Artemis II, Interstellar, and the Wonder of the Gospel
During an iconic scene in Christopher Nolan’s film Interstellar, the film’s protagonist (played by Matthew McConaughey) muses, “We used to look up at the sky and wonder at our place in the stars. Now we just look down and worry about our place in the dirt.”
I thought of that scene as Artemis II flew 252,756 miles around the moon, the furthest humans have ever traveled from Earth. As stunning images were sent back to Earth, I experienced a jarring contrast. I found myself scrolling through the usual muck and mire of attention-seeking hot takes and political divisiveness on social media and then—bam—a pristine image of Earth taken from space by Artemis II. Those photos offered a glimpse at the stars—from the stars—that reminded me to look up and wonder.
Throughout the space mission, astronaut Victor Glover, a man of faith, provided a consistent voice of clarity. As the crew prepared to orbit to the far side of the moon, which would cause them to lose contact with Earth temporarily, Glover offered these profound words:
“As we get close to the nearest point to the moon and farthest point from Earth, as we continue to unlock the mysteries of the cosmos, I would like to remind you of one of the most important mysteries down on Earth, and that’s love. Christ said, in response to what was the greatest command, that it was to love God with all that you are, and he also, being a great teacher, said the second is equal to it, and that is to love your neighbor as yourself. And so, as we prepare to go out of radio communication, we still feel your love from Earth. And to all of you down there on Earth and around Earth, we love you from the moon.”
In his statement, Glover touched on a paradox of Christianity: how overwhelmingly small humans are within God’s vast creation and the unfathomably disproportionate importance we have been granted. To see Earth from the orbit of the moon exposes how trite our petty squabbles are. Yet God—the creator of the universe—so loved the world that he sent his own son down to that tiny speck in the cosmos to live among us and redeem us from our sin.
Perhaps it shouldn’t take sending brave astronauts to the furthest point in God’s creation humans have ever traveled to reopen our eyes to these truths. But as McConaughey suggested, we’ve grown so cynical and preoccupied with the dirt that we’ve lost the wonder of the stars and of God’s mysterious and indescribable love.
Science and faith are often pitted as opposing forces, which does a grievous disservice to both. Science doesn’t disprove or contradict faith. Rather, the curiosity and exploratory spirit of science can be a means through which God reawakens our souls to the mysteries and wonder of faith. The apostle Paul frequently spoke of the “mystery” of the gospel (Ephesians 3:3-6, 6:19; Colossians 1:26-27, 4:3). Through the person of Jesus Christ and the special revelation of Scripture, the gospel has been made known to us. Such revelation should not result in apathy but in an overpowering sense of wonder.
God created us from dust (Genesis 2:7) and sent his own son to die as an emphatic demonstration that he “so loved the world” (John 3:16). Our life among the dirt matters. But sometimes we need to look higher and marvel at where we fit in amongst the stars. If an image of Earth sent by people traveling through space fills us with awe and wonder, how much more so should we be humbled and exhilarated by the creator of the cosmos? When is the last time you felt the mystery and awe of the gospel? How long has it been since you felt overwhelmingly small—and yet unfathomably loved—in God’s presence? If it has been a while, perhaps it is time to look up and allow yourself to wonder.
