SAMPLE CHAPTER from ALBATROSS
One of my favorite chapters of Albatross paints two thought provoking pictures: comparing a juggler to a "super-juggler," and the baseball image of "throwing the cover off the ball."
These illustrations demand consideration of the realities that must be met head-on when contemplating the creation of planet earth. We often picture creation as sort of "still life" setting. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
Enjoy this free reading sample!
ALBATROSS
Faith, Science, and the Future
by C.W. Steinle
Copyright © 2025 Memorial Crown Press
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rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
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reviews.
Chapter
Twelve: Time and Creation
The man beneath the
two skies looked up and wondered not only what the heavens
declared, but when they had begun to speak.
For time itself seemed to stretch without edge or anchor.
The stars above told stories in light-years, their glow beginning its journey
across space long before the first human stood on the earth to see it. The
rocks beneath his feet spoke in ages—strata laid down in fire and flood,
fossils pressed between layers older than imagination. The physicists told of
cosmic background radiation, an echo from the birth of the universe itself,
nearly fourteen billion years ago.
The opening chapter of Genesis is a symphony of creation:
light and darkness, sea and sky, land and life, sun and moon, stars and
seasons, all rising at the word of God. Its refrain—“and there was evening, and
there was morning”—beats like a drum between each act. For the
Creator, to speak is to accomplish; His word is deed, His command reality. Yet,
the “days” of Genesis may measure not hours but order, not chronology but
liturgy—the pacing of a cosmic temple being built for the glory of God.
Others have read them as literal days, defending a young
earth only thousands of years old. For them, geology is explained by
catastrophe, fossils by flood, the speed of light itself perhaps altered to fit
the timeline. The world, they insist is not older than Adam by more than a few
rotations of the sun.
But the universe itself seems to argue otherwise.
Astronomy stretches human imagination to the breaking point.
Light travels nearly six trillion miles in a single year, yet we see galaxies
whose light began its journey millions—even billions—of years ago. Geology
speaks of ages before ages: continents drifting, mountains rising, oceans
carving valleys through stone laid down in forgotten epochs.
As the man looked up at the stars, he realized he was
watching a ballet on a galactic scale. As the universe has expanded over the
last 13.8 billion years, the regions of space that emitted the light we now see
have moved farther away. This means that objects whose light left 13.8 billion
years ago are now much more distant. A calculation based on the standard
cosmological model (known as Lambda-CDM) shows that these objects are now at a
"comoving distance" of about 46.5 billion light-years from us. The
calculation is based on data collected by major space-based and ground-based
observatories and is constantly being refined.
- Planck Satellite (ESA): The
Planck mission, which operated from 2009 to 2013, provided the most
precise all-sky map of the cosmic microwave background (CMB) to date. The
data released by the Planck team in 2013 and 2015 refined the age of the
universe and the values of the cosmological parameters used to calculate
its size.
(See explanation of CMB that follows.)
- Wilkinson Microwave
Anisotropy Probe (WMAP): Before Planck, NASA's WMAP mission produced
detailed full-sky maps of the CMB's temperature variations.
- Hubble and James Webb
Space Telescopes: These telescopes use multiple methods to measure
distances and redshifts of galaxies, which inform our understanding of
cosmic expansion.
This ballet of movement is observed using geometrical
calculations considering various parallax angles of view.[2]
Gravity supplies the inward pull; motion supplies the outward inertia; and the
result is a cosmos where orbits persist for eons because moving masses follow
curved paths under gravity’s pull (inertia vs. gravity in balance). Earth
itself was made to move: it spins, it circles the Sun, the Sun sweeps around
the Milky Way, and our whole neighborhood drifts through the cosmos relative to
the primordial afterglow of creation—the cosmic microwave background (CMB). At
the equator, Earth’s spin is about 1,037 mph; at Phoenix’s latitude it’s ~865
mph.
