My life’s work has been the study of supermassive black holes. I loved them from the very first moment I encountered them as an undergraduate student studying physics. I love everything about them:
how extreme they are
how simple they are in terms of what defines them and yet how much brain and computer power we have to expend just to approximate what happens the closer we get to them
how loudly they announce themselves at times and yet how tantalizingly mysterious and elusive they can be.
What’s not to love? They’re a scientist’s dream come true.
And it was through the study of black holes that I came to the sudden realization that God exists.
You might reasonably wonder how God and black holes could possibly be related, but that realization many years ago had much more to do with the order and intelligibility of the universe than the black holes themselves.
Years later, however, my study of black holes did directly lead to a realization about God and why he seems so elusive. I wrote about this in a chapter of The Story of the Cosmos, which I encourage you to read.
In short, we are kept at a safe distance from God for the same reason that we are kept at a safe distance from black holes: to get too close would be far too dangerous for us.
From accounts in the Bible, we know that to get too close to God, to be any more exposed to his unimaginable power than we are at this moment, would not be merely life-altering, but far more than we could physically or mentally endure.
Out of love for us, God comes to us sotto voce. He speaks to us through scripture, whispers in our consciences, and patiently reveals himself through the works of his hands.
The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the work of his hands. —Psalm 19:1
God called to my scientist heart through his wondrous works, and I’m so grateful he did.
Over the years, I’ve come to realize that what drew me to the study of black holes—their unfathomable power, their irresistible mystery, their paradoxical qualities of simplicity and complexity—is what draws me to God.
God drew me to him gently, slowly, patiently. God could’ve overwhelmed me with his power and forced me to submit to him, but he loves me too much to do that.
And he loves you too much to do that to you.
Instead, he speaks to us in a soft voice from a safe distance. He allows us to come to him, step by step, at times in joy and happiness, and at times in pain and sorrow, and to submit to him of our own free will and desire for him, if that is indeed what we desire.
So much of what I do with my ministry work is drawing people’s attention to what God is saying to us through the natural world. Most of what he’s saying to us is what we need to know about him—his goodness, his greatness, and his divine wisdom and intelligence. This is what should give us confidence and comfort in placing our trust in God, and instill in us a desire to worship him.
In this confusing world, we are so often willing to place (and misplace) our trust in people who display goodness, greatness, wisdom, and intelligence, but the human quantum of all that is nothing compared with God’s.
Reading a devotional the other morning, I was struck by God’s words to Job, who in his grief and pain was losing his trust in God. Job cried out to God, admonishing him not only for allowing his own suffering, but for God’s apparent lack of good governance of the world, and God’s response… was to ask Job, in great poetic detail, if he knew who created the world.
Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
Who stretched a measuring line across it?
On what were its footings set,
or who laid its cornerstone—
while the morning stars sang together
and all the sons of God shouted for joy?—Job 38:4-7
This response may seem odd, and even cold, at first. God never apologizes or explains the reason for Job’s suffering or why he governs the world the way he does. He only emphasizes his greatness and goodness. Why does God do this? As Ruth Chou Simon writes in her book, Beholding and Becoming
God called Job to behold a grander view of His greatness through the work of his hands. He painted a picture for Job that, if painted on canvas, would take his breath away—infinite stars, thrashing seas, deepest oceans, tiniest creatures. Belief fuses with trust in the crucible of true worship. And true worship dispels doubt when our grasp of God’s greatness in all of creation causes our hearts to surrender in praise. It’s impossible to behold what He has made and not be humbled as the created.
Indeed.
How can the Creator of the universe possibly explain to human beings his entire plan? He can’t, any more than a parent could explain to a toddler his or her plan to raise and prosper their child. Instead, we have to trust, and God shows us that we have good reason to trust.
In my worst moments of pain and doubt, I often remind myself of the degree of God’s goodness and greatness I’ve observed through my study of his natural world. I’m incredibly fortunate to live in a time when I can behold things in the natural world that Job and his friends never could. Surely, the one who created such things is worthy of our trust and worship.
I wrote a poem a long time ago about black holes being at the center of galaxies and how that is a reflection of Christ on the cross. I am not a scientist, but I also love black holes and find them fascinating.
I know this isn't your intent but your words moved me so deeply this morning. That's all. Thanks.