The awesome surrounds us ... we need only look

    As one of those grade-school kids who loved astronomy, you can only imagine how excited I was when it was my turn to look through a telescope pointed at Saturn as an adult volunteer at St. Angela Merici’s 2003 Space Camp for second graders.
    The sixth planet had always been my favorite, less swaggering than its neighbor, Jupiter, but in a league of its own on account of its sheer beauty – that roiling surface of pale yellow and of course, those rings, composed of trillions of orbiting ice crystals that appear to coalesce into a single, razor-thin belt.
    As I looked though the lens, seeing Saturn in all its ethereal perfection made me gasp. Yes, the rings were indeed glorious, looking even cooler than they did in the artist’s rendering in my 1966 World Book Encyclopedia and in photos inside National Geographic.
    But what really dazzled my eye was this: Saturn was tilted wildly on its axis, a cock-eyed orientation I later learned was only briefly visible from earth every 19 years. As I took in Saturn’s jarring position in the night sky, I realized that God wasn’t content merely to wow his children by encircling one of his planets in a bracelet of polished gems; he had decided to take it a step further, positioning Saturn in a way that would show off that jewelry to perfection.
    I was having a full-fledged “God moment,” one of those nudges from the natural world that remind us of how masterful, how loving, how kind and generous our Creator is. He had tilted Saturn for us!
    Our God is, indeed, awesome. He awes us. Awesome – that which elicits profound reverence – is a word we throw around a lot today, but do we actively look for the truly awesome?
    I feel we can learn so much by practicing childlike wonder on a daily basis. Amazement over God’s creation teaches us humility – a virtue Jesus had in spades – and engenders gratitude. The cliché “Stop and smell the roses” is around for a reason.
    Look for things that amaze and you’ll find countless antidotes to cynicism. Take Christ’s own birth. Despite its taking place in a stable, the birth of our Savior was “wondrous,” so indicative of hope and so important that secular kings made their way to his crib (led by a star, no less).
    Another great thing about awe: When one is blown away by something, he or she usually becomes more curious. The reverse also is true – the more curious you are, the more you will be awed. Did you know that curiosity was cited in a recent study as one of the primary attributes of happy people?
    Curiosity sometimes gets lumped in with doubt, over-intellectualization and lack of faith, but I see the healthy version as a gift from God. I have never understood why so many scientists are agnostic or atheist, as the intricacies of the physical world bolster my faith – they do not diminish it.
    Anyway, if you’re still skeptical that God created us to be curious, just read the New Testament and see how full of curious people it is. Then observe how loving and patient Jesus is with them, and by extension, with us.
    Sometimes I think we, as Catholic Americans, fail to look for the awesome because it requires us to look outward – away from self – and we are too busy gazing at our own navels. Self-examination is important, but should not be practiced to the point of obsession, or to the detriment of looking outward – to see who you can help and be refreshed by the creation of Genesis. Feeling God’s tender love for us through his dazzling creation surely must be important to the mix of being human, but culture steps in and warns us not to daydream, not to go “all New Age,” and that too much “just being,” i.e., “inaction,” will make us slothful.
    Yet recall that Jesus spent 40 days in the desert to pray and fast in preparation for his Passion and Death. Is it not plausible to assume that at least part of this lengthy period involved admiring the sun as it dipped below the horizon, or tracing the rock silhouettes sculpted by his Father?
    I believe God wants us to use the five senses he gave us – the five we have in this world, at least – to spy glimpses of the divine like the one I saw in Saturn’s jaunty tilt. Examples feel trite when you write them down, but are worth noting: Ever notice the multi-chambered pod that holds the seeds of a single sunflower? That’s a God moment. What about the tunnels of live oaks we drive though every day in New Orleans? My daughter’s chocolate-brown toddler curls used to make ladies in the grocery store swoon, and I think God was daring us to invent parachutes when he designed the jellyfish’s gossamer body.
    How did he make that?
    I am in awe of sunflowers and Saturn.
    What’s on your list?
    Beth Donze can be reached at [email protected]