Through the Gates

Time, they say, changes everything. As Heraclitus of Ephesus put it, “You cannot step into the same river twice.” But time, it seems, often has a good deal of help from humans.
It was a nice spring afternoon in the Rockies, the sun had just set and many of the evening preparations had already begun when we arrived at the Denver Municipal Park. The ducks and other fowl (no doubt gorged on bits of potato chips and hot dog buns) were mostly settling down to their secluded roosts, just a few strays here and there looking for one last morsel. The fountain lights, some of them colored, had been turned on and gave an eerie glow in the foaming water. It was the time of day we usually would have been wrapping up and heading for home, but this was a night excursion.
We walked leisurely through the park, looking at the sculptures that were scattered here and there around the central lake. The natural sounds of night were only occasionally disrupted by a city noise strong enough to penetrate the trees and sound of falling water uniting with its source. There was one sculpture that I found particularly striking. It was of a girl, a boy and a young maiden gazing into a pool. They seemed unusually life like. It almost seemed as though their smooth flesh would be warm and supple to the touch, even though I knew it was made of marble. You could also feel the merriment in their eyes as the green and purple light, reflected from the rippling water, dappled their ivory figures. It reminded me of something out of C. S. Lewis’ Narnia, or one of George McDonald’s stories, or perhaps some more wonderful story yet to be discovered. If it ever is I would like to read it.
As we came to the end of the lake the lingering twilight revealed a magnificent edifice, the Denver Museum of Natural History. I do not recall exactly how old I was but I could not have been more then ten. As we made our way to the great granite steps, my mother pointed out to me where the amphitheater had been where she had watch performances as a young girl. This gave me a strange feeling of heritage. I belonged here. Beyond the heavy glass doors at the top of the steps was what you might call the museum lobby, complete with a dinosaur skeleton looming over you. But it was noble architecture surrounding it that gave the experience its sublimity. Johannes Kepler* is supposed to have said that science is “thinking God’s thoughts after Him.” The temple like ambiance of the museum seemed to be saying something similar to me. After all, is not the second commandment to “rule creation”? (Gen 1:28) How can you rule something you do not understand? Science to me became something holy – an act of worship.
We were guided by thick velvety ropes of deep crimson, punctuated by heavy brass stands, to a special part of the museum…the Gates Planetarium. It was not yet time to go into the planetarium itself. But outside was an enormous pendulum clock. I don’t mean a sort of wooden box that might be in a hallway or corner. This was a giant pendulum suspended from a ball joint in the ceiling. As it swung its ponderous weight back and fourth across the floor it slowly worked its way up or down. Ever now and then (judging from the succession of standing and fallen chits) it knocked over a domino like chit. I gripped the cool steel rail, which quarantined the area of the floor where the pendulum swung, and peered in. It was almost to the next chit, how long before it got there? It swung, and it swung and then down went the chit with a click, and it was time to go into the planetarium.
Inside it looked somewhat like a movie theater, but with all the seats in a circle around the middle and tilted back about sixty degrees. It was also pristine; there was no lingering smell of greasy popcorn. I sat down in one of the deep blue chairs and leaned back. I was immediately surrounded by the screen; it seemed to be every direction but strait down. It was dark, even with the house lights on, so there was nothing to do but wait for the presentation to begin. At first it got even darker, then galaxies, nebulae and quasars began to drift pass. Floating in space, as it seemed, it was a marvelous journey. I think I was most impressed by the Tunguska event. They were playing with a sort of pseudo theory that the event was actually a mini black hole that hit the earth. It sounds rather silly now, but in a dark room surrounded by devastation it seemed plausible enough to be somewhat disturbing.
Once the presentation was over we solemnly filed out to where the giant pendulum was tracking the seconds as earth moved slowly beneath it. I was only slightly dizzy to once again be upright. Presently my father took us to the gift shop to get a souvenir. It took us a while to decide. These things were not the usual assortments of useless junk but had actual scientific meaning. In the end my brother chose a stainless steel gyroscope and I chose a small globe of the moon. It was just scale to a standard globe of the earth.
We went outside and saw the real stars shining above us. I had not yet seen Carl Sagan’s Cosmos, or read Roy A. Gallant’s Our Universe and it would be years before my first official astronomy class, but the heavens were open to me. And they are open to me still, even though the Denver Museum of Natural History is no more.



* There is some dispute as to whether Kepler is actually the source of this statement, but my research has found no credible alternative candidate.