A few years ago we visited an exhibition of Yayoi Kusama’s Fireflies on the Water. The artist has been making these “infinity rooms” for decades, each with new takes on the idea of infinity. This was our first experience of an “infinity room,” so it was very exciting.
The walls of the room, and even the ceiling was covered with mirrors. The floor was flooded with shallow water, and small lights were suspended at irregular intervals so that once the door closed, it really felt like I had somehow stepped into space.
I say “I,” and not “we,” because each one of us had to go in individually, and each visit was timed to exactly one minute. The moment the door closed, the room (which I could tell from the outside was quite small) suddenly seemed to expand beyond the limits of comprehension. It was completely quiet, because everyone who was waiting to come in had been cautioned to remain silent so the experience wouldn’t be compromised.
Silence. Infinite space. I looked down at my feet, and they seemed to be floating. I felt huge. Exposed. Out of place.
I concentrated on each tiny, multicolored light in turn. I imagined that it was emanating from a distant star, and suddenly I felt very small. I thought of the movie, “Powers of Ten” by Charles and Ray Eames. I wondered, based on the information in that movie, in which densely populated area of space I would be.
“And God made all of this,” I said to myself. (I had completely forgotten by this time that the experience wasn’t real.) My mind filled with intense gratitude, mixed with a sensation of humility. I remembered the quote from President Teddy Roosevelt, which he said after looking at the stars with the naturalist, William Beebee, “Now, I think we are small enough.”
I tried to look deeply into space for something that would distinguish one object from another, and was frustrated at the uniformity of it all. That thought brought me back to reality, and I mentally kicked myself.
“It’s only Christmas lights hanging in front of a mirror,” I thought. “What were you expecting? The Milky Way?”
I realized that a full minute had not yet passed, and began to think of the way our perception of time can be distorted by strong experiences. Then the door cracked open, and it was over. I forgot to bring a camera, but was grateful that Tony did not forget when he went in.
The experience has stayed with me. An “infinity room” would be a great place to pray.
Standing there in that imaginary starry expance, I considered how small and insignificant we would be if our place were determined by relative size. But who can look at space, at the whole of creation, and not see the hand of the God of heaven?
And now I thank God that our lives have meaning not because we can somehow conquer infinity, but because of God’s love. We matter because He loves us, He listens to us, and He redeemed us. He made our minds, our ability to reason, our desire for belonging, and our ability to accept love from others. He is Love, and because of Him, we exist.
So that’s why we redesigned our site, and though it is only a poor reflection of what we have been thinking, I hope it helps us to remain “small enough,” and while holding that thought in tension, imagine the possibilities!
The Fullers Four 