dwindling power, it steadied itself, snapped a photograph, transmitted it, then silently continued its eternal journey far, far beyond our solar system. The photograph shows a field of black streaked with thin bands of dull, faded color like some ghostly rainbow. There, near the middle of the band furthest to the right of the image, is a tiny speck less than a pixel in size. This speck, this microscopic mite of brilliance amid the darkness of space, is none other than our planet, our interstellar home.
Nicknamed the “Pale Blue Dot” photo, this image taken by the Voyager 1 space probe is one of the most moving and famous in the history of cosmic exploration. A few years later, American astronomer Carl Sagan published a book by the same name in which he reflected on the photograph with a poetry and reverence usually reserved for the greatest works of art. Juxtaposing the presumed self-importance of its people with the planet’s insignificance within the grand scope of the universe, Sagan gently, almost lovingly, chastises readers to abandon the idea that anything—or anyone—might be coming to save us from ourselves. It’s our planet, Sagan insists; we alone can save it and us from ourselves.
Sagan, of course, isn’t wrong. Where once humanity believed our planet to be the center of the universe—both literally and figuratively—advances in science have proven that we are indeed a fleck of a fleck of a fleck in the grand scheme of creation. However, this need not mean people of faith are wrong for putting their trust in a God who craves a direct, personal relationship with each of us. If anything, religion gives not a different answer but an additional perspective on humanity’s place among the stars. We may be tiny, the great religions explain, but that makes us no less important in the eyes of the eternal. We see this reflected in the Bible where the prophets and poets of old stared into the night sky much like Sagan would millennia later and saw not proof of God’s absence but evidence of God’s majestic power. It was with the same hand that scooped and shaped the dust of Eden into the first humans that God sculpted the infinite galaxies and nebula. The same God who, with a word, brought forth Something out of Nothing, wove each of us in our mothers’ womb and called us by name. What is our worth as a species, the Bible asks? “Only slightly less than divine,” the Psalmist answers.
I write all of this because, at this moment in time, the state of our Pale Blue Dot seems tragically precarious. Wars are raging, economies threaten collapse, our environment gets sicker by the day, and more and more people are surrendering themselves to despair. Perhaps what many of us lack is perspective. Maybe we should, like Sagan and the Psalmist before him, remember that we are small but infinitely precious pieces of a larger whole. But if not even a sparrow falls without God’s knowledge, how much more does God pay attention to the problems and fears, hopes and uncertainties, of those who call God’s mighty name?
Joy,