Psalm 8 v 4 - 5

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers
The moon and the stars that you have ordained

What are mortals that you should be mindful of them
Mere human beings that you should seek them out?

As I entered the church last Sunday, I caught sight out of the corner of my eye of what looked like a giant balloon and I was flummoxed. Richard Branson popped into my mind. No prizes for guessing who hadn’t been attending to the notices. But as I sat and watched my planet revolving on its axis, its power possessed me. It is an extraordinary emotion: to be aware of my tiny-ness, the planet’s immensity, the planet’s smallness in the universe, and perhaps most peculiar, my reality relative to the Gaia installation. It is a dizzying pendulum swing between a mortal’s conscious being and the multi-universe.

Once upon a time people would have pondered the mighty works of God when thunder rolled or the sun disappeared behind the moon or plague swept through the land. Now we know how these things happen without divine intervention. And that is as it should be, since the point of humanity is to grow in wisdom and understanding. I am content that other people can explain creation scientifically and I don’t deny their knowledge. But it seems to me that if we lose the sense of mystery at the heart of creation, we are poorer. As I sit contemplating Gaia, I am inspired, not by the scientific reality, but by a sense of the sacred mystery of it all. And my rationale for this stance? My experience as a mere mortal, of being in the hands of the God who has sought me out.