Why Don’t Adam’s and God’s Fingers Touch?

This article is part of the Claritas spring 2025 issue, Connection. Read the full print release here.

BY ANGELA CHANG

In the beginning, God spoke, and the universe burst into being. Stars salted the skies, oceans roared to life, and mountains rose to pierce the heavens. Amid this symphony of creation, God’s masterpiece was humanity, crafted in His image. We carry the divine spark within us, a reflection of His holiness, yet we are not divine. We are earthly, fallen, and thus bound by mortality. This is the mystery of our existence: we are dust yet designed for eternity, finite yet made for forever.

Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam captures this tension. [1] The gap between Adam’s and God’s fingers is the story of humanity’s longing and God’s relentless pursuit. Adam, reclined on the earth, reaches out but is unable to grasp the Divine. His posture reflects our own: burdened by the weight of our humanity, often too distracted, too weary, or too overwhelmed to reach for the Creator who made us. This gap is our lived reality, the space between the chaos of daily life and the rest we crave. For Cornell students, this chaos is the 42 unread Slack messages, the assignments piling up on Canvas, the endless LinkedIn doom-scroll for summer internships. It’s the exhaustion of trying to define our worth apart from our identity as God’s loved creation. No amount of productivity, achievement, or scrolling will bridge the gap.

But the truth is, God’s invitation is not contingent on our ability to overcome fatigue, distractions, or busyness. In His perfect love, He sent Jesus Christ—fully God and fully man—to bridge the gap. In Him, the divine and human met, and He served as a perfect mediator between heaven and earth. As God, He carried the power to conquer sin and death; as man, He bore our frailty, our pain, and our brokenness. Through His life, death, and resurrection, He became the bridge we could not build ourselves. Through His outstretched hands, He took our place, bearing the weight of our sins, and offered us a way back to God. 

This truth is profoundly liberating, especially for students navigating the pressures of Cornell life. When the weight of deadlines feels crushing, when the LinkedIn hustle leaves us empty, when the Slack notifications hijack our screens, we can pause and remember: God meets us amid our chaos, inviting us to find rest in Him. As Saint Augustine wrote, “You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” [2] 

Living in response to this invitation means turning to Him, trusting in His finished work, and finding the rest our souls have longed for. It’s praying not just with words but with actions—choosing to love, serve, and forgive just as Jesus did because His love compels us. When we love our neighbors—whether it’s a classmate wrestling with a problem set or a friend drowning in life’s pressures—we model God's love and the type of connection He intended for us. When we serve others, we honor the sacred bond we share as fellow image-bearers of God, extending His care and compassion to a hurting world. And when we forgive our enemies, we step into His work of restoration and reconciliation, subsequently experiencing His presence more fully. To love, to serve, to forgive—these are not mere actions but echoes of His grace, invitations to live as He lived and to draw closer to His heart.

The discipline of reading Scripture is more than an intellectual exercise; it’s about encountering the living God. The Bible, divinely inspired, reveals God’s character, His promises, and His plan for humanity. As we immerse ourselves in His Word, we come to know Him more intimately, and His truth shapes our thoughts, actions, and desires. Through both His love in action and the discipline of seeking Him in Scripture, we grow in our relationship with Him, not by striving, but by resting in the grace He has already given.

Just as Scripture reveals God’s heart, so too does the world He created—every breath, every heartbeat, every moment of beauty is a gift from the Creator. The sun cascading over Libe Slope, the sweetness of a Caramel Three Chimes stuffed between two chocolate chip cookies, the crisp air slapping your face as you trudge through the Arts Quad to your 9 a.m. class are all moments that cannot be defined as accidents. They are invitations to draw closer to God, to recognize His hand in the details of our lives.

Creation reveals God’s creativity, His care, and His provision. The beauty of a sunset whispers of His glory, the intricacy of a flower speaks of His attention to detail, and the food that sustains us testifies to His faithfulness to provide. When we pause to savor these simple joys, we catch glimpses of His character—His generosity, His love for beauty, and His desire for us to thrive.

As Revelation 3:20 (NIV) reminds us, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in.” Opening that door means turning toward God, trusting in Jesus’ sacrifice, and beginning a relationship with Him. It’s not about earning His love or fixing ourselves first; it’s about accepting the gift He offers and allowing Him to transform us from the inside out. Our task is to reach out, take His hand, and walk with Him, knowing He has already done the work to bring us close.

The door is open. His hand is extended. The only question is: how will we respond to God’s invitation today? Will we let the chaos of life drown out His voice, or will we pause, even briefly, to turn our hearts toward Him? Perhaps today, we can start by thanking Him for the beauty of a sunset, reaching out to a friend in need, or opening His Word to hear His voice. In the space between divine invitation and human response, we can find eternal rest for our weary souls.

[1] Michelangelo, The Creation of Adam, 1512, fresco, Sistine Chapel ceiling, Vatican City.

[2] Saint Augustine, Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 3.