Sky says: “The sky tells a story about the glory of God; the expanse tells of God’s handiwork” (Psalm 19:2, translation mine) — Perek Shira, 1:1

Who is God? What is God? Creator of the universe? Governor of the world? A being greater than which no being can be conceived? Or a fiction associated with big existential emotions?

The sky tells stories about all these ideas of God.

Weather comes from the sky. Water, heat, light, dark—the sparks that ignite all growth on planet earth. When the sky delivers, we eat. We harvest materials and build shelters. Then, we find safety. Maybe even happiness. Our world seems beautiful, and exquisitely balanced. If we are religious, we may appreciate the Creator, and thank the wise Governor.

Sometimes we catch a big view of the sky. Maybe we see wisps of dark slate clouds moving against a pearly background. Or a solid azure sheet, bright as the sun itself. Perhaps a ladder of reds at sunrise or purples at sunset. A black expanse twinkling with dots and mists of light.

Maybe, then, we feel so small, and also part of something so big. We are images on a canvas so vast, no community could paint it. Or travellers taking tiny steps on a path so long, no one could reach its far edge. Tiny vibrating points in an energy we cannot fully understand.

But sometimes the sky fails us. Droughts and floods bring damage and scarcity. And then, we cry out with anxiety and anger. With no other resources at hand, we may blame the Creator, or beg the Governor to adjust the plan.

The sky tells all these stories about God. The good ones and the bad ones.

This isn’t an abstraction. I learned about God, from the sky, too. So did the characters in many biblical stories. About the Creator, the Governor, the energy of which we are only a tiny part.

For many years, I lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, USA. When the sun shines in North Carolina, all troubling existential questions burn away. The cloudless sapphire sky we call “Carolina blue” shows itself. The glorious beauty of the world fills us. On those days, I know: if there is a Creator, they done good.

So, I think I know the kind of sky Moses saw when he and the priests and seventy elders climbed Mt. Sinai. There “they saw the God of Israel—under whose feet was the likeness of a pavement of sapphire, like the very sky for purity” (Exod. 24:10). And what did they do under this sapphire sky? They “ate and drank” (Exod. 24:11).

Why? Because the bright blue morning sky called to them. “It’s a fine day for a picnic! Come out and enjoy the Creator’s bounty!”

The sky is always beautiful in North Carolina. But sometimes it’s a troubling beauty. The city sits at the intersection of three climate zones. So, weather blows in from every direction and air masses clash spectacularly. In fall, we get hurricanes; in winter, ice storms; spring, tornadoes; summer, severe thunderstorms.

You get used to it. If you have a home, that is. When winds gust or ice pellets lay heavy on branches, you seek a safe room—lest the trees snap and come crashing through the roof.  You identify your tornado shelter and keep the weather radio close. You prepare for frequent power outages. And sometimes you just clean up the damage. But North Carolina is in the US Bible Belt, after all, and people look out for one another.

Still, I loved the drama. But I grieved the losses. One fall, out by the coast, eight people died in a single hurricane. And I was angry—with the Governor of the World, a role I don’t believe God actually takes on. And yet. I demanded that God show up and account for the disaster. “Why?” I asked. “Why did this happen to us, here and now? We have weather radios, emergency workers, roads and cars and helicopters. How could you allow them to fail?” And God answered—or so I imagined. Not in words, but in a rush of feeling. With the message, “I am that I am.” And I was comforted.

Why? I don’t know. It seems weird.

Back then, I did not know the book of Job. But now I know: Job and God have a similar conversation. In his grief, Job cries out “Why? Why did I lose my wealth, my children, my health? I was righteous, I was pious. What mistakes did I make?” (Job 13:23) And God answers. “Who dares to ask such a question? Do you understand anything about how the planet works—the stars, the dawn, the snow, the wind, the rain, the ice, the clouds and the lightning?” (Job 38). And Job is comforted, too.

Why? Because he looks into the expanse of sky and reads a satisfying story about God.

Does that seem weird to you, too?

First in my Perek Shira Series. Stay tuned for more!