Reflections on a solar eclipse
On April 8, 2024 I was one of more than 31 million people who observed a total solar eclipse as the moon cast its shadow on the earth, darkening a 100 mile wide path across the continent moving at the speed of 1,600 miles per hour. Most people would consider themselves fortunate to see one such event in their lifetime, and I’ve been blessed to have seen two in the last seven years. Only eight solar eclipses are predicted to affect the US throughout the entire 21st century, with the next major, coast to coast eclipse occurring on August 12, 2045.
My wife and I drove four hours from our home in southwest Missouri to see the total eclipse with friends in Mountain View, Arkansas. Situated on a hill overlooking fields and forests in every direction, the site was an ideal spot to observe this cosmic event. Friends and family gathered for the occasion, the smell of charcoal and grilled burgers adding to the sense of anticipation. Children excitedly sported their special glasses, older kids played with a football in the field, while the adults chatted with one another. I talked with Tim, a white-haired grandfather, there with his two grandsons, for what would be his third eclipse. His first was onboard a ship at sea, courtesy of the US Navy. This would most certainly be his last, and he wanted to share the moment and create a memory with his grandchildren. Knowing what was coming, I was excited for everyone to experience the profoundly spiritual moment that was speeding on its way from over the waters of the Pacific.
At 12:34 we observed the first contact as a little dot appeared on the lower left side of the sun. Checking back every few minutes for the next hour, we watched as the sun’s familiar circle became a moon-like crescent, and as the air around us cooled at midday, the once blinding sun became evermore dim. I noticed the crickets chirping at 1:45, duped by the moon into thinking that evening had come early. The birds began their wake up song mistakenly announcing what they thought to be a new day. The pace of the growing darkness quickened and in a moment, I looked up to see the crescent sun transformed into a spectacular ring, one last jewel of light bursting from the now extinguished sun.
A total solar eclipse is truly a cosmic event in that it involves celestial bodies of immense proportions all moving in a delicate dance. The Master Designer and Choreographer of the Universe created a sun 400 times the size of the moon and then placed it 400 times further away from the earth. The effect of this proportional design is that from the perspective of the earth, the moon appears to be the same size as the sun, covering it completely during a solar eclipse. This is a phenomenon that occurs nowhere else in the solar system. It’s as if God wanted us to experience an eclipse.
The psalmist said, “the heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech, and night after night they display knowledge (19:1,2).” Normally the sun and moon display God’s glory independently of one another. The sun takes the stage during the day, while the moon puts on its show at night. But occasionally their paths cross during the day, and the two perform for our delight simultaneously, the moon casting its night-like shadow on the earth, and the sun revealing its stunning crown (the corona) in a singular moment. The sudden darkness allows the sun’s reflected light to illuminate Venus (the Morning Star) on its right and Jupiter to its left. This is clearly a case of God just showing off.
Ask anyone who has experienced a total solar eclipse to describe it, and they will use words like “spiritual” or “religious”. Perhaps there is no exact word for it because it is like nothing else, and words can’t express the emotion of it all. I would describe it as a “liminal” experience. The word liminal is from the Latin word for “threshold.” It is to be on the precipice of something but not quite there yet. A total eclipse gives one the sense of being on that threshold between the physical reality we’re familiar with and the spiritual reality that we intuit. In a liminal moment the physical world meets the spiritual and the space between them becomes thin.
A total eclipse is a sensational experience, and by that I mean that it engages your senses in a profound and surprising way -- the sudden drop in temperature on a hot afternoon, the rush of cool air on your skin, the sound of birds and crickets in the middle of day, the glorious beauty of a diamond ring in the sky, the soft glow of a sunrise (or is it a sunset?) in every direction, the quickening of the heart to take it all in before it inevitably ends -- these combine to create an uncanny sense of unreality. In that moment I had a profound awareness of the presence of the God whose fingertips crafted the sun, moon and earth to be their exact size, calibrated their mass with the force of gravity, and then set them in motion eons ago so that they would align in this moment, the three becoming one for the pleasure of all.
The ancients always considered a solar eclipse to be an ominous sign. A toppled kingdom, a stunning defeat in battle or an environmental catastrophe was soon to follow the brief disappearance of the sun. Some today attempt to connect these phenomena to current events, making fantastic prophetic predictions. However, Jesus made it clear that, “an evil and adulterous generation seeks for a sign, but no sign will be given to it except the sign of the prophet Jonah. For just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth” (Matthew 12:39-40). In other words, the only sign we really need has already been given to us. It is the sign of Jesus’ resurrection. In the same way that Jonah was swallowed in the dark waters of the sea and emerged alive three days later, so Jesus was swallowed by death itself and obscured in darkness, only to rise again on the third day.
If you think about it, a total solar eclipse is a reminder of that sign, the only sign that ultimately matters. On a Friday afternoon two millennia ago, the Light of the World was extinguished by death. Crucified and suspended above the earth, a crowd looked up to the lifeless body of Jesus, the Son of God. Heaven had come and touched the earth in the person of Jesus, and yet we rejected this gift because we loved the darkness more than the light. His body was removed from the cross, placed in a tomb, and covered with death’s shroud. A massive stone was rolled over its entrance. The sun refused to shine that afternoon. There was darkness at midday.
On a Monday afternoon in Mountain View, I watched as the moon began its slow retreat across the face of the sun. I thought of that massive stone, cold and heavy, rolled away from the entrance to the tomb of Jesus on a Sunday morning. The eclipse moved into reverse, the powerful light of the sun inevitably dispelling every last vestige of darkness. The cold, lifeless moon returned to its place in the darkness, vanquished once more. It was most certainly a sign, a promise that the Light of the World has indeed come, and the darkness cannot overcome it (John 1:5).
If I haven’t moved to my new home in heaven by August 12, 2045, you will find me somewhere in the path of totality on that day, joining my voice with the song of sun and moon, declaring the glory of God and the victory of Jesus.
Hallelujah!
Praise God from heaven,
praise him from the mountaintops;
Praise him, all you his angels,
praise him, all you his warriors,
Praise him, sun and moon,
praise him, you morning stars;
Praise him, high heaven,
praise him, heavenly rain clouds;
Praise, oh let them praise the name of God—
he spoke the word, and there they were!
He set them in place
from all time to eternity;
He gave his orders,
and that’s it!
(Psalm 148:1-6, The Message)