It is a rarity to gaze upward toward a pollution-free sky, for a change. My wife and I live in Pasig so we seldom see more than a sprinkling of stars on the clearest of nights. When I was growing up in Pampanga, I enjoyed looking up at the sky with all its luminous orbs. But I just took for granted this awesome spectacle not knowing that such a sight would not last. The creeping air pollution has since blemished the night sky in my home city. And after spending sometime in Metro Manila, I have begun to long for the view of the night sky unstained by pollution and city lights.
Stargazing is one of the common things between my wife and me. A vivid image which left a lasting impression on her was when she was in her teens on the viewing deck of a ship bound for Cagayan de Oro. Another one was at Panglao Island in Bohol a few days after her birthday in 2004 where the stars seemed to be balls of fire scattered across the sky like shiny grains of sand.
I also experienced this moment of wonder when I stayed overnight at the Clark Freeport. It was like traveling back to the time when I was a kid gazing intently at the Ursa Major constellation and trying to locate its ‘pointer stars’ – Merak and Dubhe – as these, in turn, would lead me to the faint north star, Polaris. Looking back to that instance, God seemed to be asking me the same question which he posed to Job: “Can you direct the sequence of the seasons or guide the Bear with her cubs across the heavens?” (Job 38:32).
So in this idyll of quiet grace, 400 kilometers away from the cityscape that is Manila, we prowl the beachfront’s expanse. Gone for a moment are the grimed, cavernous structures that seem to jut out like a murky, mountain trolls with their facades of concrete, glass, and steel; the irritating noise; the dank, scummy side streets of the city; the lights and the pollution that obscure a clear view of the evening sky.
Low, dark and ragged clouds melt in a spectrum-filled sky above Bacuit Bay. The fire of dusk drizzles its steady spatter of warm, amber light, as it begins to pull down the shade of the night. Our faces are soaked with late afternoon radiance as we gaze at the spot where the horizon kisses the sea. The huge limestone peaks at the edge of the cove look like the mounds of the leviathan and the behemoth that are locked forever in sepulchral silence. The cove’s water is surprisingly free from any floating debris. The air is breezy. A fog bank rolls afar toward the island of Miniloc.
Dapples of the moon’s lambent glow begin to transmute blotches of dewdrops. The cool early evening breeze strokes the crisp aroma that hangs in the air, faintly scented, in the late, summer sky. Hornbills native to the place emit their loud kreik-kreik call, as they begin to roost at trees near the swimming pool while the wings of balinsasayaw (or swiftlets) living in limestone cliffs’ cracks and crevices hum above the bay.
After some time, innumerable sparkling stars, leaping into radiant flames, start to puncture the night sky. Star lights shimmer in the dusk like elven gems ablaze with argent glow, caressing us with a soft fire or something not yet fully ignited. King David could have been awed by the same vision when he uttered that the heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork (Psalm 19:1).
The constellation Orion, with the Canis Major in tow, rises up above the horizon as it begins its nightly chase of the Pleaides star cluster across the heaven. In the stellar canopy, we know that God “directs the movement of the stars—binding the cluster of the Pleiades or loosening the cords of Orion.” (Job 38:31). In this misted bliss constellating with lights, I am reminded that “it is the Lord who created the stars, the Pleiades and Orion. He turns darkness into morning and day into night.” (Amos 5:8). What is amazing is the fact that God “determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.” (Psalm 147:7).
I also recall a passage in the Book of Job when the stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy (Job 38:7). I try to strain my ears, trying to capture what is beyond the visible; hoping to catch a quiver of those heavenly voices singing praises to God. Stir of hollow echo rustles the empty silence, as if to utter a forgotten line from an ancient psalm. Maybe, it is just the soft murmur of the surf undulating gently among the rocks.
A lone, streaking meteor puts up a stellar show. Shards of bonfire spangle swaths of sky. Sometimes, it makes me wonder why sprays of stars’ dust had to traverse vast, lonely places across the outer space only to flicker for brief moments above this secluded spot. Perhaps, the appearances of meteors are gentle reminders of the period in history when the Son of God left His heavenly place and entered space-time and “…became human and made his home among us”. (John 1:14). The Light of the world (John 8:12) continues to burn in the hearts of believers and has influenced social, scientific, humane, and cultural advances in civilization in the last 2,000 years. The apostle John prophesied about this: “The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.” (John 1:4-5).
