Eclipsed

Eclipses are a delightfully oxymoronic natural wonder.

On the one hand, they are a predictably recurring celestial event, a mathematical certainty such that NASA is able to chart a calendar of them extending to the year 3000 and beyond. Humans have been documenting eclipses since at least 3340 B.C.E., as evidenced by a series of spiral-shaped and circular petroglyphs found at in County Meath, Ireland. Around 1200 B.C.E., scribes in Anyang, China, recorded eclipses on oracle bones with the words, “The Sun has been eaten.” The Maya astronomical record includes documentation of eclipses carved in stone, painted on pottery and murals, and written on codices.¹ And of course, religious texts including the Bible describe events such as the moon turning to blood and the sun turning to darkness, which could easily refer to lunar and solar eclipses. These are familiar, repeated, and shared—if endlessly awe-inspiring—events.

Yet despite their relatively common place in the natural order of things, nature itself finds eclipses extremely confusing. “Insects, bats, and birds that feed at night emerge as the sky darkens, sometimes in sufficient numbers to be detectable on radar. Birdsong tends to grow quieter as darkness descends, rising back up as the light reappears. Crows, gulls, and sparrows that are in flight have been observed alighting on trees or on the ground and silencing any chirps, calls, or caws. Dogs may cower or exhibit other fearful behavior. Bees may return to their hives, and domestic horses and cows may instinctively move to their stables.”²

Humans seem to be not much better. Historically, since the sun was often believed to be imbued with divine powers and/or symbolism, people and faith groups feared eclipses as a sign of impending evil or conflict among the spiritual forces. Many ancient people worried that an eclipse caused pregnancy issues such as blindness, cleft lips, and birthmarks.³ Even today, the disruption to everyday normalcy can cause anxiety and fight or flight responses, and anticipation of the cosmic event can generate fear in the forms of doomsday prophecy and conspiracy theory flare-ups.

Fear not. If we truly believe that “The heavens keep telling the wonders of God, and the skies declare what Creator has done” (Psalm 19:1), then the message of today’s eclipse—and indeed all of nature’s wisdom—is one of hope and affirmation. It is an inevitable part of the very rhythm of life in this world that blockages will come from time to time which diminish our view of God’s nurturing light. Yet we know the light is not gone; it is merely occluded. Rather than fear or projection, our best response is to wait and observe, for the light will always come again.

Today’s eclipse is a reminder that there is more to creation than our own little worlds. It is an invitation to awe and wonder and connecting with community around this shared cosmic experience. Even in disruption, God’s order will always hold sway, and we will be bathed in more light and healing and nourishment and life to come.