ALIVE

in Articles By Mccuon on 02 Apr 2026

When I look at the known universe,

the spacious firmament,

the blue ethereal sky,

the spangled heavens,

when I trace Orion’s Belt across the night,

Or the tail of Milky Way,

the crescent moon and the morning rising of Venus,

or the distant glow of Jupiter,

I am engulfed in profound, awesome wonder .

For all these declare order,

precision,

and a magnificence beyond the reach of chaos.

And when I turn from the heavens to the works of man,

our inventions,

our systems,

our ingenuity,

I see something remarkable…

but I also see something limited.

For all that we create is secondary.

derived,

An imitation, none an original.

And this forbids me to deny

a greater ingenuity, a primary, divine source

from which all things proceed.

Yet the heavens declare their Creator’s power flawlessly.

I do not need a Jeremiah to tell me

I know it within myself.

I am flawed.

Deeply so.

And in that realization,

another question arises - the ancient question of Psalm 8:

What am I, that You are mindful of me?

What is man, that You should care for him?

From this question,

many answers have emerged.

Whole systems of thought philosophies striving, reaching,

building frameworks in which man stands at the center.

But there is another truth, One that I will call a philosophy,

if only for the sake of expression.

It is the truth that man is not the center but a guest.

A guest in a vast and ordered creation and not only a guest..

but a guest who has dishonored his invitation.

And because of this, incapable of his return,

He requires a mediator,

One to stand between himself and the Source.

One to reconcile what has been broken,

And so, man’s life upon this Earth,

this brief sojourn on a mote of dust,

is not merely life.

It is a kind of death.

A separation.

A fallen state.

And the hope of man

Where’s it to be found?

not found in denial of this depravity,

but in its acknowledgment.

For it is only through burial with the Mediator,

and a circumcision of the heart,

through faith in the operation of God

that man, may rise again.

Therefore;

let no one deceive you

with persuasive words,

with elaborate philosophies,

after the traditions of men

that seek to soften this truth.

For no matter how refined,

how intelligent,

or how compelling a philosophy may be,

it falls short,

if it denies the helplessness and depravity of man.

For it is upon the daily acknowledgment of this death,

constant as the rising sun,

that man’s perpetual renewal

into perfection depends.

I wish above all things, that as you die again, you die to live.