Sun

The heavens declare the glory of God,

and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.

Day to day pours out speech,

and night to night reveals knowledge.

There is no speech, nor are there words,

whose voice is not heard.

Their voice goes out through all the earth,

and their words to the end of the world.

In them he has set a tent for the sun,

which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber,

and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy.

Its rising is from the end of the heavens,

and its circuit to the end of them,

and there is nothing hidden from its heat.

Psalm 19:1-6 ESV

“Nothing hidden from its heat”: These are words which keep coming back to me as I suffer in the unaccustomed heatwave that we are experiencing at the moment in Great Britain, our country of high latitudes but with occasional hot spells.

With a patchy knowledge of science, I feel that I have never properly understood the way light and heat energy work. It mystifies me in the same way as radio waves do. These things go around corners and through walls. We can detect them even when we cannot see a clear line of sight to those sources which have given birth to them.

Even before the time of King David, there was a long history of describing God’s impact as being like the sun giving off heat and light. Nations which had many gods also had intellectuals who believed that a multitude of little gods with limited spheres of influence would not have the mighty powers evident in nature. It made more sense to talk about one God, who was often identified with the sun. The sun seems to be in overall charge of life. Without its heat life cannot exist and flourish.

All of this brings us to the creation story. In King David’s psalm, God is portrayed as the giver of life and also as a bridegroom thundering along in his chariot as if on his way to his wedding, who rejoices to run this course like the sun going from one end of the sky to the other. It is a dazzling picture.

The Psalmist is not only dazzled; he is made to feel small. He feels a sense of guilt in the presence of this power. The divine sun sheds light on his dark corners: open faults and also hidden faults. We are currently experiencing drought. The sun has immense destructive power as well as life-giving power. The grass is shrivelled. Even the weeds, persistent through most changes in climate, are turning black. The earth is hard and compacted: the other day I literally had to take a hammer to my trowel in order to break up the ground in my front border.

Somebody like me may indeed long for an end to this pitiless hot dry spell. But something also tells me we need to accept what comes. If we had a climate which was absolutely constant and always delivered the same thing, this would probably be stunted and maybe even barren. In the depths of winter I often hear people say that a good hard frost is needed to kill off the bugs.

We need both hot and cold weather. The nature that sustains us flourishes on both. I love the hymn which thanks God for all the good things he has given us. Yet it goes thoughtfully on:

“I thank Thee more that all our joy

Is touched with pain,

That shadows fall on brightest hours,

That thorns remain,

so that earth’s bliss may be our guide,

and not our chain.”

Adelaide Anne Procter, 1825-1864