From the moment
scientists discovered it in 1965, the Cosmic Microwave Background has
been regarded as one of the most important clues to the origin and structure of
the universe. It is sometimes called the “afterglow” of the Big Bang, the faint
whisper of radiation that fills all of space like the dying embers of a
once-roaring fire. Roughly 380,000 years after the Big Bang, when the young
cosmos had expanded and cooled enough for electrons and protons to combine into
neutral atoms, the fog of scattering particles cleared. For the first time,
photons—the particles of light—could travel freely across space. The radiation
released at that moment has been racing outward ever since, stretched by cosmic
expansion until today it shines not in visible light but in microwaves at a
temperature of 2.73 Kelvin (minus 454.8° Fahrenheit), just a few degrees above
absolute zero.
To modern
cosmology, this thin bath of microwaves is much more than an exotic curiosity.
It is a cosmic landmark, a remnant from the earliest observable era of the
universe, and one of the most precise tools we have for studying both the
history and the motion of the cosmos itself. When satellites like COBE, WMAP,
and Planck mapped the sky in exquisite detail, they found the CMB to be
astonishingly uniform, the same in every direction to one part in 100,000. Yet
there was a subtle pattern: a tiny rise in temperature on one side of the sky
and a tiny dip on the other.
This “dipole
anisotropy,” as it came to be called, could be explained very simply. If you are at rest with respect to the
expanding universe, the CMB should look the same in every direction—no side
hotter or colder than any other. But if you are moving relative to that cosmic
frame, the photons ahead of you get compressed by your motion, their
wavelengths shortened, making them appear slightly hotter. Those behind you, by
contrast, are stretched and cooled. The result is a faint hot-cold pattern
across the sky, a kind of cosmic Doppler shift that directly reveals your speed
relative to the universe itself.
Careful
measurements show that our Solar System is moving at about 369 kilometres per
second relative to this universal rest frame defined by the CMB. The direction
of this motion points roughly toward the constellation Leo, reflecting not only
Earth’s orbit around the Sun but the Sun’s own orbit around the center of the
Milky Way, the Milky Way’s motion toward the Andromeda galaxy, and the entire
Local Group of galaxies moving through the larger cosmic web. Layer by layer,
when astronomers correct for these known motions, what remains is the net
velocity of our whole galactic neighbourhood through the expanding universe
itself.
The CMB frame has
thus become the closest thing modern cosmology has to a “preferred frame of
reference”—not in the sense of overturning Einstein’s relativity, for the laws
of physics remain the same everywhere, but as a practical benchmark tied to the
universe’s own birth. It anchors our measurements of large-scale structure,
galaxy flows, and cosmic expansion, providing a backdrop against which the
drama of cosmic motion unfolds.
One might picture
it this way: imagine a vast swimming pool filled with millions of ping-pong
balls bobbing on the surface. In the frame of the pool itself, the balls drift
randomly, no side favored over any other. But if you begin swimming through the
pool, balls in front of you come thicker and faster; those behind thin out. The
CMB behaves in just this way, its nearly uniform glow betraying our motion
through space not by any single point of light, but by a universal,
all-encompassing shift in temperature from one horizon to the other.
As instruments grew
ever more sensitive—from the early COBE maps in the 1990s to WMAP in the 2000s
and finally Planck’s stunning full-sky survey in 2013—the precision of these
measurements improved dramatically. Modern results even account for the way our
motion subtly aberrates the small-scale fluctuations themselves, a cross-check
confirming the reality of the speed we measure. Far from being a mere
curiosity, the dipole in the CMB has become one of the most solidly established
facts in cosmology, a reminder that our Earth, Sun, and galaxy are all carried
along in the vast river of cosmic expansion.
For those wanting
to explore further, excellent introductions can be found in the Planck
Collaboration’s 2013 paper “Doppler boosting of the CMB: Eppur si muove”
(arXiv:1303.5087), the standard Planck 2018 results published in Astronomy
& Astrophysics, and countless summaries in modern cosmology textbooks
and reviews. Together, they show how a faint whisper from the dawn of time
became a measuring stick for the motion of galaxies themselves—and for our own
small place in the moving, restless universe.
