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On Monday, April 8th, the moon will block the sun in another total eclipse. Apparently, over 31 million people will have a chance to witness the full totality and the full corona, with its halo of light around a circle of darkness above their home town (and millions more will be traveling to see it too.) In Minnesota, unfortunately we will not be in the “path of totality” (which will include Mexico, Texas, Missouri, and up into Canada). I tried to get a ticket to Houston or Dallas, but they were all booked up—or thousands of dollars—apparently others planned better than I did for this once in a rarity experience. I even checked how long of a drive it would be to get to the closest edge of the totality’s path, in time to plop down on a blanket with my special viewing glasses. But, if I hopped in the car, would the weather allow good viewing?
Why is this a big deal for me?
Almost seven years ago, my parents and I had an “eclipse party” at my home with silly circular muffins and corona-colored cookies. We ordered our special paper viewing glasses online, and I ran around the city looking for a solar-viewing scope to get a better close up. We were only in the “partial phase” (as we will be this time, too), catching some effects of the eclipse: darkened skies, crisp outlines of trees and leaves, chitter chatter and then quieting of wildlife, and a chill in the air, a stillness of breeze. In 2017, it was a cloudy day so we only caught a couple minutes of the sun in its sliver, and (ironically) the best viewing was not in my telescope, but on the shiny hood of my dad’s silver car. We all wore our eclipse t-shirts, and my dad and I vowed to head to the path of totality in 2024.
So much has happened since that promise. Both my parents are now gone, and I’m sad to say that in all that loss I actually forgot about the coming of the eclipse this year, and my promise. It wasn’t on my radar, even though I am a big astronomy buff. Maybe it was because it was a plan I had with my dad, and since he’s gone I had no one to remind me. Or maybe, I’ve been in such a haze about the future—since some days I feel like I’m living in the memories of the past, trying to call on them to give me solace and some added joy. Or maybe (I’d like to think this), that we just celebrated Easter, the resurrection of our Lord, the ultimate bright sun and only Son given from God and the promise of light past the darkness—the most important joy in my life. Or it could be a combination of all of these things as to why I am not on the road or in the air, making my way to an event that friends (who have made the trip before) say is an amazing spiritual experience.
When it finally came to me that I was going to miss this year’s eclipse, I had a sense of panic. The next one to come to North America will not be until the year 2044. If I’m lucky enough to be around then, I will be in my late 70s and most likely not up to creative travel chasing the astronomical miracles God provides. So this year, I will have to make the best out of the day. Do I watch the eclipse on TV, perhaps the NASA app? Do I try to catch a glimpse of the partial again, praying clouds to disperse, pull out my cheap telescope and close one eye and peek in to see an up close sliver of the sun, again. Do I make silly muffins and eclipse cookies for my daughter; does she wear my t-shirt again (see photos)? Do I sit and listen to the chatter of God’s creatures become quiet and hope for the crisp out lines of trees to inspire a most spiritual moment. Do I try not to get down on myself for forgetting a promise I made to my dad, and myself, to get to see the “real deal”?
Again, a better question—why does it all matter so much to me?
I think it has something to do with tangibility and spirituality. Especially when you’ve lost a lot in you life, sometimes you crave the things that remind you of the mysterious miracles of God in a tangible “I can see it, hear it, experience it” way. An eclipse showing God’s purposeful creation moving itself into different alignment so we might pause and reflect on our natural world, God’s abundant creativity and power to affect all living things—connecting us together in some universal experience. A spiritual experience. Despite any of our differences, on a particular day and time, the moon will cover the sun and the world will look other-worldly, and we will all be reminded that everything in life does not revolve around us.
Philosophical? Yes. That’s what grabs me. Things beyond my understanding connecting me with God’s world in a tangible, “here and now” way. Like, when I witnessed my father passing to the next world: tangible dad leaving to be a part of the next, a place I cannot see, but know exists. Maybe the eclipse is more proof of the place my parents reside. If God can give us this eclipse, we know that God’s grace and promise in Christ death and resurrection is also real, is tangible. No doubts. If the squirrels and insects can feel God’s power in that moment, too, surely my faith can be strengthened.
So, this year I will purposefully tie the celebration of Christ’s resurrection and the eclipse (taking us into darkness and then to a glorious new light). And even if I cannot see it in all its glory on a blanket with my face to the sun, I can give thanks to God for these occasional miracles that millions of others will see—and pray that they are blessed in witnessing. That God will enrich their faith in a “totality” experience. And also pray that in 2044, I might be around to have my son get me into the greater path so I might be able to view the glorious corona when the sun’s rays burst from behind the darkness.
Amen.
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