It's good to feel small
Why the size of the Universe doesn't bother me—and shouldn't bother you, either
My first year teaching astronomy at a Christian liberal arts university, I gave my students a questionnaire asking what major concerns they had about the subject. I expected many of them to respond that they took issue with the age of the universe or that they were worried about some other aspect of modern astronomy conflicting with their religious views.
I was surprised that not only did none of my students comment about religious concerns, but that their greatest worry, by far, was that they felt insignificant compared with the size of the universe.
It actually broke my heart a little.
When I look at images like the ones below, I don’t feel insignificant. I feel a sort of joy I can only describe as a peculiar mixture of exhilaration, awe, and peace. I love to be reminded of the immensity and mystery of the universe. Especially because it makes me feel small.
I love to feel small.
That is, when compared with something as grand and beautiful as this.
That's because, when it comes down to it, the universe reminds me of the One who created it. It's His handiwork, and I can't even imagine how much more grand and beautiful its Creator is.
Mankind, thousands of years ago, could never have imagined what the universe beyond a handful of planets and a few thousand local stars looked like. We, however, are privileged to know. And it is a privilege to know what the universe looks like at such large scales. The greatest earthly kings would have given every last ounce of their treasures to behold such things. I mean, just look at this.
Colossal island universes; heavenly megalopolises populated by billions upon billions of stars; careening, cartwheeling galaxies; cosmic titans on billion-year collision courses. There just aren’t words worthy of such sights.
If a night sky brimming over with stars was enough for ancient humans to think of gods, we can only imagine what thoughts these images would’ve inspired. But maybe this is kind of the point.
Ancient people were awed by natural wonders like starry night skies, soaring mountains, and swelling oceans. They even awed themselves with the temples they built and the statues they erected to great figures, both human and divine. Those were the greatest sights imaginable.
We moderns, however, are far beyond that. We’ve built skyscrapers that make a mockery of the Tower of Babel. We’ve created things inconceivable to people just a hundred years ago: megacities, manmade islands, canals that connect one ocean with another, aircraft carriers, flying fortresses, rockets, and space stations.
We’ve become so inured to awe-inspiration on Earth that, with the behemoth telescopes we’ve created, we needed something to remind us of our place in the scheme of things—especially how small we are compared with the One who created it all.
Small, but not insignificant.
Small, yet the objects of His eternal love.
And it’s not so much about our smallness, but about His greatness.
Just think of how incredible it is that the God who created such wonders loves us beyond all comprehension—so much so that He put on human flesh and came to live among us—and that He desires for us to spend eternity with Him.
I can’t imagine what new sights Jesus is preparing for us—and preparing us for—in the new heaven and new earth.