When I consider the heavens the work of your fingers,
the
moon and stars which you have set in place,
what is man. . . Psalm 8
We really don’t matter much.
I don’t know that I could type an opening line more
politically incorrect. I could smear ethnic or racial groups, and some bigot
somewhere would cheer. I could cuss like a D1 coach, and some reader would
thank me for my refreshing honesty.
But try this on for size. Walk up to your favorite kid—let’s
make him or her some sweet pre-teen. Reach for her hand, take it in your own,
then smile and say, “You know, Tiff, like me, you really don’t matter much.” Visit
some convalescent home and pull the same stunt. In both cases, such behavior
would be considered untoward in the extreme.
Imagine saying it to activist gay and lesbians, or the
boisterous crowds who oppose them. Imagine saying it to your own children. Imagine
saying it to your parents, your spouse. Imagine someone saying it to you. “You
know, you really don’t matter much.”
But that’s the intent behind David’s space talk in Psalm 8. When
judged by the immensity of the God’s universe, human beings have comparative
insignificance.
Western Christianity has, for centuries, considered pride
the most malignant of the seven deadly sins, and with good reason. It wasn’t
sex that led to Eve’s seduction by the serpent or Adam’s mimicry. They both wanted
to be less like themselves and more like God. In humanity, you can take it to
the bank: pride goeth before the fall.
And it’s pride that lives near the heart of our consumerist
culture. Imagine a television ad that proclaims to 50 million listeners that,
really, we don’t matter much. Not likely. What all our marketing proclaims is
that what our very special lives will be immeasurably enhanced if only we slip
our hips into the right jeans or undergo cosmetic surgery for those crow’s
feet.
But why signal out the media for special disdain when all of
us, in thousands of ways every day of our lives, seek our own interests at the
expense of others? On the job, in our leisure, in our most intimate
relationships, we regularly, almost instinctively, put ourselves first. Human
beings are wired for selfishness.
Yet, each of us, literally, is of no greater significance
than a grain of sand on an ocean beach, a single inconsequential leaf in a
mammoth national forest. That’s what David is saying with this memorable
comparison.
The character of the argument is both physical and
aesthetic. As I write, the Cassini-Solstic probe is investigating the planet
Saturn. To get there, this incredible spacecraft spent seven years journeying
more than 2.2 billion miles at speeds that are unimaginable. Consider the
unimaginable reach of space, and then ask yourself what is man?
But our mattering so little
also an aesthetic sort of thing. How awesome are we, really, when compared to
the diamond-studded night sky? We really don’t matter all that much.
But the song’s last bars have yet to be sung. All this
belittling David is up to—it has cause, of course, because the greatest miracle
is not even a brilliant night sky or unfathomable, cosmic distances. Something
there is, of course, that’s even more miraculous: how majestic is your name in
all the earth.
That’s what the King is singing about in Psalm 8.
No comments:
Post a Comment