Pin It If ever I was to worship any God-made thing which (heaven forbid) I would never do after reading Ezekiel, Jeremiah AND Habakkuk, it would be the moon. In the winter I sleep solitaire in a bedroom with a wall made of sliding glass. The glass is not blinded. In the summer I sleep outside on the deck in front of this glass wall. Either way, my view is unimpeded of whatever the night sky wishes to present to me. I am intrigued at the feeling of security the moon gives me. Unlike the sun, it always comes out of obscurity; it is not a brass trumpet in your face—and yet no less faithful. I am more comforted in the fact that the moon is always there than that the sun is always there.
I think I feel in good hands when I am awash in the beneficent bathing of the moon’s light. It does not share my worries or concerns and seems to make of them such little things. It doesn’t belittle them so much as it makes me think grander thoughts. If the moon glimmering at night awakens me with its single eye penetrating my night visions I feel like I could swim to the moon, following at my silent leisure its lighted path. Or perhaps I would hear only the rhythmic intake and wheeze of my own breathing, a soothing pump in that expanse of white light.
The moon’s state of being ‘tis a puzzlement'. It is as though it says to me; I don’t have to always be here. I could fall from the heavens. After all, I am a dead star. Nevertheless, I am here to lend silver and shadow to the black of night. It satisfies me somehow that a dead star is still of grand use, of divine design.
A fat moon makes me want to come closer and touch it. Indeed, if I were a pagan, a heathen, a gentile (and in my Christian climb I have been all those things) I would be a moon worshiper. Instead, I will be wiser and worship He who created its orbit and purpose, and be grateful for the evidence of what Father’s omniscience encompasses: a light for troubled children in the night.