In the fourth instalment of a five-part series, we uncover the answer to the riddle. (Read parts 1, 2, and 3.)
We’ve been looking at Psalm 8, and we’ve seen the puzzle it presents us with. On the one hand, we are nothing compared to the majestic God who created the universe. On the other hand, God tells us that we are important—that we are created for a purpose in this world. (more…)
In the second instalment of a five-part series, we contemplate the extent of our significance in the universe.(Read part 1.)
We’ve been looking at Psalm 8, and we’ve discovered that stargazing helps us to see how insignificant we really are.
Just think about the size of space for a moment. Imagine you could get into the fastest jet on earth (last time I checked, this was the SR-71 Blackbird). Its official speed record is almost 2,500 miles per hour. Now imagine you could speed it up 100 times to 250,000 miles per hour. Then imagine that you could take it on a trip to space. It would take you an hour to get to the moon—that’s pretty reasonable! It would take you eight days to get to Mars, the closest planet to Earth. It would take you four months to get to the planet Saturn (remember, we’re travelling 100 times faster than the fastest jet ever built). It would take you a year and a half to get to the planet Pluto at the edge of our solar system. To get to the closest star to the sun, Proxima Centauri, it would take you 12,000 years. To get to the centre of our own Milky Way galaxy, it would take you 80 million years. To the next closest galaxy, Andromeda, it would take you seven billion years. To get to the edge of the visible universe, it would take you 40 million million years. And they think that the size of the non-visible universe is vastly huger than this: that would take you a million million million million, etc. years.
Note: this is the first instalment of a five-part series.
I’m a fan of space. I don’t actually know much about the details of astronomy or cosmology or astrophysics; I just think that the space is really cool.
If there are any real scientists reading this, I want to say thanks. I know that most of your work involves boring and tedious searching, collating and number crunching. Thanks for doing all that stuff so that I can see those fantastic pictures of nebulas on the internet and wonder at it all.
For example, I’m a fan of millisecond pulsars. A gigantic star, millions of light years away, explodes in a huge supernova. It creates a fireball ten million billion billion times bigger than Hiroshima. In its ashes, it leaves behind a neutron star made of dense atomic nuclei, squashed together at a density 10 trillion times greater than steel. A teaspoon full of neutron star weighs about the same as Sydney Harbour. Sometimes this neutron star will steal stuff from a nearby star and start spinning. Some neutron stars spin hundreds of times a second—a whole star rotating as fast as an idling car engine. Many of these super-dense, revving stars send out pulses of electromagnetic radiation, milliseconds apart. And we might be able to use these millisecond pulsars as standard cosmological clocks to help us detect gravitational waves, explore space-time bending, and understand more about the tiniest particles in the universe.
But apart from the wow factor, what’s the point of learning about space?
We live in an age that thinks we should question everything. The bored, affluent culture around us is convinced that there are no answers, only questions. We live in a cynical, sceptical society that views the only worthwhile intellectual activities as being questioning, disputing, arguing and challenging. Furthermore, when you’ve tested something, you ought to move on and test something else. The goal is an open mind, with every fresh set of questions washing in one side and out the other. (more…)
I’ve just read through the Apostle Paul’s letters and noted all the words he uses to describe his ministry. It’s a fascinating and humbling list. (more…)
There’s a stand of huge old oak trees in the park where I walk. They have a slightly surprised air, as if they’ve been transplanted from a genteel English landscape and are wondering how they ended up here, surrounded by scruffy wattle trees under a burning Australian sun, with graffiti tags on their trunks and white cockatoos squawking from their branches like rowdy antipodean visitors. (more…)
Today, we think of an ‘ivory tower’ as a place where you are separated from the flow of ordinary life. We are most likely to use ‘ivory tower’ when speaking of academics—on the rather quaint notion that they only need to understand the philosophy of the later Middle Ages, or the conjugation of irregular verbs in Urdu (or whatever), and that their specialist knowledge somehow puts them out of touch with the ‘real world’. (more…)
One of Jesus’ most jarring statements occurs in the story of the Syrophoenician woman, Mark 7:24-27:
And from there [Jesus] arose and went away to the region of Tyre and Sidon. And he entered a house and did not want anyone to know, yet he could not be hidden. But immediately a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit heard of him and came and fell down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, a Syrophoenician by birth. And she begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. And he said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”
This saying of Jesus, spoken as it is to a poor, vulnerable woman with a suffering, oppressed little girl, sounds uncharacteristically harsh. Not only does it seem to reflect a nationalistic, even racist, attitude to God’s blessing (God’s blessing is for his children, not for Syrophoenicians), it’s couched in the most derogatory terms imaginable. (When Jesus mentions “dogs”, he means dirty little mongrels, not adorable Labrador puppies.) (more…)
I love puzzling over difficult parts of the Bible. I love it, for the difficulty is in my head, not on the page, and puzzling over these difficulties gives me an opportunity to change the way I think.
Reading the Psalms is always a great delight. It is easy to notice when it is one of those delightful kind of Psalms. But some others, of course, take you through the valley of the shadow before the delight arrives. It certainly does come, but only as if through the darkness. I am glad not many are as black as Psalm 88; man, it must take you low, if its high point reads, “You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness.” (Ps 88:18). But even these dark chapters from the Psalmist’s life can resonate with the ones the author of life is writing in your life story. In some (possibly sick) way, this can provide you some encouragement and help (although I never really understand how this works; you say to a friend, “I am feeling pretty low”, and they say, “Me too”, and you both feel better???)
What is goodness? What does it mean that God is good? Do we really believe in a good God, and if we do, how can we even begin to talk to other people about him? Paul Grimmond investigates. (more…)
When Jesus breathed his last and died, the curtain of the temple tore in two, thus symbolizing that the way is finally open for all believers to enter God’s presence. By Christ’s sacrifice, the barrier has been removed, and all who rely on that sacrifice have open access to God. Or so I used to think. But a look at the Old Testament understanding of the tabernacle and temple has made me think again. (more…)
You knock on the door of the dingy inner city terrace. You probably did see a whole lot of Harley Davidsons outside on the footpath, but obviously you weren’t thinking. The door opens, and now you see a room full of leather-clad, patch-emblazoned, hairy types of the bike-riding persuasion. You were supposed to invite the happy householder to a gospel thingy at the local church. If you go along with that plan, you suddenly see a different future stretching out before you—and it doesn’t seem to stretch that far. (more…)