Christ in the Cosmos, Christ in Me

As someone who has long struggled with skepticism, I find the Apostle Paul’s words in Galatians 2:20 especially moving. In this passage, Paul describes a deep transformation—an inner luminosity and a surrender of the ego—that arises from Christ’s radical love and grace. Our old ways of living die, and Christ becomes the source of our life. This new life is lived daily by consciously trusting Jesus and His sacrificial love. These words resonate with me because they speak to the tension that has shaped my own faith journey as both a Christian and a scientist. 

Epidemiology—the study of how disease is distributed in populations—has been my vocation for more than 30 years. At its core, the field assumes that disease is not random but driven by underlying, often invisible, forces. I was drawn to this work because it seeks order within chaos, with the hope of relieving suffering. Yet epidemiology also sharpened my skepticism. It asks us to disentangle the forces that shape disease—genes, toxic exposures, poverty, social inequities—and to separate truth from the errors of flawed design, confounding variables, and bias. This discipline not only trained me to probe beneath appearances but also heightened my awareness of deep global disparities. Why have so many people, across centuries and cultures, suffered so disproportionately?

Such skepticism became, for many years, a barrier to faith. I wrestled—sometimes obsessively—with questions that seemed irreconcilable with Christianity: Is evolution, with its inherent suffering, compatible with the notion of a loving God? In a universe so vast, can I believe God is so singularly concerned with humanity? What of those who never knew Christ—the millions before his crucifixion, the faithful raised in other traditions, or those without the capacity to grasp Scripture? These questions consumed me and kept me at arm’s length from the faith I longed for. 

In 2010, I began attending a church in Houston—a congregation that included many NASA scientists—that welcomed rigorous inquiry. In small groups we discussed freely, and I discovered voices within Christianity—Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Jürgen Moltmann, Paul Tillich, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Marilynne Robinson—that did not ask me to silence my questions. Instead, they invited me to bring them into my faith. Through this experience, my restlessness gave way to a deeper trust. 

For me, Galatians 2:20 is especially relevant to those who have wrestled with doubt. It reminds me that faith is not about resolving every philosophical dilemma but about surrendering to a new identity rooted in Christ. Christ is alongside us, especially in suffering, and through the crucifixion stands in solidarity with us in our pain. Rather than an obstacle, my questioning has become part of the journey. Christ lives within me, and I share in the cosmic body of Christ—and this trust, more than intellectual resolution, is what sustains my faith.  

Reflection Questions 

• Which of the questions the author wrestled with resonate most deeply with you? Why? 

• Galatians 2:20 speaks of a new identity rooted in Christ. What might it mean for you personally to “die to self” and let Christ live within you?