“Did it ever occur to you that it was Christ who humanized infinitude, so to speak? When God became man he made you and me and the rest of us pretty important people. He not only redeemed us, he saved us from the terrible burden of infinity.”…
His eyes were glowing in the dark. He threw his hands up toward the stars: “My hand, my feet, my poor little brain, my eyes, my ears, all matter more than the whole sweep of these constellations!” he burst out. “God himself, the God to whom this whole universe-specked display is as nothing, God himself had hands like mine and feet like mine, and eyes, and brain, and ears!…” He looked at me intently. “Without Christ we would be little more than bacteria breeding on a pebble in space or glints of ideas in a whirling void of abstractions. Because of him, I can stand here out under the cold immensity and know that my infinitesimal pulse-beats and acts and thoughts are more importance than this whole show of a universe. Only for him, I would be crushed beneath the weight of all these worlds. Only for him, I would tumble dazed into the gaping chasms of space and time. Only for him, I would be confounded before the awful fertility and intricacy of all life. Only for him I would be the merest of animalcules crawling on the merest of motes in a frigid infinity.” He turned away from me, turned toward the spread of night behind the parapet. “But behold,” he said, his voice rising with exultancy, “behold! God wept and laughed and dined and wined all suffered and died even as you and I. Blah for the immensity of space! Blah for those who would have me a microcosm in the meaningless tangle of an endless evolution! I’m no microcosm. I, too, am a son of God!”
He finished his outburst with a great gesture to the stars.
Magnificat, Dec, 2012, Vol. 14 No. 10