The cleanest single answer is the CMB rest frame—defined by
the tiny hot-cold dipole in the microwave background. That dipole tells us the
Solar System’s barycenter is moving ~369.8 km/s (~827,700 mph) relative to the
CMB.
Layer Earth’s own orbital motion on top of that and you get
a seasonal swing: when Earth’s orbital velocity
(~29.8 km/s; ~66,600 mph) happens to align with the CMB vector, our speed in
that frame is higher; when it’s opposite, lower—roughly ~761,000 to ~894,000
mph over the year. (Daily rotation nudges that by only ~1,000 mph, negligible
at this scale.)
It is not necessary to add the Sun’s galactic speed on top
of the CMB speed. The CMB number already includes the
Sun’s ~220–225 km/s (~490,000–503,000 mph) orbit about the Milky Way, plus our
Local Group’s other tugs. Adding them again would double-count.
For context, our Local Group’s barycenter itself moves
~620–627 km/s (~1.4 million mph) relative to the CMB, roughly toward the
Hydra–Centaurus “Great Attractor” region. That’s our peculiar motion atop the
general expansion of space.
In regard to the concept of “moving away from the Big Bang”:
space has no central point of expansion. Galaxies recede from each other
according to Hubble’s law; we are not flying away from a
single location. Quoting speeds in the CMB frame is therefore the standard,
unambiguous way to say how fast we’re moving through the universe.
- While
cosmology describes a gradual assembly, nothing in the observed dynamics
(the speeds and balances above) contradicts
the idea that masses and motions could have been set coherently at once;
rather, the data show what combinations are required for stability.
- Physical
statement (neutral): Long-lived orbits require the right
combination of mass distribution and initial velocities; the Sun–Earth
system and the Milky Way plainly have those conditions. In standard
cosmology, such conditions emerge via gravitational collapse and structure
formation over time.
Picture a street performer beneath
the open sky, tossing three balls—catch, toss, catch, toss—each motion
depending on the one before. That is creation as sequence: God speaks, light dawns;
He speaks again, sky and sea divide; He speaks once more, and land rises from
the deep. The beauty lies in the timing—order revealed step by step, like a
master artisan laying brushstrokes on a canvas or a teacher turning pages for
eager students.
Now imagine another
performer, a super-juggler of impossible skill. With one fluid motion, he sends
every ball into the air at precisely the right speed, height, and angle. Their
paths are perfectly coordinated, so when they reach their first peaks and begin
to fall, his hands are already moving in flawless rhythm. From the very first moment,
the whole performance works because the patterns were set in motion all at
once.
One image shows God
as Teacher—the week
of creation unfolding like a lesson plan, each day declaring its purpose and
culminating in Sabbath rest. The other shows God as Sovereign Composer—a
universe so well-scored from the first instant that the entire cosmic symphony
plays in perfect harmony as soon as the curtain rises. Both pictures are
biblical; both magnify His wisdom. But they invite us to ponder different
aspects of His creative genius: ordered progression on one hand, instantaneous
coherence on the other.
Baseball fans know
the phrase “throwing the cover off the ball,” the image of a pitch launched
with such force that it seems to tear itself apart. Now imagine the reverse: a
ball held motionless in mid-air and then, suddenly, fired forward at full
speed. The jolt would destroy the ball. Now, scale this to the cosmos.
Suppose earth were
created at rest; and during the course of a “day” or two was hurled into its
present velocity—spinning on its axis while racing around the sun, the sun
itself orbiting the Milky Way, the galaxy rushing outward with the universe’s
expansion. These combined motions exceed 800,000 miles per hour.
If earth had been thrust into such speed abruptly—in merely a day or so,
neither oceans nor atmosphere nor crust could have survived the violent
acceleration.
