The Brightest Star

And God said, “Let there be light” (Gen 1:3).

I was two years old when I first saw stars, or so my dad tells me all these years later.  I had just gotten my first pair of glasses and, on the way home, for the first time ever, I could clearly see objects farther than an arm-length away.  I was excited and was pressing my nose against the car window as I named all kinds of things.  Apparently my dad weeped when I pointed out the moon.  

Between that night and the present day, I will admit that my wonder for the stars has kind of waned—like the moon, slowly disappearing into a kind of uninspired darkness.  Occasionally, on a September night, like the cool ones that we expect from those in September, I do gaze upward and ponder the spots above, but mostly my thoughts return simply as: “well, that’s…nice.”  And that’s too bad; thoughts more like Pumbaa and Timon’s from The Lion King are, at least, more entertaining. 

I’m not quite sure why my fascination with the stars has disappeared.  Perhaps I’ve seen them so often; or perhaps I’ve become too busy.  I know that I’m frustrated that the light pollution of the city makes it more difficult to see as many as I once did, but is that a reason to stop looking?  Maybe I’ve become too educated.  …Or maybe I’ve stopped thinking about their Mystery. 

Sure, there are some simple facts that I know about stars.  First, they’re huge.  And hot—usually.  And really really hard to get to.  In fact, the closest one to us (besides the sun) is not measured in feet or meters or miles, but in light-years.  (You know you are getting into some serious distances when scientists start measuring length in time-units).    

But this last scientific truth got me thinking for a moment.  The closest star would take four years for us to get to if we were travelling the speed of light.  And how fast is the speed of light?  Well, think of something really fast.  Ferrari?  No, think faster.  F-16 jet-fighter?  No, faster.  A bullet from a cannon?  Ok, that will work.  Now, say that someone fired that bullet into space.  Here, you might think that this thing is going really fast.  In reality, though, it is only going a teenie-tiny, itsy-bitsy, barely-even-worth-mentioning fraction of the speed of light.

What does this mean?  It means that if you’re thinking of road-tripping to the closest star next to the sun, travelling in the fastest car known to man, be prepared to spend, well, your entire life trying to get there… and you will still probably not make it.  

Yet, the mystery of the stars does not end there.  What if I told you that that this star which is four light-years away—when we see it, we are actually seeing it as it was four years ago?  It’s true.  Since its light has to travel four years for us to see it, we’re actually seeing something that, quite possibly, might not be there anymore.  Or, at least, has changed.  That means that in 2007, we are looking at the star as it was in 2003.  And to add more fun to the mix: most stars aren’t four light-years away from us—but millions.  So, ultimately, when you look up at the stars in the sky, you’re seeing things as they were before George Washington or St. Francis or Mary or the Pyramids in Egypt… or your parents (barely).    

Well, that’s nice: I’m really, really small… and insignificant… and slow.  Thanks.             

Not so.

 “I am the light of the world; he who follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (Jn 8:12).             

Whenever I hear about something as huge and as mind-challenging as this, my immediate tendency is to shut down or run away or just leave all of this mental gymnastics to the “smart” people out there.  The truth is, though, that this is God’s creation.  He made it.  And he did so not to show off or to make us feel small or stupid, but to show us how very GOD he is.  And just because the mystery is great doesn’t mean that the understanding is impossible.             

And so, what can we learn from the stars?    

First, God is older than them.  Before George Washington, St. Francis, Mary, the Egyptians, or your parents ever were, GOD WAS.  And is.  And ever shall be.  He is the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end.  He will always be here.  Even when the stars disappear.  

Second, God is more beautiful than the stars; he is more piercing, more deep, more mighty, and more mysterious.  God is The More: his creation never can equal him.  He is always better.  And if we should find ourselves in awe of the stars, their size, their unfathomable distance, their unexplainable ability to make us stop on a cool September night and go “wow”—if we should find ourselves in awe, it is all because of Him.  

Third, God created the stars to make us go “wow!”  He loves to show us beautiful things.  He loves to make our minds and hearts feel so full that they are going to explode in ecstacy.  He loves doing this because, really, he wants us to know how much He loves us.  “How much do I love you?” asks God. “I love you more than the greatest reaches and brilliance of the stars!”  

Lastly, God, who is King of the Universe, the Mighty One who created all of this world and everything in it, comes to us.  Jesus, who is God, said: “I am the light of the world” and, later, “unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood, you will not have life within you.”  It is He, Jesus, God, who made the great stars and all that rests between them and us, and who says right now to you and me: “I want to be so incredibly near to you.”  The One who is more massive and deep and greater than all of our thoughts and desires and needs became one of us and says to us, I want to be so close to you that I want to be within you.  “Take and eat.  This is my body, given up for you.”    

How could our body contain such a mystery as this?  How could our simple body hold the King of the Universe?  Yet, this is precisely what happens in the Eucharist: the one who is the light and who created the light wants to be the light in us and gives himself to be our light: “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it” (Jn 1:5).  

So what does all this mean?  It means that when I go to Mass and I receive the Eucharist, I am receiving the King of the Universe, The More, the One who made all of those stars, the Greatest Love who wants the very best for me, who wants to express love in the deepest and most amazing ways possible.  Likewise, it means that when I go outside and see the stars, no longer am I just seeing ordinary objects, but true expressions of a loving and personal God.  Stars, so it seems, are the diamonds of a God who wants to marry us.  And lastly, it means that when I go back to Mass, I go back to Mass as a child so completely loved by God.  I go back to receive Him who has pursued me and sought me out and gave me every gift and good thing imaginable.  I receive in humble and holy fear His Sacred Body and His Most Precious Blood.    

And all of this makes me think: maybe there’s more to the stars—and to the Mass—than I ever thought before.