Scientists tell us that our galaxy is home not only to our own sun and its family of planets, but to billions of other stars. They tell us that our disk-shaped galaxy is about one hundred thousand light-years wide and about two thousand light-years thick. Yet, astronomers tell us that this “cosmic disk” (itself made up of billions of stars) is only one of billions of galaxies known to exist in the universe.
It seems that thinking about such a creation should cause me to praise its Creator. But I have other emotions. I find little comfort in a God whose creation can be measured only in light-years and in billions of galaxies, each made up of billions of stars.
Don’t get me wrong. I know that if God were not greater than that which He has created we might all succumb to a creation that is out of control. But what some see through a telescope doesn’t awaken my heart in praise until I also think about what others have seen through a microscope. Through a microscope we see the infinite attention to detail that the God of the universe has given to the “little things of life.”
The inexpressible systems and details of microscopic life allow me to find great comfort and credibility in the One who reassures us that the hairs of our head are all numbered (Matthew 10:29-31), that a sparrow doesn’t fall to the ground unnoticed, and that we are of much more value to Him than many sparrows.
Yet, once again, as I think about the God of little things, the praise slips back into my throat. In His attention to detail, there is danger. Jesus said that we will have to give account for every careless word we have spoken (Matthew 12:36). King David said God not only knows when we stand up and when we sit down, but also what we are thinking (Psalm 139). Solomon said that on a final day of judgment God will examine the secret motives of our heart (Ecclesiastes 12:13-14).
Once again my heart grows cold, until I think of the cross. It is at the cross that my heart finally seems to find wholehearted praise. At Calvary, I can think about the greatness of the God of the galaxies, the One who counts the hairs of my head and the steps of my feet. At Calvary, I can remember the price that it took for Him to pay for the least and worst of my sins, to buy my salvation, and to call me into His undeserved kindness. At Calvary, the God who formed the galaxies becomes the God who loves me, as much as I need to be loved. And for that, I want to praise Him. Now, and forever . . .
