God and Nature 2026 #1
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By Eugene Curry
Blinding bright against the darkness and the moonbeam,
Flooding spectral wavelengths across the spectrum wide,
The titanic quasar roars forth a ceaseless scream,
Vaunting in its mighty pride.
A singularity shrouded in gas agleam,
It grinds all in its invincible violent tide--
Devouring what draws too near in a fatal stream
Where bent spaces coincide.
Arcturus, Vega, windswept Rigel, Mahasim,
Lordly Betelgeuse, Sirius, Tislit—“the Bride”--
While each is brilliant in the heavens where they teem,
all pale when set by its side.
Yet, for all this power that might well seem supreme,
A more fiercely insistent marvel does abide
Blinding bright against the darkness and the moonbeam,
Shouting down all things beside.
On a small world about a small star one could deem
Undistinguished and plain, the Great God’s Son once died.
And all the lights of heaven failed—as in a dream--
When He, God-forsaken, cried.
His blood, louder than giants—quasars, seraphim--
Speaks as Abel’s once spoke and will not be denied.
And his blood speaks for me--it speaks the word “redeem”--
And to that bright Word I’m tied.
In a realm, then, marked by the bold and the extreme,
I’m not eclipsed by prodigies nor cast aside.
I am secure within this, the grand cosmic scheme,
Well wrapped in the Crucified.
Eugene A. Curry is a husband, a father, and an evangelical pastor active in the Pacific Northwest. He has published articles on topics related to the intersection of science and Christian faith in journals such as Zygon, Theology and Science, and Perspectives on Science and Christian Faith. He is now trying his hand at poetry.
Blinding bright against the darkness and the moonbeam,
Flooding spectral wavelengths across the spectrum wide,
The titanic quasar roars forth a ceaseless scream,
Vaunting in its mighty pride.
A singularity shrouded in gas agleam,
It grinds all in its invincible violent tide--
Devouring what draws too near in a fatal stream
Where bent spaces coincide.
Arcturus, Vega, windswept Rigel, Mahasim,
Lordly Betelgeuse, Sirius, Tislit—“the Bride”--
While each is brilliant in the heavens where they teem,
all pale when set by its side.
Yet, for all this power that might well seem supreme,
A more fiercely insistent marvel does abide
Blinding bright against the darkness and the moonbeam,
Shouting down all things beside.
On a small world about a small star one could deem
Undistinguished and plain, the Great God’s Son once died.
And all the lights of heaven failed—as in a dream--
When He, God-forsaken, cried.
His blood, louder than giants—quasars, seraphim--
Speaks as Abel’s once spoke and will not be denied.
And his blood speaks for me--it speaks the word “redeem”--
And to that bright Word I’m tied.
In a realm, then, marked by the bold and the extreme,
I’m not eclipsed by prodigies nor cast aside.
I am secure within this, the grand cosmic scheme,
Well wrapped in the Crucified.
Eugene A. Curry is a husband, a father, and an evangelical pastor active in the Pacific Northwest. He has published articles on topics related to the intersection of science and Christian faith in journals such as Zygon, Theology and Science, and Perspectives on Science and Christian Faith. He is now trying his hand at poetry.