Yesterday I learned that the universe shouldn’t exist. According to a new model that takes into account the properties of the newly discovered Higgs boson, the universe should have collapsed in on itself an instant after the Big Bang. I found the article and the discovery delightful to my soul.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the work of scientists. I believe that their work brings God’s kingdom to earth whether they intend it to or not. Last Sunday Brett preached at Hope Chapel and he showed a picture of the single human cell that came into being shortly after sperm fertilized egg.
He then showed videos of the cell multiplying and ended with a picture of an adorable infant.
He used cellular differentiation and the Apostle Paul’s writings about the body of Christ to talk about how we are each different but dependent on one another. The beauty and wonder of those pictures and the story they tell are ours because scientists gave them to us. Often, a better understanding has led me deeper in my appreciation for the grandeur of creation.
Still, sometimes I am delighted when mystery wins the day and all of us, including the brilliant scientific minds among us, are left scratching our heads. It’s not that I fear honest scientific work might destroy my faith, and I know that researchers will continue to explore this and may someday find an explanation. The truth is I find the work of creation scientists no different in this way than that of evolutionary scientists. Both attempt to demystify the origins of the earth and it is in mystery that I discover the glorious imponderable. (Thank you, Susie Brooks, for that lovely word.) While I am thrilled when I look into the sky knowing that the stars I see are millions of light years away… and knowing what a light year is… there are mysteries that bring delight, too.
Why is it that the song of the mockingbird makes my heart sing? Or even more, how does that mockingbird appear along my path on the darkest of days to sing joy into my heart?
How is it that a friend who hasn’t seen me in years can say exactly what I need to hear in this very moment? And, why do I cry at weddings?
How do people muster the courage to give their lives for a stranger? Or, where does the son of a thief find the strength of character to not only overcome his father’s example, but repay his father’s debt?
I’m delighted to know that the universe shouldn’t exist. Probably none of these things should either. How gloriously imponderable is that?