Yesterday was the first total solar eclipse visible in the United States in roughly 40 years. People travelled hours to cities and locations in which the full eclipse would be visible in order to see an incredible two minutes of constellations and 360 degree sunsets in the middle of the day . A news article from March of this year described the eclipse this way:
“Darkness settles in. The soft colors of morning quickly dampen and shadows sharpen. As you look up, the sun transforms into a black hole, winter constellations appear, and the seldom-seen corona — that ghostly halo of light that wraps around the sun’s surface — becomes visible. The temperature plummets causing birds to grow quiet, farm animals to shuffle to their barns, and crickets to begin their nightly tune. You’re now in the shadow of the moon.”
During a full solar eclipse there is night in the middle of the day because you are in the shadow of the moon. These two opposing things - the sun and moon, day and night - that shouldn't co-exist at the same time, that are literally defined by opposing time, converge and the effect is otherworldly.
I can't help but feel like this last year has been a total spiritual eclipse.
Each sorrow, each loss is a shadow that has infringed on hope; as Shannon Hall said in the NBC news article, "[during an eclipse] the sun transforms into a black hole", and likewise my spiritual atmosphere has transformed into a black hole of grief.
“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. ”
Here's the thing... in the daytime, I can usually manage to balance around the gaping hole left by my dad, my baby and my mother-in-law; but at night, I stumble and fall into it.
Unfortunately, during an eclipse it is night even during the daytime and accordingly I can't seem to find my way out of this Alice-in-Wonderland-esque, never-ending fall down the grief hole.
How do I get out of a hole with no bottom? How do I see when the light of hope is fully eclipsed by the shadow of loss?
My sister-in-law mentioned how cool it is that you can see the constellations during a total eclipse. You see, the stars are always there, you just can't normally see them because the sun is too bright. How apt.
There is always light, even in the dark, even when the sun becomes a black hole, even when it seems like there is nothing left to shine. Many of these seemingly tiny pin-pricks of light are actually the same size as our sun or even bigger, just further away, harder to see.
Likewise, the the hope shed by spiritual constellations are no less than the hope shed by the easy to spot sun. Pardon my mixed metaphors, but the mustard seeds of faith are frequently more powerful than the obvious mountains of it.
In my spiritual eclipse I have struggled to see any way out of the black hole of grief. But then i look up.
I see tiny suns, seemingly blinking into existence, that I couldn't see before - bits of hope, of scripture, of Jesus -that have always existed but I have never felt the need to study because my faith was bright and easy. Only in the shadow of loss have I been able to appreciate the infinite number of spiritual suns, the infinite nature of scripture and of God. Dear heart, you will never be left in complete darkness because there are galaxies of hope shining behind each eclipsed sun.
We marvel at total solar eclipses because they represent a contradiction - the impossible fusion of sun and moon, day and night.
I have come to marvel at total spiritual eclipses because they represent a seemingly spiritual contradiction - the impossible fusion of sorrow and joy, loss and hope.