THE THREAD | Advent II: To behold the sky
They were creatures that always looked up to behold the sky.
In the early days they gazed at the heavens, read the field for symbols, found a firmament of meaning. They saw the floodgates open to release their god’s wrath, saw the rainbow as a sign of their god’s promise, saw a moving cloud as a sign of their god’s will. They saw the stars, billions of them, each one lit for one of Abraham’s seed forever. They saw one star lit over a small town in Palestine. They looked to the sky and found their god.
In the middle years they took a cold, hard look into space. They looked beyond their imagined firmament and discovered this vast expanse, this expanding vastness. They saw beyond the boundaries that once could contain their belief; their belief had begun to leak out through the many cracks. They saw darkness, the depths of it all. Their god was dead. They snuffed him out. They looked to the sky, beyond their god to what is beyond.
And in the latter days, in their end times that kept turning out to be new beginnings, these creatures looked to the sky. They look now. They behold them. They wake one day and look to the sky and see a new image of what they’ve only seen in waking nightmares: a black hole. This crushing force, causing destruction more powerful than any firmament’s floodgate. They see a force that could crush everything that they love. They flee from such a force, or fight against it, or freeze in their fear.
They are small creatures. Some will always hold to old gods. Some will insist on all they know. Sometimes their light grows dim, as if they are nearing an edge, a final horizon.
Yet for some the fear is paired with awe. Awe at the odds. Awe at the gifts of an improbable God. Awe at the violence alive in the universe on such massive scales, and yet in small pockets scattered throughout space, like here on this creature’s earth, so much light, so much life, so much to counter the darkness. Awe at the gift of it all, so many chances to receive from the abundance and to give thanks, more ways to give than there are stars in the sky. Occasionally they behold a bright new star, pack their tents, and follow in awe.
And they are held at all times by the sky they behold.
Originally written after seeing the first captured image of a black hole, March 2019
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Consider this my busker jar. Some folks have asked if there's a way to support my writing as I work my way through new creative projects. Community support for artists in the form of direct patronage has been around for centuries, even before convenient clicks on internet links. So if you'd like to support my writing in this way, feel free to use Paypal (andrewjohnsonkc@gmail.com) or Venmo (@Andrew-Johnson-45954).
But no pressure at all. I intend to continue this habit of sharing weekly letters -- with some new additions coming in the New Year! I hope you will keep reading and responding and engaging.
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What I'm reading: This story about Leaf Town, this analysis of current conspiracy theories, Eugene Peterson's Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places
What I'm listening to: Bonnie Raitt's debut album, Jeff Buckley's Sketches for My Sweetheart The Drunk, more Guarneri Quartet
Local businesses I'm supporting for the holidays (save our small businesses!): Wiseblood Booksellers, Mills Record Company, Indigo Wild, Monarch Coffee, Browne's Irish Marketplace, Urban Cafe, Hello Pie KC, Oddly Correct, Billie's Grocery
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Have a good week,
Andrew