Fall in Love with Galaxies

Matthew Fox wrote, “I propose we fall in love several times a day for the rest of our lives. You could fall in love with the galaxies – there are trillions out there!... You could fall in love with fish and plants, animals, and birds, and with people, especially those who are different from us.”

As I read this statement, besides the initial sensation of noticing how beautiful a statement it is, I’m taken aback with a feeling of awestruck hope.

As I prayed through it and even sang it on my guitar, I felt myself being consumed with hope.

I love the idea of falling in love with the galaxies — the trillions of them. I love the idea that there is so much out there we do not know – there’s so much out there, unexplored. While we often think the stars are only above us, they actually surround us. We’re held by trillions of unknown, distant galaxies, and we are given the eternal option of falling in love with each one – of falling in love with the unknown.

I like that.

God used to be in a box.

I understood the ins and outs of theology and apologetics. I could tell you everything about the nature and character of God, what pleases him and what makes him angry. I knew everything about the Divine — I could write and teach about the Divine — and you know what happened when I finally thought I understood God…

I fell out of love.

God was a series of systems — of dos and don’ts and combinations. I knew how to twist God’s arm with my words and obedience, and it all became very boring.

But a few years ago, when I was at my worst — when my boredom with God turned into anger and apathy — God broke out of that box. God expanded. God became larger and untamable, and, with that, God became un-understandable.

But at the same time, knowing that all faiths describe God as Love — my faith explicitly in 1 John — I still felt that I was allowed to fall in love with both what I knew about God and what I didn’t.

I could fall in love with mystery — and I find that as romantic as it is exciting.

There are trillions of galaxies out there, each one laced in both mystery and hope, and while I’ll probably never have the opportunity to visit any beyond the one I find myself in today, at least on this side of eternity, I can fall in love with them. I can fall in love with both mystery and hope.

And because of that, I can fall in love with the mystery of others, especially those I do not understand — those who are different.

Like God, I do not have to fully grasp the totality of the strangers whom God called to be my neighbors. They are allowed to be mysterious. They are allowed to be different. Like the galaxies, they are allowed to be unexplorable, unknowable, and yet still my heart can be open to each one.

Much like the distant galaxies, they can even be inhospitable to me, and even dangerous. They can be scary — something every fiber of my being beckons me to stay far away from… and perhaps in some situations, as a responsible father, I should.

But opening up my heart? Expanding my heart toward their plight and position in the universe? That’s doable, now isn’t it… if I make that a priority.

If I teach my heart to fall in love with them every day.

Much like the mysteries of God — much like the mysteries of the galaxies — I don’t have to have a logical reason why I love them. I can simply love them because God is love.

So there’s no reason I shouldn’t be as well.