I was mowing under our large oak tree yesterday, listening to Helplessness Blues by Fleet Foxes. The album was released before summer vacation in 2011, and it always reminds me of Maine. I had it on constant repeat as I ran along the sunny blue coastline that August.
Yesterday, the words of the quiet lullaby “Blue Spotted Tail” struck me:
Why in the night sky are the lights hung?
Why is the earth moving ‘round the sun?
Floating in a vacuum with no purpose—not a one
Why in the night sky are the lights hung?
The night sky has always inspired profound searching. Man looks at the stars twinkling and says, “Why?” The Maine coast is a fantastic place for stargazing. Perhaps you know the feeling: the more you look, the more your eyes try to adjust to take in more. The vastness makes your head swim. But to think that these burning spheres are “floating in a vacuum with no purpose—not a one”? That’s a reality that is crippling to comprehend.
If planets and galaxies—fierce, immovable, enduring, and awesome—exist for no reason at all, how meaningless then is the life of a small, changeable man whose years “are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty” (Ps 90:10)? The Psalmist was similarly humbled when he saw the lights hung in the night sky:
“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?” (Ps 8:3-4)
“No purpose—not a one”? This cannot be. It simply cannot. Man would be crushed under the weight of purposeless existence. But that does not answer the question: Why then?
Because, of course, the questions “Why do stars exist? Why the earth? Why the sun?” are really just indirect ways of asking the question that really gnaws at man’s core: And why do I exist?
In The Supper of the Lamb, Robert Capon absolutely revels in a curious answer: No purpose—not a one. God had no purpose for this universe, no purpose for mankind. He has no need whatsoever; there is no necessity for our existence. What then?
“Indeed, the whole distinction between art and trash, between food and garbage, depends on the presence or absence of the loving eye . . . That, you know, is why the world exists at all. It remains outside the cosmic garbage can of nothingness, not because it is such a solemn necessity that nobody can get rid of it, but because it is the orange peel hung on God’s chandelier, the wishbone in His kitchen closet. He likes it; therefore, it stays. The whole marvelous collection of stones, skins, feathers, and string exists because at least one lover has never quite taken His eye off it, because the Dominus vivificans (The Life-giving Lord) has his delight with the sons of men.”
There it is. Why do I exist? Because God loves me. God is not a pragmatist; He is a lover. I exist not for a purpose but to be loved. There is no cosmic necessity for my being. I am because God chose to create a vessel of mercy to fill to overflowing with his effervescent everlasting affection.
We are because He delights in us, his little orange peels—meaningless in comparison to the vast heavens “but in the sight of God chosen and precious” (1 Pt 2:4).
In Christ, God has demonstrated once for all: He likes us; therefore, we stay.
Camp Bakewell Is a Success!
I couldn’t have asked for more precious bakers to join my kitchen this past week for our inaugural Camp Bakewell. They loved their new bakebooks, making cookies, scones, and pies, but most of all . . . they loved kneading!
We are going to do it all over again July 7-11. If you live near Washington, PA, and would like for your home bakers to learn a new recipe or two and pick up some new skills and kitchen courage, email me to reserve one of the last spots:
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