Tiny Miracles

I went up to Griffith Observatory tonight for the first time since I moved to Los Angeles. It's one of those things that every local and tourist does at some point during their stay here. I just happen to be more of a late bloomer than others. We drove and walked uphill among the throng of people out doing one of the few cool things you can do for free on a Saturday night, past the creepy obelisk with seven faces they have planted on the lawn (seriously, what's up with that thing? It looks like it belongs on LOST or something...) and into the museum/observatory.

Astronomy, space, and quantum physics absolutely fascinate me...probably due to my love of science fiction. There's something so moving about the enormity of the Universe and the grand clockwork which drives our reality that speaks to something deep in my soul. I read about the planets, the stars, space exploration, and the intricacies of the Universe whenever I can, taking in as much knowledge as my under educated, math-poor brain can understand. So I'm no expert by any stretch, but I know a fair share about the science. The observatory's exhibits didn't hold any surprises for me (in fact, I was able to elaborate in greater detail about some of the displays...it really warmed the cockles of my heart when the person I was with asked "what kinds of things do you know?!"), but it really was a very cool place.

Sometimes you can tell when a person at a museum has no idea what they're looking at and instead of trying to learn something new, they retreat into the simpler things around them. I have to laugh at this human tendency...not out of any misplaced academic snobbery, but because it's genuinely funny when a brilliant daughter and aged mother are standing in front of a timeline of the Universe decorated with various jewelry and knick-knacks collected by a donator. The daughter says "there are countless galaxies just like ours in the Universe, which is expanding ever outward into infinity. Isn't that amazing? That reality is expanding outward to fill nothingness?" Her mother pauses and responds, "boy, she sure did have a lot of jewelry!"

The best part of the night was the planetarium...where they project the stars onto the blank canvas of the domed ceiling. You lay back in your chair and listen as the narrator talks about the history of astronomy, the architecture of the Universe, and the myriad of mysteries that mankind has yet to plumb the full depths of. The moment the stars struck the dome, a knot welled in my throat and I found that I am moved to tears at the majesty and beauty of the Universe in which we dwell. It is so incomprehensibly vast and we are so, so small. The Universe is so old...aged billions upon billions of years with the advent of life on a tiny ball of silica and water in the far corner of a backwater galaxy a mere blink in the eye of eternity. All our accomplishments, our hopes, our fears, our dreams, our love, our discoveries...all that it means to exist as a human is nothing when compared to the infinite greatness of the emptiness that surrounds our fragile speck of a world.

I am overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of the billions of other galaxies, just like ours, free-falling through the Universe. And it is not for the thought of nihilism or the prospect of being alone in the cosmos...I am overwhelmed at the evidence of how powerful, how majestic, how utterly awesome the designer who bestowed order upon the Universe is. To think that all the matter that will ever exist was compressed into a space the size of a particle and, for whatever reason, was spoken with a bang into glorious, ordered existence is absolutely mind-blowing. Hard science will tell you that any theory, any faith which cannot be tested is invalid. But the sense of wonder when you look into the eye of Heaven...the gut-wrenching sensation of amazement at the thought of eternity...the tiny miracles represented by each and every life around you will tell you that there is more to the Universe than the strictures of science.

As of the time of this posting, it's Easter (strictly speaking). This is a time of year when we remember that a man from Galilee was born, heralded by angels and a star shining brightly over the place of his birth. He walked among us, claimed to be God, worked miracles, rocked the established order of religious thought and was crucified by the Romans. Three days later, on this date, he proved his claim true by rising from the dead and breaking the power of sin and death. The architect of the infinite knew us. Knew me. Knew my struggles and pain. Knew my soul's need for a connection to the divine. Knew my heart's need for healing. And he came for me. He came to a tiny planet orbiting a small sun on the far corner of a backwater galaxy. To save me. To save us all.