The heavens aren’t just telling the glory of God, they’re passing the knowledge of it along to each other—day by day and night by night. You can’t hear their voices, but it wouldn’t matter if you did; because, they have no language. Or, maybe, no language that you and I with our limited human tongues can understand.
There’s a belief that we once could understand those voices. Think of the stories of Aesop, the fairy tales that have been passed generation to generation. What do we find again and again? Creation that speaks in a language we can understand. Be it Aslan or the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, there are stories about a different time and place when we could understand the voice of creation. Maybe, we will find ourselves in such a world again when all things are redeemed.
But we do not need to be ignorant of what Creation says to itself and what it longs to say to us. At each sunrise, the old day is whispering all it saw as it travelled the sky. Each night, the stars tell one another of the owls that hunt, the deer that forage, and the sleep of many things. And if we listen, we can hear them telling us of the one who created all things.
Star maker, life of all things may we, like the rest of your creation, tell the stories of your love to one another.