God of all creation Christmas 1, C 12.30.12
M.
Campbell-Langdell+
All
Santos
12.30.12
Year C —
Christmas 1
(Isaiah
61:10–62:3; Ps 147; Galatians 3:23–25; 4:4–7; John 1:1–18)
Legend has it that Napoleon Bonaparte,
the one-time French emperor, once asked a leading scientist of his day,
Pierre-Simon Laplace, about a book he wrote, Systeme du Monde. He asked
why he had not mentioned the Creator in the book, and Laplace replied, “I had
no need of that hypothesis.”[1]
Following the Enlightenment, many people
of Napoleon’s age and onward have latched onto the concept of science as the
new law that will explain everything. We
do not need God, they say, because we have a scientific explanation.
Or, some have become afraid of science,
saying that it will explain everything, leaving no room for God, as if God
needed to be accommodated somehow like a person needing a person needing a seat
on the bus.
Our culture at times seems to war
between those who would rely only on science and those who regard science as a
threat to faith.
You may have heard that much of the
universe is comprised of dark matter, and perhaps that sounds ominous to some,
but in my mind the mysteries that abound about the universe lead us to God’s
light.
As we hear in today’s gospel, “the light
shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5).” Neither darkness nor dark matter will
overcome God’s light that we hear of today.
In fact, perhaps they point to God’s light.
In truth, many scientists in the past
fifty years have been surprised to often find as many questions as answers,
particularly in the field of quantum physics which yearns to discover the
structure of the atom and its component parts, the basic building blocks of the
universe.
Philosopher J.B. Stump talks about how
the Big Bang theory, the theory that the universe had a beginning moment from
which all matter burst into being, often begs for many the question of whether
there is an “unmoved mover,” a possible scientific term for God. Someone put it all into motion, some say.[2]
In the loosing of the reins of science,
which for a while seemed to have strict laws for us, we begin to feel we are
not actually held captive by the old law of rules referred to in today’s Galatians
passage, nor are we held in the strictures of the new laws of science, because
we have begun to see that some laws of science are already being broken. So perhaps we can continue to learn and play
with the rules that we know, growing as we do in faith and wisdom.
Because, as Stump says, we have begun to
see there are a couple of levels of reality, which can be described by
theologian and physicist John Polkinghorne’s example about a tea kettle.
When asked why a tea kettle is boiling,
a physicist might explain the “closed electrical circuit with such and such
resistance in the heating element of the stove, which conveys heat to the
bottom of the kettle, which in turn causes the water molecules to move more
rapidly within the kettle, whereby the increasingly rapid motion of the
molecules eventually becomes sufficient to push the vapor pressure of the water
higher than the atmospheric pressure—and the water boils.”[3] By contrast, he says that “another correct
description of the situation is to say that the kettle is boiling because I
want a cup of tea!”[4]
Now, of course this tea kettle example
is quite dear to my British heart, but we get Polkinghorne’s point here. There are always different ways of looking at
a situation, and sometimes there are two realities that coexist: that of
scientific proof and that God’s loving determination to be with us. The God reality, J. B. Stump says, is all
about relationship. I desire a cup of
tea.
God desires to be in relationship with
you. Kind of mind-boggling, that an
eternal being gives one whit about a personal relationship with each one of us,
but there it is.
And as much richness as there is in the
tapestry woven by science, there is a diaphanous golden cloud above that
earnest weaving called God’s mysterious ways.
As such, when we try to square science with religion, it’s not about
fitting God into the gaps, but seeing God in and through all, a separate,
eternal being who desires relationship with us.[5]
We see the personal reality of God so
clearly in today’s gospel. Jesus Christ is
the Word, a part of the world from the beginning, a truly cosmic force. And yet, he came into world as a human being,
longing for relationship. And he was not
understood. The poignancy of that passage,
imagine, the loneliness of God incarnate.
The miracle is that we are still saved, can still recognize Jesus,
although we did not understand when he came!
We see the loving forgiveness of God
here.
Just the other day, I was thinking about
how I have heard that the universe is continuously expanding. And I thought that that kind of spoke of God
to me—we will never have the measure of the universe, as it is always slipping
out of our mind’s grasp, just like we can never hold all of God’s mysteries in
our hands.
And then I read that there is a 10 to
the 500th degree chance of having a universe like ours; a universe
that is hospitable for life.[6] And yet, here we are. If that doesn’t sound like a miracle, I am
not sure what does. Perhaps some of the
wild proofs of science really do point to God, after all.
But does this mean we cast aside the
search for scientific answers? Should we
just recline back into the mystery of it all?
No! In fact, such scientific
striving gives life richness and flavor, as does any search for meaning.
It can teach us the mysteries of God in
a new way.
But just as we did not understand Jesus
fully, and were still saved, we must remember the grace upon grace of God: that
we are saved whether we “get it all” or not.
On NPR’s Science Friday this week, we heard about Athanasius Kircher,
whom they call “The Renaissance Man Who Got it Wrong.” This blessed fellow was a Jesuit priest and
scientist and was really into researching all the exciting scientific
developments of his age and then writing encyclopedias about them. The only problem was that he was still too
stuck in the mindset of his time, the mid 1600s, so he got some things wrong.[7] I think his story is a humbling reminder that we
should strive for scientific and other truths, but we can’t get it all right.
At the end of the day I think we’ve all
got to get a little humble, because we will never hold it all. But lucky for us, Jesus lets us recognize him
and find salvation in him anyway. God
still strives to be in relationship with us despite it all. And like John the Baptist, we have a
mission.
We must keep learning and letting the
light of Christ shine out and through us.
And the mysteries that remain as we learn more and more about that
relationship with God and about our world make it all the better for us to
wander and wonder. So with me, take in
the night’s sky, that star that will lead us to Jesus again next week as we
follow the magi, and let’s say “Thanks be to God!”
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