Starting
Point Stars burn with a living hope
By JAMES STEPHEN
BEHRENS
Do you find stars beautiful? I do. I
have written about them before. I suppose that for centuries, words have been
crafted in their honor. And rightfully so.
In ages past, they were thought to be dots of light shining
through tiny holes in the far and high canopy of night.
Stars were followed carefully, for it was believed that they knew
the secrets of human origins.
Only recently has science let us know how incredibly far they are,
and how countless they are, and, most interesting, how the very stuff of life
originated with them. We come from very far away, it seems. Descendants of a
long-ago fire, and a strange fire at that, infused with some kind of love and
purpose.
Not long ago there was an article in The New York Times
that suggested, maybe even argued, that we are alone in the universe. No other
life, according to the author, exists. Chances are, we are all by our lonesome
here.
I thought about that for a while and concluded that it
doesnt make a difference, really. I thought about people who sit alone in
all-night diners and people who cry for company in a world of several billion
people. Thinking about them, it seems to me that we have much to learn about
befriending each other and making our planet a less lonely place.
We are lonely for God, and in that loneliness, life takes on a
special kind of beauty, purpose, tenderness. We do some hurtful things out of
loneliness. If we could better understand Who it is we are lonely for, I think
we would be more at peace with our neighbors and ourselves.
There would be more company in all-night diners.
A few nights ago, I was walking here at the monastery on a path
that winds down behind the main building. A moon was rising, and there were
stars. And it was beautiful.
The thought occurred to me that the universe must be a noisy
place. I could hear ripples of water within a stones throw of me. Geese
were gliding across the lake. I heard the rustle of leaves as the wind caressed
them. Air, I guess, transports sound. Or is it better to say that it is the
medium of sound? No air, no sound. I looked up and thought of the incredible
roars of the fires, countless fires, blazing in the heavens. Stars do not
really twinkle. They are infernos. And the Big Bang, the great explosion that
started it all. Where did that noise go? Where does the sound of the universe
go?
Well, we would surely perish if we heard it all. A constant roar.
Amazing, I mused, that we are shielded from all of that. We have silent nights
and those walks on the beach when all you hear is the surf. We can hear the
beat of a human heart. We listen for the cry of a baby. So much to hear and
interpret, day by day, and hopefully with wisdom as we age.
Is there other life up there?
Yes, I would say. Like us? I think so, in some ways. A kind of
life that is rather shy, seemingly distant, but generous. Very generous. A kind
of life that keeps the roars of galactic fires and explosions visible but
muted. And, a kind of life that has given us some crucial residuals, traces
here and there, of where we do come from, of what we need to live and know and
believe in. A Life that gives traces of what He is like.
For as I walk here and wonder about the silence that surrounds me,
I think of the Beatitudes, and prayers and sacrificial loving. I ponder our
search for truth and goodness, and how seemingly infinite is the hearts
need for goodness, for mercy, for tenderness. And, above all, I walk beneath
the stars and know that I can, if I try, find ways to be good, be tender, be
merciful.
The Life that is out there is here. In silence I know He speaks
and has given us His way of speaking. The distant fires do travel, their roars
humbled to words of kindness.
Stars burn with hope. A living hope. I can walk beneath them at
night, and live by their Creator in my days.
Trappist Fr. James Stephen Behrens lives at Holy Spirit
Monastery in Conyers, Ga.
National Catholic Reporter, May 19,
2000
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