7 A Universe in a Grain “Does God care for things so small?” “Does he care for you and me? We are to him less than one of these red dots is to us.” “Then how,” said the boy, now leaning upon the table and laying his head close to the master’s, studying each tiny stroke of the pen, “can God dwell within us?” “He dwelt in the womb of the Virgin and was no bigger than the tip of this quill.” “I cannot understand that, Master.” Eadfrith continued to work, with a patience that seemed outside of time itself. The boy too absorbed the patience, so that whether the answer came in a moment or an hour, he could not tell. “You are too small to understand it, and so am I.” “Master,” said the boy, “are the words of God also small, the words that you write on the page?” “Every jot and tittle,” said the master. Christ our light The boy cocked his head and looked back from the page. “These are letters,” he said. “I see it! All these birds and blades of grass and twigs and funny animals make up letters. But I don’t understand. What is an X and a P?” The bishop laughed. “Oh, those are Greek letters. The Greeks, they lived far away also,
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