Awe and Wonder

9/13/2026

Psalm 8:3–4

“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are humans that you are mindful of them", mortals that you care for them?”

Over the past two years, we have explored many virtues: love, kindness, humility, courage, patience, gratitude, attentiveness, peace, mercy, justice, trust, and more. I have described virtues as expressions of God’s love, refractions of divine love, channels through which that love moves through us and into Creation.

Today I want to consider a virtue, or perhaps a spiritual capacity, that can awaken many of the others. It is the capacity to pause, look, listen, and say, “How wonderful.”

The virtue is awe. Its close companion is wonder. Awe is more than enjoying something beautiful, and wonder is more than curiosity, though curiosity can lead us there. Awe is that moment when our usual thoughts become quiet because we encounter something too vast, beautiful, mysterious, or sacred to take in all at once. It may happen while looking at a clear night sky, standing at the ocean, hearing music that opens something inside us, seeing sunlight move through trees, holding a newborn child, or sitting with someone we love when words are no longer needed.

Awe reminds us that life is more than schedules, worries, opinions, successes, disappointments, and plans for the afternoon. It is the sense that we are standing in the presence of mystery.

The Bible has a phrase for this: “the fear of the Lord.” That phrase can be difficult for modern ears. We hear “fear” and may think of terror, intimidation, or a God who wants us to be afraid. But in Scripture’s wisdom tradition, the fear of the Lord points toward reverence: a deep awareness of God’s greatness, holiness, mystery, and love. The fear of the Lord is awe with moral seriousness.

Proverbs 9:10 tells us, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Wisdom begins when we stop assuming that we are the center of everything. It begins when we recognize that God is greater than our ideas, deeper than our explanations, and more present than we often realize.

Ordinary fear makes us want to run away; holy awe draws us nearer. Ordinary fear shrinks our world; holy awe enlarges it. Ordinary fear says, “Protect yourself.” Holy awe says, “Pay attention. There is more here than you imagined.” Ordinary fear makes us hide. Holy awe makes us humble, teachable, and awake.

That brings us to awareness. Awareness is the practice of paying attention. Awe is what may happen when our attention becomes open enough to receive what is before us. Awareness looks; awe sees more deeply. Awareness notices a tree; awe receives it as a living expression of Creation’s beauty and mystery. Awareness notices another person; awe remembers that this person has sacred worth, a story, pain, gifts, and depths we cannot fully know.

Awareness can be a doorway to awe, and awe can deepen awareness. When we are touched by wonder, we may become less hurried, less self-absorbed, and more present. We become more aware of our connection to one another and to the life around us.

Psalm 8 gives us a beautiful picture of this. The psalmist looks into the vastness of the night sky and says, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are humans that you are mindful of them?” The psalmist looks at the immensity of the universe and feels small. But Psalm 8 does not leave us there. It does not say, “You are insignificant. Nothing matters.” Instead, it asks with amazement, “What are human beings that You are mindful of them?”

The God who set the stars in place is mindful of us. The God whose glory is above the heavens knows the human heart. The God of immense mystery does not overlook the ordinary person. Psalm 8 holds two truths together: we are not the center of the universe, and we are not forgotten by the One who holds the universe. That is the healthy humility of awe.

Awe makes us small, but not worthless. It takes us out of the cramped room of self-importance, but it does not diminish our sacred value. Psalm 8 says that humanity is crowned with glory and honor. We are loved, and we are entrusted with responsibility for the living world. Awe is not escape from the world; it is a way of learning to live more rightly within it.

When we lose our capacity for awe, we can become careless. We may treat the earth as something to use without gratitude, rush through time without noticing it, and view other people as interruptions, labels, political opponents, or sources of agreement and affirmation. We may even try to use God, as if God were simply there to solve our problems, bless our plans, or confirm our opinions.

But awe changes how we see. Awe teaches us to receive rather than merely consume, to notice rather than rush past, and to cherish rather than control. It teaches us that a tree is more than lumber, a meal is more than fuel, and another person is more than a label or an inconvenience. When we see life as sacred gift, gratitude, humility, compassion, and stewardship become more natural. Awe awakens the other virtues.

Modern psychology has noticed something similar. Researchers describe awe as arising when we encounter something vast, something that stretches beyond our ordinary ways of understanding. Studies associate awe with less self-focus and with greater helpfulness, generosity, connection, and concern for the larger world. Awe does not instantly make us perfect people, but it can interrupt the small, anxious self that keeps asking, “What about me?” It can return us to a larger perspective.

Scripture has known this for a long time. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom because awe helps us see reality more truthfully. A person who has learned awe can say, “I may not understand everything.” That is not weakness; it is wisdom. Such a person can meet someone different from themselves and say, “There is more to this person than I see at first glance.” That is the beginning of compassion. They can look at the natural world and say, “This is not mine to exploit. It is entrusted to our care.” That is the beginning of stewardship. And they can face uncertainty and say, “I do not understand everything that is happening, but I am not alone in this mystery.” That is the beginning of faith.

The book of Job is one of Scripture’s great stories about awe. Job suffers deeply and asks God why. When God finally speaks, God does not offer Job a tidy explanation. Instead, God points to the foundations of the earth, the sea, the dawn, the stars, wild creatures, and the mysteries of creation. Job’s pain is not dismissed, but his world is enlarged.

We need that from time to time. When we are grieving, struggling, or uncertain, easy answers rarely help. We may not receive an explanation, but we can sometimes receive a wider horizon. Even in a difficult season, there may be small signs that life is still speaking: a bird at the window, a friend’s kindness, rain on the roof, a beloved hymn, a moment of peace, a phone call at the right time, or the courage to get up and keep going. Awe is not always dramatic. Sometimes it comes quietly.

The deeper question is not, “Where can I find something spectacular?” It is, “Have I become available to wonder?” We live in a culture of hurry, noise, information, and distraction. We can become so busy commenting on life that we forget to experience it, and so busy explaining everything that we forget to be amazed. Wonder asks us to slow down, lift our eyes, let the world be more than useful, and let God be more than manageable.

This week, we might practice awe in three simple ways. First, take a few minutes to notice Creation. Go outside if we are able. Look at the sky. Notice a tree, bird, flower, changing light, weather, or the face of someone we love. We do not simply name what we see. Let yourself receive it. You might quietly say, “Thank You.”

Second, practice wonder with another person. Remember that even someone we have known for years is still a mystery. Listen without rushing to correct, advise, or categorize. Let them be more sacred and complex than your first impression.

Third, make space for silence. Turn off the noise for a few minutes. Breathe. We do not have to accomplish anything. Simply become present to the Presence that is already with us.

And if wonder feels difficult right now, do not judge yourself. Some seasons are heavy. Some hearts are tired. Awe cannot be forced. But we can make room for it. We can remain open to the possibility that grace will find us in a small, unexpected way.

Perhaps that is what it means to fear the Lord: not to live frightened, but to live awake, awake to beauty, mystery, the sacredness of other people, and the greatness and nearness of God. So, when we see the phrase, "the fear of the Lord," think of awe; think of reverence.

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” It is my prayer that we learn again to be amazed. May awareness open us to awe, and awe open us to wisdom. I pray that we see the world not as something to possess, but as a gift to receive and care for. And may God’s love flow through our attentive, grateful, and awakened lives into Creation.