A Universe Still Speaking

In 1929, astronomer Edwin Hubble analyzed the light from dozens of distant galaxies using the 100-inch Hooker telescope at Mount Wilson Observatory, perched above Pasadena, California. For months he had been measuring how their spectra shifted toward the red end. The pattern was unmistakable: every galaxy he observed was racing away from us, and the farther it was, the faster it fled. The universe was not the fixed, unchanging dome that scientists had assumed for centuries. It was expanding — stretching outward in every direction, moment by moment.

The implications staggered the scientific world. If the cosmos was growing, then it had a beginning. The universe was not eternal and static; it had been flung into motion by some inconceivable force. What Hubble's redshifts revealed was a creation still in the act of unfolding.

Three thousand years before Hubble pointed his telescope skyward, the psalmist David wrote, "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands" (Psalm 19:1). David used present tense — declare, proclaim — as if creation were not a finished speech but an ongoing testimony. Hubble's discovery confirmed what the poet-king already knew: the heavens are not silent relics of a distant act. They are still speaking, still stretching, still proclaiming the boundless glory of a God whose works have no edge and no end.