In July of 2020, Comet Neowise was making a pass toward earth that promised to be vivid and exciting to see. The amateur pictures people were sharing were beautiful and the more professional images were downright dazzling. I asked Nathaniel and Isaac if they wanted to try and spot the comet before it sped away from sight. We downloaded the Sky View app, did a little reading to know where and when to locate Neowise and eventually set out.
We spent a memorable night driving around the outskirts of Durham, driving north, south and then east in a vain attempt to spot the comet. The light pollution of the city and the hopelessly humid and cloudy skies yielded only a faint glimpse of a fuzzy pinhead. It looked amazing on the app, but was less stunning in real life. We didn’t really get a good look at the heralded comet, which was disappointing, but it was a fun time for father and sons!
Lately, though, I have been struck by the vividness of our clear winter skies. When I’ve taken the time to look, I have noticed the stars, vivid pinholes of light against the black backdrop of the sky. There is no need for an app to interpret what I see. I can simply marvel at the clarity of stars and planets, though I know the great distances between them and me.
For the stars especially, I know the light I see is ancient, having traveled countless years to meet me in those quiet, cold moments. It is as if they are beams meant to poke their way straight from the edge of eternity right into my eyes. I experience awe, humility, and comfort. Creation is big; I am small; yet there is a place in all of it that is uniquely mine to receive. Sometimes it takes the blast of cold winter air and Polaris staring down at me to make me ponder how much we’ve lost by fixating only on the lesser lights down here.
The time between Christmas and the beginning of Lent names the Sundays between as the season of Epiphany. Literally translated from its Greek roots, the word “Epiphany” means “to shine over,” and we regularly translate its meaning as “manifestation.” The season begins with the day of Epiphany, when we remember the story of the magi, foreign stargazers led to Jesus by the light of a star (Matthew 2:1-12). During Epiphany, we ponder how Jesus’s significance became manifest in the world through his own emerging vocation. Epiphany ends with Transfiguration Sunday, when we remember when Jesus went up on a mountain with a few of his disciples and was transformed in their presence: “and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.” (Matthew 17:1-8).
Epiphany is a season bookended by stories of light and revelation. God used light to show the magi how to find the baby Emmanuel, little God-with-us. At the Transfiguration, through the mystical light which permeated his face and clothing, the disciples viewed Christ’s enduring glory which would overcome the power of death.
I pray that this will be a time when we can approach Jesus like a chilly, clear winter night when the light of the stars pokes through the eternity of the universe and aims straight at our hearts. I hope God will be revealed to us this season in a way that evokes feelings of awe, of humility, and of care. God is big, and we are small. Still, there is a place in it all for each of us to occupy. The God who brings each light in the heavens to your little life has placed you here to be a living light in this world. That is an encouraging thought. Let your light shine!
Grace and Peace,
Christopher