A Total Eclipse of the Sun

I do not worship the sun (I do, rather, the Son), but it holds a place of deific significance. Its ministrations are often taken for granted, as it rises in the East, traverses the sky, and sets in the West, with no need of reminder or encouragement from me or anyone else I know, but without which we would all certainly perish in cold and darkness. Its imperturbable faithfulness at being present in every season of life, every turn of fortune, every miscalculated opportunity, steadfastly giving abundant life-giving Vitamin D to many and life-taking skin cancer to others, is unmatched by anything else in nature. We not only set our clocks by it, it is the external standard by which we define that which is day, or, by its unmistakable absence, all that which is night. We depend upon it so heavily, not just for light or for measuring the passage of time, but for life itself, as its magic is manifested through the chemical reactions that continuously take place within the inner workings of plants, trees, and vegetable gardens, a process - was it photosynthesis? - that we used to almost understand in high school.

A couple of years ago, the astronomical prophets began to foretell the arrival in these United States of the grandest of all natural spectacles: a total eclipse of the sun. One must not settle for a partial eclipse, they warned, but one must be sure to locate oneself within the 70-mile wide path of totality, that region where the moon would entirely blockade the sun's light for mere minutes and reveal other mysteries incomparable to other natural events. I succumbed to their teaching, possessing, at least in this case, a vulnerable mixture of celestial fascination and thirst for adventure. A faithful student of these new doctrines, I succeeded in converting several of my older children as well. Thus, armed with high hopes and our eclipse glasses, we set our course for Columbia, Missouri, to camp in the back yard of people we did not know, to see this, the grandest of all natural spectacles: a total eclipse of the sun. We also prayed for a lack of clouds.

The appointed day arrived, and after a camp breakfast of scrambled eggs and pre-cooked bacon, we waited. I made a few phone calls, read a book, and waited some more. We scanned the sky, searching for those demons of eclipse watchers: clouds. Seeing none, we hoped to somehow hasten the eclipse. The sky is clear now! But our hopes could not alter the celestial plan. We must wait. Such interminable waiting.

At last, the appointed time arrived. The partial eclipse - that moment when the moon began to encroach upon the sun - had begun. We donned our special glasses and were eventually able to perceive that some dark mass had begun to prevail upon the sun. Had we not known that it was the moon, I suppose we would have surmised that it was just another piece of sky, boldly presuming upon the sun's territory. For nearly the next 90 minutes, the partial eclipse progressed, this dark mass, meeting apparently no resistance from the powerful sun, just taking more and more and more.

At about 50% of the partial eclipse, we began to discern subtle changes to our environment. The lighting became somewhat hazy, as though we had suddenly been overcome with a wave of polluted air. A few minutes later, as the lighting became more diffuse, the more perceptive among us took note of a weird vibe in the atmosphere. Something was not right with the world; we could not put our finger right upon it, but we knew something was out of order. The last 15 minutes or so of the partial eclipse gave us more ammunition for our increasingly confused senses. Through our special spectacles, we were able to see that that dark mass had claimed nearly all of the sun for its own. Would it ever be satisfied? It was 1:00 in the afternoon, yet the temperature began to moderate - and maybe even decrease. It was as dim as dusk, yet the sun was still overhead, faithfully producing shadows with what little light was left. The birds of the forest, apparently agreeing with our sensation of weird vibes, quieted their singing in anticipation, or apprehension, of what strange fate would soon befall us. We peered again through our eclipse glasses and watched as the sun was completely defeated. Just a sliver, then a few small beads, then nothing. The partial eclipse had ended.

Without fanfare or special pronouncement, we were plunged into the deep darkness of mid-day. Something was dreadfully wrong with the world. Surely the ancients were correct when they concluded that we had angered the gods and, in our selfish ignorance, inspired them to initiate the apocalypse, unleashing upon the world a disordering of all that we thought we knew and understood. The end of all things must be near at hand.

But I could not dwell on such existential anxieties very long; indeed, they fled my mind as I turned my attention to that black orb in the sky where the sun had just been moments before. I am awestruck. I am speechless, unable to identify any words more profound than "Wow!" so I just repeat that one over and over again. My new friends and fellow spectators are oblivious to my verbal insufficiency, though, as they all are preoccupied themselves with shouting, cheering, clapping, or simply being stunned. Clearly, the sun reserves its most beautiful demonstrations for those who, by persistence or luck, are entirely behind the shadow of the moon. Then, and only then, is the sun's corona visible to the naked eye. For 2 minutes and 39 seconds - a frightfully fast allotment of time - we stare at its incomparable beauty. Its radiance of silvery-white light projects out from behind the moon, in defiance of that black mass and rewarding those behind it with a spectacle unlike anything else they have ever seen before. The Scriptures say that the heavens declare the glory of God. Indeed. Before us is a declaration like none other, provoking one to borrow from Job what seems like the only suitable response: "Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth."

We stole a few precious moments to take note of our surroundings. We observed what appeared to be the first light of dawn, not just in the east, but in every direction. Several stars and planets were visible throughout the sky. The cicadas and peepers had taken up their nighttime chorus, and the two cats had darted here and there, searching for cover or some safe space in which to hide themselves. Furthermore, the temperature dropped 10-15 degrees, providing sweet respite to those of us not acclimated to the mid-August heat and humidity of Missouri.

Before we could agree to let it be over, or protest its insufficient duration, small beads of light began to appear on the edge of the dark orb. Then a diamond ring. Then the brightness and brilliance of mid-day sun. The total eclipse had ended.

For the next 90 minutes, the sun fought back against the black mass, eventually beating it off entirely. The temperature quickly rebounded and the cicadas and peepers repentantly quieted themselves, apparently embarrassed for their false start. The cats emerged, relieved that their world had not come to some calamitous end; the rest of us dispersed, ready to re-engage in the mundane pursuits of life, but now with a new appreciation for the celestial order and the God who created it, for we had just seen the grandest of all natural spectacles: a total eclipse of the sun.