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When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait for the spring of 1986.
Christmas comes only once a year. But Halley’s Comet comes only once a lifetime – twice, if your parents blessed you with great timing and great genes.
My 30-plus years of waiting would be worth it. Of all the debris that hurtles through our solar system on a recurring basis, Halley’s is the only short-period comet that can typically be seen by rank amateurs with the unaided eye.
This chunk of ice and dust (lovingly dubbed a “dirty snowball” by astronomers) has been orbiting the sun every 76 years, give or take, for something like 200 millennia. As it approaches the inner part of our solar system, its volatile components begin to “sublimate” from the surface, leaving behind an extraordinary coma or tail which may exceed 140,000 miles and is easily seen from the Earth.
The amazing thing is that Halley’s core is only about five miles across. You can see it plainly in the closeup image (above) that was snapped by the unmanned Giotto spacecraft during its last visit.
The world’s most famous comet is named for the 17th century scientist Edmund Halley. Things got confusing for Americans in the 1950s with the advent of Bill Haley and the Comets, one of the first certifiable rock and roll bands.
Rest assured that when it comes to what you see in the night sky, Halley rhymes with “valley.”
Edmund Halley was hardly the first person to notice the comet that bears his name. Rather, he was the first person to document its periodicity – the fact that the exceedingly bright object that showed up every 76 years or so was in fact the same return visitor.
Amazingly, this comet has made it into diaries, journals, and court records for more than 2,000 years.
The Jewish historian Josephus saw it in AD 66 as the Romans were besieging Jerusalem, and believed it to be an omen of doom for the people of Israel. The city and its temple fell four years later. It also appeared in 1066 when William the Conquer was invading England. The comet is represented on the famous Bayeux Tapestry, which celebrates William’s victory at the Battle of Hastings.
In 1910, the comet was unusually bright and created a global sensation, especially when astronomers announced that the Earth would pass directly through its tail.
The emerging technology of spectroscopic analysis had recently revealed that Halley’s tail included minute amounts of the toxic gas cyanogen. That’s when an over-eager journalist quoted the esteemed French astronomer Camille Flammarion as saying that the gas “would impregnate the atmosphere and possibly snuff out all life on the planet.”
As it turned out, that was fake news. Flammarion had said nothing of the kind. But the damage was already done. Panic engulfed the globe.
Hucksters immediately began to peddle anti-comet pills, gas masks, and even comet-shielding umbrellas, some of which may still be in your grandma’s attic.
Fortunately, aside from providing a spectacular nighttime show for several months, Halley’s Comet left behind nothing but vivid memories. I couldn’t wait to see this celestial visitor for myself in 1986.
But it was not to be. Halley’s apparition that year was considered “the least favorable for viewing” in human history. While the Earth was on one side of the sun, the comet was flying through space on the other side. I never caught so much as a glimpse of that spectacular tail.
NASA got some decent pictures, of course, since they had better line of sight, especially when the Giotto spacecraft was able to get up close and personal.
But for everyone else, it was a colossal disappointment – literally the disappointment of a lifetime.
It was sheer coincidence that about the same time, a young author named Philip Yancey was writing a book with the provocative title Disappointment With God.
Yancey dared to assert that most Christians (at least, most of the Christians he knew) wondered about three questions, but almost never asked them out loud: Is God unfair? Is God silent? Is God hidden?
Not a few pastors were outraged. It’s our job, isn’t it, to convince people that God is absolutely trustworthy? Even the use of the word “disappointment” by someone who presented himself as a member of the Body of Christ was considered treasonous.
When I read Yancey’s book, I found it to be like a glass of cold lemonade on a sweltering summer day.
That’s because, looking back on my teenage years when I first enrolled as a follower of Jesus – and I want to say this with great gentleness – I came to realize that I had been sold a bill of goods.
I heard wonderful people tell wonderful stories about their transitions from pervasive hopelessness to lives of purpose, peace, and happiness. Men and women who had been trapped by (fill in whatever addiction might come to mind) were now gloriously free at last. People who had struggled with doubts were now awash with assurance. Theirs was a life available for the asking. And it was all because of Jesus.
I desperately wanted such peace, freedom, and assurance. When I exited seminary and became a pastor, I added my voice to those who proclaimed the victorious Christian life.
Over time, however, I came to realize that my own experience (as well as the experiences of most of my congregants) were…well, disappointing. All too often my heart for God was flat-lined. I still had struggles. I still had doubts. I still felt enslaved to habits I was afraid to admit.
The source of this disappointment seemed obvious: It had to be me. Unlike all the disciples in Lake Woebegone – you know, where all the followers of Jesus are above average and routinely deliver awesome testimonies – I clearly fell below the curve.
Then I met the apostle Paul.
And I began to realize, by diving into the heart and mind of Christianity’s foremost early teacher, that it wasn’t Jesus who was disappointing, nor was it my own capacity to be his lifelong learner. The source of my disappointment were the expectations I had cherished from the beginning – my unrealistic picture of what it was supposed to look like to follow him.
Paul brought me back to earth.
I was stunned to read that there was a time he was seriously depressed. And he almost gave up hope of living another day. And he was so anxious about missing a connection with his traveling partner Titus that he actually walked away from an “open door” for ministry – a door that God had opened.
I had never heard anyone say things like that. You can read Paul’s own account of his almost-meltdown in the first two chapters of 2 Corinthians.
Then turn to 2 Corinthians chapter 12, where Paul admits that he pleaded with God on at least three occasions – presumably three very serious occasions – to take away an unidentified “thorn in the flesh” that was making his life miserable.
And God said no.
Instead of granting Paul the peace, happiness, and “victory” I had heard so much about – and I don’t doubt for a moment that God is pleased to grant such gifts to many of his children – he doesn’t always do so. For Paul, God’s chief ambassador, the victory would not turn out to be deliverance. It would be an opportunity like no other to realize that “my grace is sufficient for you.”
That’s a pretty disappointing development, if we see God merely as the One who is supposed to make us happy.
But it’s the opportunity of a lifetime to be transformed into his likeness – if we are willing to believe he always knows what is best, and is more trustworthy than anyone else in the cosmos.
Speaking of the cosmos, the countdown has already begun for the summer of 2061. Astronomers tell us that’s when Halley’s Comet is going to return, and this time around it’s going to be pretty spectacular.
I may actually still be here.
But if I’m not, I’m pretty sure my alternative location is not going to be disappointing.