The heavens aren't just telling the glory of God, they're
passing the knowledge of it along to each other—day by day and night by night.
You can't hear their voices, but it wouldn't matter if you did; because, they
have no language. Or, maybe, no language that you and I with our limited human
tongues can understand.
There's a belief that we once could understand those voices.
Think of the stories of Aesop, the fairy tales that have been passed generation
to generation. What do we find again and again? Creation that speaks in a
language we can understand. Be it Aslan or the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood,
there are stories about a different time and place when we could understand the
voice of creation. Maybe, we will find ourselves in such a world again when all
things are redeemed.
But we do not need to be ignorant of what Creation says to
itself and what it longs to say to us. At each sunrise, the old day is
whispering all it saw as it travelled the sky. Each night, the stars tell one
another of the owls that hunt, the deer that forage, and the sleep of many
things. And if we listen, we can hear them telling us of the one who created
all things.
Star maker, life of
all things may we, like the rest of your creation, tell the stories of your
love to one another.
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