Instead, the
evidence suggests a cosmos already in motion from its very first moment—its
forces balanced, its paths aligned, its rhythms set like notes in a score. That
is not a limitation on divine power; it is a tribute to divine wisdom. Whether
through a six-day unveiling or a single, sovereign command, creation itself
declares a God who needs no warm-up, no trial run, no second draft. The laws of
physics and the gift of life appear not as afterthoughts but as parts of one
seamless act of artistry and authority.
Augustine (4th–5th c.): instantaneous creation with
“seed-like principles.”
In De Genesi ad litteram, Augustine argues that God
could create all things simul (together/instantaneously), implanting rationes
seminales—latent principles by which creatures unfold in time. The “six
days” then mark an order of understanding, not a mechanical 144-hour
clock.
Aquinas (13th c.): God could create at once; six days are
“fitting.”
Aquinas affirms both options: God created the substance
of things “all at once,” while the six-day distinction and adornment is
narrated to display due order and pedagogy. He explicitly says the days are
assigned so that “due order might be observed” in instituting the world—not
because God needs time.
Framework / literary structure (20th c. to present).
Meredith Kline and others see the week as a literary
framework: Days 1–3 form “realms” (light/dark; sky/sea; land), Days 4–6
“fill” them (luminaries; birds/fish; animals/humans), culminating in the
Sabbath. The pattern is semi-poetic and architectonic, communicating theology
(God’s kingship, vocations, worship) more than a stopwatch chronology. (Even
critics agree this is the claim.)
Walton’s “cosmic temple inauguration.”
John H. Walton argues Genesis 1 describes functional
origins—God assigning roles and order—framed as a seven-day temple
inauguration in ancient Near Eastern idiom. The account is thereby “poetic”
in purpose yet aims at truth about God’s world as his dwelling.
Jewish literary scholarship (Sarna; Alter).
Jewish exegetes often note Genesis 1’s elevated prose,
parallelism, and symmetry—a carefully composed text that teaches theology
through artistry as much as through sequence. (This is not calling it “myth,”
but recognizing its crafted rhetoric.)
Bottom line: Each of these proposals treats Genesis 1 as poetic
in form yet truthful in aim—communicating who God is and what the world is for,
not merely how many hours each act required.
The All-at-Once vs. the Day-by-Day Creator
Classical answer: Greatness is not measured by duration
but by sovereignty and wisdom. In classical theism, God could create in
an instant or over ages; either way displays omnipotence. Aquinas: the
multi-day ordering is fitting for revealing order, hierarchy, and
Sabbath; Augustine: simultaneous creation exalts God’s transcendence
over time while allowing temporal unfolding within creation. Both routes
magnify God—different facets of the same diamond.
- All-at-once (Super-Juggler)
emphasizes:
omnipotence, foreknowledge, comprehensive coherence—the “score” written so
perfectly that reality plays on cue. (Your astrophysical section dovetails
here: masses, motions, and laws must be mutually tuned from the start.)
- Day-by-day (Master Juggler)
emphasizes:
pedagogy, covenantal rhythm, creaturely participation—God teaches
by pacing, names vocations by stages, and enthrones Sabbath as the
crown.
If we define “greater” as raw power, the
instantaneous orchestration feels maximal. If we define “greater” as revealed
wisdom and moral pedagogy, the six-day drama—and, by analogy, an eons-long
providence—displays greater didactic brilliance. The fullest
confession is: both together—God is great in power (able to
create “at once”) and great in wisdom (ordering creation to teach, to
bless, to invite worship).
To the man beneath two skies it seemed that the very atoms
in our bodies were forged in the cores of ancient stars that lived and died
before the sun itself was born. To deny the antiquity of the cosmos would be to
deny the testimony of the heavens themselves, as though the God who wrote
Scripture had contradicted His own words by the language spoken through light
and stone.
And so some sought harmony.
---------------------
C. W. Steinle
ALBATROSS Amazon book page: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQGLTJYM
