Committees & Programs of Salina Unitarian Universalist Fellowship

Stars to Look At, Stars to See
Jaco Ten Hove, Co-Minister of Paint Branch UU Church in Adelphi, Maryland
(borrowed from Church of the Larger Fellowship)

Ever since I took an astronomy course in 1980, taught by an infectiously excitable professor, I've been awakened to the night sky and its twinkling stars. For over 20 years now, I've been conducting informal tours of the constellations with almost anyone who will listen—and have tried to explain to folks what little I can grasp about our evolving understanding of the shape of the universe.

Meanwhile, once a year, along comes the Christmas story, featuring the star power of an impressive celestial event. Sure, there are lots of important characters in this story—various animals and angels, royalty on a mission, a poor young family in a stable, etc., but the Star of Bethlehem is what has always drawn my attention the most.

As a rational Unitarian Universalist, I determined early on that it was probably somebody's imaginative rendering of either a single bright star or perhaps a conjunction of a star and a bright planet. Bright and dramatic stars are worth pursuing, certainly. But what I want to tell you about is actually one of the dimmest sights we can see with the unaided eye. In order to see this spot, because it is so faint, one must use a viewing technique almost like the one used for those "Magic Eye" pictures—where if you defocus your vision just right you can see an otherwise hidden shape or image. Seeing this faint spot requires something called "averted vision." By using averted vision, we look near but not directly at a desired but dim object, and lo, it appears in our peripheral vision. Stare right at it and you can't see it, but avert your gaze just a bit and it can be seen off center.

Telescopes can see much, much farther than our naked eye can, of course. The farthest we could normally see without such aid is about 75,000 light years, reaching to the far edge of our Milky Way galaxy. From that edge, now imagine two million more light years of basically empty space before the object of my affection comes into view. That's about 25 times farther out into deep space, which is where our neighbor galaxy Andromeda is. It continues to be a highlight of each summer for me when I can locate—and point out to others—this special, tiny, dim, meaningful spot of immense power, throbbing with 200 billion stars.

The averted vision thing has taught me that you can find value in looking from an altered angle—shifting your gaze slightly and staying open to what might emerge in your wider periphery.

It's that way with the Christmas story, for me at least. There's this all-but-admittedly fictional tale we tell each year, and of course it doesn't hold up under scrutiny. From the direct, frontal, literal view the truer, deeper definition eludes us. If big, obvious parts of it don't work for us—anymore or ever—we might choose to look away altogether.

But I enjoy applying averted vision to Christmas. I turn my gaze, even slightly, from the orthodox, the commercialized, the trivialized aspects. I look past or around the thin pieces that can obscure a more subtle and humane spirit, one that breathes life into and through this season.

I intentionally cross my eyes and defocus my vision so I can see an otherwise hidden shape or image embedded in the traditional portrayals. I look off center, beyond the literal, and I see an enduring story with characters—various animals and angels, royalty on a mission, a poor young family in a manger, and a Star of Bethlehem that was maybe more brilliant then than now.

In the darkness of this time of year, may we center ourselves—off-center as appropriate—and rise up to follow the stars of our own powerful perception. As the Christmas story unfolds all around us once again, may we honor the deeper truths and beauties it speaks of in language we all translate through our own lenses. May we raise our sights and not just look at the wonderful bright lights, but also see farther and deeper into the heart of things infinite and eternal.

901 Beatrice Ave. | Salina, Kansas 67401 | 785-825-6275 | info@uusalina.org




	Home Calendar About Us Committees & Programs Photos UU History Contact Us		Stars to Look At, Stars to See Jaco Ten Hove, Co-Minister of Paint Branch UU Church in Adelphi, Maryland (borrowed from Church of the Larger Fellowship) Ever since I took an astronomy course in 1980, taught by an infectiously excitable professor, I've been awakened to the night sky and its twinkling stars. For over 20 years now, I've been conducting informal tours of the constellations with almost anyone who will listen—and have tried to explain to folks what little I can grasp about our evolving understanding of the shape of the universe. Meanwhile, once a year, along comes the Christmas story, featuring the star power of an impressive celestial event. Sure, there are lots of important characters in this story—various animals and angels, royalty on a mission, a poor young family in a stable, etc., but the Star of Bethlehem is what has always drawn my attention the most. As a rational Unitarian Universalist, I determined early on that it was probably somebody's imaginative rendering of either a single bright star or perhaps a conjunction of a star and a bright planet. Bright and dramatic stars are worth pursuing, certainly. But what I want to tell you about is actually one of the dimmest sights we can see with the unaided eye. In order to see this spot, because it is so faint, one must use a viewing technique almost like the one used for those "Magic Eye" pictures—where if you defocus your vision just right you can see an otherwise hidden shape or image. Seeing this faint spot requires something called "averted vision." By using averted vision, we look near but not directly at a desired but dim object, and lo, it appears in our peripheral vision. Stare right at it and you can't see it, but avert your gaze just a bit and it can be seen off center. Telescopes can see much, much farther than our naked eye can, of course. The farthest we could normally see without such aid is about 75,000 light years, reaching to the far edge of our Milky Way galaxy. From that edge, now imagine two million more light years of basically empty space before the object of my affection comes into view. That's about 25 times farther out into deep space, which is where our neighbor galaxy Andromeda is. It continues to be a highlight of each summer for me when I can locate—and point out to others—this special, tiny, dim, meaningful spot of immense power, throbbing with 200 billion stars. The averted vision thing has taught me that you can find value in looking from an altered angle—shifting your gaze slightly and staying open to what might emerge in your wider periphery. It's that way with the Christmas story, for me at least. There's this all-but-admittedly fictional tale we tell each year, and of course it doesn't hold up under scrutiny. From the direct, frontal, literal view the truer, deeper definition eludes us. If big, obvious parts of it don't work for us—anymore or ever—we might choose to look away altogether. But I enjoy applying averted vision to Christmas. I turn my gaze, even slightly, from the orthodox, the commercialized, the trivialized aspects. I look past or around the thin pieces that can obscure a more subtle and humane spirit, one that breathes life into and through this season. I intentionally cross my eyes and defocus my vision so I can see an otherwise hidden shape or image embedded in the traditional portrayals. I look off center, beyond the literal, and I see an enduring story with characters—various animals and angels, royalty on a mission, a poor young family in a manger, and a Star of Bethlehem that was maybe more brilliant then than now. In the darkness of this time of year, may we center ourselves—off-center as appropriate—and rise up to follow the stars of our own powerful perception. As the Christmas story unfolds all around us once again, may we honor the deeper truths and beauties it speaks of in language we all translate through our own lenses. May we raise our sights and not just look at the wonderful bright lights, but also see farther and deeper into the heart of things infinite and eternal. Back to top 901 Beatrice Ave. \| Salina, Kansas 67401 \| 785-825-6275 \| info@uusalina.org