Light often emanates in unnoticed spots. Like in a distant star-speckled bay.
Or in a feeding trough inside a stinking stable somewhere in the obscure town of Bethlehem.
Stargazing is one of the common things between my wife and me. A vivid image which left a lasting impression on her was when she was in her teens on the viewing deck of a ship bound for Cagayan de Oro. Another one was at Panglao Island in Bohol a few days after her birthday in 2004 where the stars seemed to be balls of fire scattered across the sky like shiny grains of sand.
I also experienced this moment of wonder when I stayed overnight at the Clark Freeport. It was like traveling back to the time when I was a kid gazing intently at the Ursa Major constellation and trying to locate its ‘pointer stars’ – Merak and Dubhe – as these, in turn, would lead me to the faint north star, Polaris. Looking back to that instance, God seemed to be asking me the same question which he posed to Job: “Can you direct the sequence of the seasons or guide the Bear with her cubs across the heavens?” (Job 38:32).
So in this idyll of quiet grace, 400 kilometers away from the cityscape that is Manila, we prowl the beachfront’s expanse. Gone for a moment are the grimed, cavernous structures that seem to jut out like a murky, mountain trolls with their facades of concrete, glass, and steel; the irritating noise; the dank, scummy side streets of the city; the lights and the pollution that obscure a clear view of the evening sky.
Low, dark and ragged clouds melt in a spectrum-filled sky above Bacuit Bay. The fire of dusk drizzles its steady spatter of warm, amber light, as it begins to pull down the shade of the night. Our faces are soaked with late afternoon radiance as we gaze at the spot where the horizon kisses the sea. The huge limestone peaks at the edge of the cove look like the mounds of the leviathan and the behemoth that are locked forever in sepulchral silence. The cove’s water is surprisingly free from any floating debris. The air is breezy. A fog bank rolls afar toward the island of Miniloc.
Dapples of the moon’s lambent glow begin to transmute blotches of dewdrops. The cool early evening breeze strokes the crisp aroma that hangs in the air, faintly scented, in the late, summer sky. Hornbills native to the place emit their loud kreik-kreik call, as they begin to roost at trees near the swimming pool while the wings of balinsasayaw (or swiftlets) living in limestone cliffs’ cracks and crevices hum above the bay.
After some time, innumerable sparkling stars, leaping into radiant flames, start to puncture the night sky. Star lights shimmer in the dusk like elven gems ablaze with argent glow, caressing us with a soft fire or something not yet fully ignited. King David could have been awed by the same vision when he uttered that the heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork (Psalm 19:1).
The constellation Orion, with the Canis Major in tow, rises up above the horizon as it begins its nightly chase of the Pleaides star cluster across the heaven. In the stellar canopy, we know that God “directs the movement of the stars—binding the cluster of the Pleiades or loosening the cords of Orion.” (Job 38:31). In this misted bliss constellating with lights, I am reminded that “it is the Lord who created the stars, the Pleiades and Orion. He turns darkness into morning and day into night.” (Amos 5:8). What is amazing is the fact that God “determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.” (Psalm 147:7).
I also recall a passage in the Book of Job when the stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy (Job 38:7). I try to strain my ears, trying to capture what is beyond the visible; hoping to catch a quiver of those heavenly voices singing praises to God. Stir of hollow echo rustles the empty silence, as if to utter a forgotten line from an ancient psalm. Maybe, it is just the soft murmur of the surf undulating gently among the rocks.
A lone, streaking meteor puts up a stellar show. Shards of bonfire spangle swaths of sky. Sometimes, it makes me wonder why sprays of stars’ dust had to traverse vast, lonely places across the outer space only to flicker for brief moments above this secluded spot. Perhaps, the appearances of meteors are gentle reminders of the period in history when the Son of God left His heavenly place and entered space-time and “…became human and made his home among us”. (John 1:14). The Light of the world (John 8:12) continues to burn in the hearts of believers and has influenced social, scientific, humane, and cultural advances in civilization in the last 2,000 years. The apostle John prophesied about this: “The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.” (John 1:4-5).
Light often emanates in unnoticed spots. Like in a distant star-speckled bay.
Or in a feeding trough inside a stinking stable somewhere in the obscure town of Bethlehem.
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