Art is a very subjective thing. Whatever one man finds to be aesthetic and appealing is, in all probability, unremarkable or altogether deplorable to at least one other person within earshot. With such a variety of opinions to appease, the modern artist faces a formidable challenge if he is to make a living from the outlet of his choice. There are critics to cater to, publishers to convince, and masses to whom a work must be marketed in exactly the right way. The number of people who thrive on the income of their artistic productivity is miniscule compared to the number of those who express themselves to the fullest, but fail to strike a note that resonates with the public. There is, however, an Artist who is not dependent on patronage or popularity. His masterpieces are purely for His enjoyment, as well as the pleasure and instruction of all who chose to recognize them.
I was struck by this fact one cloudless night while I walked the dark but serene road home from a family gathering nearby. I happened to glance up at the sky as I meandered along; so overwhelming was the number of stars sprinkled across the endless canvas that this glance led to another- and another- and soon, I was walking with my head thrown back, eyes on the heavens. Most will admit the idea of merely counting the stars is incredible in itself. Estimates have been made, of course, in this age of science; but to the naked eye, the display of glimmering specks of light is too dazzling to make so much as an accurate guess.
Although one could easily be awestruck by this aspect of the night sky and leave things at that, men and women have been further fascinated by the stars for thousands of years. The Babylonians, Greeks, Romans, Indians, and Chinese all saw the stars to be an artistic display of immense variety, and created maps of the heavens in which stars played connect-the-dots with each other to form shapes of humans, animals, and objects. Today, many of these constellations, as they are known, are used to identify different regions of the night sky. I must admit, though, I have never developed a fondness for the mythological characters of these ancient civilizations. I'm well aware that they are an important part of history and that they have their cultural significance and such, but to me they represent the idols of people lost in darkness without the one true God. I doubt that the Creator, when He fashioned the stars, intended for them to remind people of fictional characters- and He most certainly did not design them to be a source of direction in life, as we have been told by astrologers for generations.
As I walked that brisk evening, transfixed by the stellar sight, one particular thought found its way into my mind: perhaps the stories told in the stars are far more relevant and enduring than those recognized by most people. For example, I'm not convinced that Taurus is actually a bull. I believe him to be a donkey- the one who opened his mouth to rebuke the wayward prophet Balaam. He stands among the nebulae as a reminder of how dangerous it is to challenge children of God. And Leo? Well, naturally, he is one of the fierce lions who had to wait for a meal along with his comrades in the den, because God's hand of protection was on His servant Daniel. Ursa Major, the brilliant bruin of the northern sky, was used to deliver God's punishment upon the boys who mocked the prophet Elisha. Draco serves as a reminder of the beast of Revelations- a fearsome enemy whose persecution of the Lord's children will not go unnoticed, nor will it be unpunished.
The human caricatures in the sky seem to have been mislabeled, as well. What if, rather than the mighty Hercules keeping order in the night sky, the renowned Samson kept guard over his twinkling neighbours? Perhaps the twins of Gemini are the sons of Isaac, and the legendary hunter of the skies is not Orion but David, a man whose fear was dwarfed by his faith in his Father, whether facing enemies or wild animals. Virgo, I am sure, is no generic maiden, but rather Mary, the girl who was willing to follow God's directions and through whom Jesus Christ, our Saviour, entered the world.
Finally, there is Sagitta, the arrow, which makes me think of the origin of the word "sin." It was an archery term, as a matter of fact, and meant "to miss the mark." Sagitta reminds me that we have all missed the mark of holiness set for us by the One who so lovingly placed the stars in the sky. Fortunately for us, the situation is not summarized by Sagitta; the climax of the stars' story is found in the constellation Crux. It was on a cross that Jesus died so that all who have sinned might find reconciliation, peace, and eternal life. With this in mind, perhaps you will look differently at the sky next time you are out on a clear, crisp night. Take a moment to identify the different stories in the constellations, and don't thank your lucky stars; thank the God who took the time to write out His story in the sky.
"The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork." -Psalm 19:1
