February 9, 2005
Ashes
Timothy Ferris, the science journalist, wanted to find a new name for the Big Bang, something more dignified, so he held a contest.
Nothing and nobody won. Somebody even had the gall to suggest it be called Genesis. And so it remains. The Big Bang.
But Stephen Hawking calls it the Singularity which, I take it, is about as unique as one can get. So is Stephen Hawking. So are you. So am I.
To think that an explosion of such magnitude could eventuate in you and me maybe just so it could get a spokesperson to make its case and name it, however mundane, causes one to get a real bang out of life — and God. A big bang, indeed.
These Ash Wednesday ashes — as insignificant as they may seem — tell the great story of our origin and our destination and of our connection with all the cosmos. But life gives us a chance to tell the even greater story of what happens in between that origin and that destination whatever it may be.
Maybe one message of the ashes is for us to get some pleasure out of this cosmic Fairy Tale while the getting is good. For that’s an even bigger message, I should think, than believing the silly in-a-cocked-hat notion that the Grand Canyon was spun off in a day or two.