When I go to bed at night, I like to watch documentaries. They help me get tired. Last night I watched the History Channel’s production of “Big History.” I couldn’t get to sleep. I had to commit to writing this in the morning before I could go to sleep. AI helped me with this, but it is my idea. This is my second devotion for today.
The History Channel’s show Big History takes viewers on a whirlwind tour from the Big Bang to the cell phone—yes, all the way from cosmic plasma to your Aunt Marge’s group text thread. The show stitches together physics, anthropology, geology, and the occasional “dramatic reenactment,” making it feel a bit like a documentary narrated by someone who just downed three espressos. Brian Cranston of “Breaking Bad” fame is the narrator. I think Walter White has been using his own product. The documentary is fast, flashy, and fun, suggesting that everything from empires to breakfast cereal can be explained by a chain reaction of cosmic accidents. In Big History, humanity is not the center of the story. We are more like the surprise twist at the end of a very long movie—“And then, against all odds, thinking creatures appeared!” Cue the dramatic music.
The contrast with biblical creationism is sharper than a barber’s straight razor. Scripture begins with the sweeping and majestic declaration, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” That line alone swerves hard away from Big History, which instead opens with, “In the beginning, hydrogen.” There is no mention of God or even a “designer.” In the biblical account, creation is purposeful, personal, and carefully ordered—light before life, land before livestock, and humans as the intentional image-bearers of God. In Big History, however, we are the result of lucky temperatures, fortunate chemical bonds, and a cosmic recipe that somehow didn’t burn the cookies. The show’s framework insists that purpose is optional, intention is imaginary, and the universe is basically a giant vending machine that malfunctioned and accidentally produced philosophers.
The consequences of these two worldviews could not be more different. If the universe is governed by chance, then meaning becomes a DIY project: assemble it yourself with an Allen wrench and hope you didn’t lose the screws. Life becomes a cosmic lottery ticket, and morality turns into a matter of preference—much like choosing between decaf or regular (and neither option guarantees good behavior). But if God is the Creator, then meaning is not invented; it is received. We are not cosmic leftovers but beloved creations. In a world designed by God, purpose has roots, morality has substance, and hope has a foundation. Chance may produce a galaxy, at least according to Big History, but only a Creator can produce a life worth living, a world worth cherishing, and a story where you are not an accident—but an intentional character written into the plot by the Author of everything.