It seems that people, finite and small, are generally fascinated by anything bigger or older than we are. God, dinosaurs, and outer space all capture us with their mystery because they’re too large and too ancient for us to understand.
While I love the universe and its existential enormity, my small, insecure ego sometimes wonders how the universe feels about me. We’ve never actually had a conversation about it. A sub-freezing void freckled with black holes and imploding stars doesn’t exactly seem welcoming. I’ve noticed, however, that when governments send astronauts up into outer space, the universe doesn’t usually spit them back out.
That must be a good sign.
And as interesting as dinosaurs are, I think we only feel comfortable studying them because the fossils we find buried underground seem to have lost their enormous appetites. Otherwise, I’m not sure 5th graders would be very excited about writing book reports on gigantic monsters that eat scientists.
And God? I’m still trying to figure him out. He’s big. And old. But I’m almost certain there’s nothing to be afraid of.