In A Galaxy Far Far Away

In a Galaxy Far Far Away

Rob Gieselmann, Pent. 24A, Oct. 22, 2017

On August 17 of this year, astronomers observed the astounding collision of two neutron stars, in a galaxy far, far away. It all started when one telescope recorded a 100-second chirp two octaves above Middle C. This signal indicated something unexpected and dense like a black hole, only not a black hole. Seconds later, another telescope a continent away recorded a twin signal – and taken together, these signals suggested two neutron stars spiraling around each other – much like twin blades of a kitchen blender.

A neutron star, by the way, is a star at the end of its life, close to becoming a black hole. It’s about six miles across, the length of Manhattan, yet so dense that a single thimbleful – weighs the same as several million elephants.

So imagine it: two of these neutron stars spiraling into each other - that is what astrophysicists witnessed, and for the first time ever, photographed their collision. In this galaxy far, far away …

And I do not know about you, but when I ponder space – and its eternity – I wonder, how far do you have to travel through space to reach its end? Where is the wall? The border, the boundary of the universe? Surely space does not extend forever, does it? I cannot even begin to comprehend the limits, or lack of limits, of space. Perhaps a black hole is some sort of portal into another universe.

A doorway, if you will, from this dimension to the next – or maybe space only appears to be linear – should you shoot yourself into space on a straight trajectory, you might appear to move outward and away forever – when, in fact, some sort of Einstein curve returns you here, to earth?

There is a poem - I can’t recall its name or the author - but its verse describes the moment that light disappears from view – you are walking backwards at night away from a cottage. With each step, the cottage light grows dimmer, until you take that one final step and it disappears. Then you take one step forward, and the light reappears, one step backwards, and the light disappears. The curve of eternity collapses into that one step. All the time, people ask, Where did the light go?

God as light, Where is God? Once I saw God, now I cannot see God. The light is dim, or worse, seems to have disappeared.

There Latin word for the disappearance of God: obscura – God became obscured to Moses, revealing himself to Moses only in retrospect. And one of the first questions I will ask you if you share a tough time with me is: Where is God in all this? Can you see God? For me - some days, weeks, months, I cannot see God, and sometimes, I’m not sure I even know who God is.

**They asked Jesus, is it right to pay taxes to Caesar, or not? Jesus asked for a coin. They produced the one with Caesar’s image. A graven image, a violation of the commandment. Upon observing Caesar’s image, Jesus answered, give it to Caesar, then if it is his, and give to God that which is God’s. And I wonder, out of all the universes, each eternity stretching and folding one into another, neutron stars colliding into neutron stars, black holes collapsing into black holes, what belongs to God? Where is God?

Who is known mostly in retrospect, rather than face to face we might prefer. You know the comet by its tail and you know God by his wake. I swear there have been times in my world when God was so alive I swear I could have touched him. Not obscura,            but face to face – but if that is true, then I must no longer exist.

*In Ernest Hemingway’s unfinished novel, True at First Light, Hemingway cast himself as the main character, along with fictional wife, Mary. It is late, and Mary is asleep. Hemingway is in bed awake, sipping from his flask – because he cannot sleep, he writes, Tonight was a bad night for some reason. Mary wakes-up, and asks him, Papa are you drinking? Yes. Why? he answers. Could I have some too? He reaches the flask over to her – She tells him about her awful dreams, dreams that are too bad to tell before breakfast. I had some bad ones too. He says. Then she asks him, You don’t love anybody else do you? No. Not white nor black nor red all over. Sleep well, my blessed, she says, then adds, Thank you for the lovely midnight drink. He responds: Thank you for killing the nightmares. That’s one of the things I’m for, she says. He wrestles and sleeps and wakes again, but this time he hears Mary breathing and sleeping and he falls back gently asleep.

And here is where I think of human relationships, and the gentle kindness of companionable love that we share one with another. Salvation is offered, you see, across the borders. When the dreams turn dark, you are one step out of the light, and God seems obscure. Yet there is the promise of goodness.

You see, God refused to show Moses his face – but did show Moses his goodness. And what is God’s goodness, if not the kindness of another? I would have lost heart, the psalmist wrote, had I not seen the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. You know these gentle words by heart: Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

And here is where I think of of the small things – like that five year-old boy I told you about once - the one who grabbed his widowed father’s face in both his hands and looked his dad directly into his eyes – and in that instance, the father saw in this boy his wife who had died several years before – Goodness.

And I think, too, of my own son, Tate, when he was the same age – and we put on our yellow slickers and rain boots. It was raining too hard for civilized people; Water like rivers poured down the street and into drains, but we went outside anyway – Stomped our feet deep through the water until it poured into our boots.

And at one point, I thought my son might have gotten swept down the street had he not been holding my hand – but he was holding my hand, and what could have been dangerous became instead – goodness. There is goodness in the choice you made this week to love rather than to hate.

To forgive rather than demand retribution. To believe the best, rather than the worst, in another. Where is God? God is nowhere, if not in goodness. *Spiraling galaxies and colluding stars, and an eternity so warped you end where you began.

Obscura. Make no mistake about it. God is not as hidden from view as it seemed.