By Jack Wyman

Anticipation lasted for weeks.

The event? Barely four minutes. It didn’t change anything.
When it was over, we all went back to whatever it was we were doing before. The excitement vanished. But as brief as it was—and as fleeting—it was still significant. It was historic.

And for those of us who experienced it, this Total Solar Eclipse was sort of mystical, magical, and majestic.

I’m not a science geek. I was at first bemused by all the chatter. Then I figured, why not? I miss so much, perhaps I should not let this one get away. After all, I may not live to see the next total eclipse.

Beth and I planted a couple of lawn chairs in the driveway, put on the paper glasses, and looked up. The clouds were moving on, the sky was clear, and we had no obstructions. As the moon slid ever so gently and slowly between the earth and the sun, I admitted to some sense of pending wonder.

During an eclipse, the moon’s shadow races faster than the speed of sound across the earth’s surface—approximately 1,200 miles per hour. Yet, to my eyes, it seemed the moon was taking a casual stroll. Such was the incomparable enormity of what we were witnessing on this day.

As the moon closed in on the sun, it grew strangely dark and eerily quiet. The birds stopped chirping. It was like the calm before something dramatic.

There was a canopy of stillness.

Then, when the moon was finally covering the sun in “totality” (that word got mentioned a lot during this event), I took off the glasses and looked directly into the eclipse. I didn’t stop looking. This was something I’d never seen before, and would not likely ever see again.

Wow! How long would this last? I savored every second.

Yes, this astronomical event was pretty awesome. I wanted it to go on for a while longer. But, like everything else in life, it would end. After four short minutes, I had to put my glasses back on. The sun began to re-emerge. It grew lighter, back to normal.

The eclipse was over—at least for us. We had the pictures, the glasses, and the memories.

All across the path of this fascinating natural phenomenon, millions of people came outside their daily routine and donned the same type of glasses. They looked up at the same moment to see the same sun, moon, and sky. They witnessed the same amazing celestial occurrence. They watched it together. They reacted together. People smiled, shouted, laughed, and cheered.

Everyone was happy for the same four minutes.

Nobody criticized the eclipse. Nobody questioned it. Nobody assailed a neighbor for watching it. No one accused the eclipse of being a partisan ploy, or a dark conspiracy. Nobody called it fake news. Nobody tried to raise money off of it. Nobody called people names for watching it; nobody argued about it, and nobody regretted seeing it.

People deeply diverse and divided were suddenly united for a moment in time by the heavens.

You and I were brought together by something far bigger than anything on earth. And when man is reminded of how small he is, and of how vast, beautiful, mysterious, complex, and incredibly astonishing the universe is, that reminder quiets his heart, stills his soul, and humbles his spirit.

When we look up, we can’t help but look within. This is the quiet contemplation that makes us stop and think. Humankind’s shared reflection. If only briefly.

Created in the image of God, we understand a bit more fully that it is this divine image that unites us profoundly across our many superficial differences, and raises us above the beasts of the fields.

My neighbor’s dog didn’t notice the eclipse. Voiced no opinion on it.

King David was in awe of God’s handiwork.

“When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—the moon and the stars you set in place—what is man, that you are mindful of him?” (Psalm 8: 3-4).

In light of the unfathomable universe, why would God care about us? God does care about you and me. Which is why he has revealed himself to us, why he has visited us through his Son, and why he has given us so great a salvation.

The God who made the sun, moon, and the earth—the God who guided the eclipse across the sky—loves us.

The apostle Paul wrote about this in his letter to the Romans. Man could know the truth about God because divinity was manifest in the created order. “Ever since the world was created,” Paul wrote, “people have seen the earth and sky” (Romans 1:19-20). Through the visible creation, we see the invisible attributes of the Creator—his glory, majesty, and omnipotence.

God’s proven himself to us by what he’s made. He’s made you and me. He has crowned us with “glory and honor” (Psalm 8:5). Could it be that the eclipse touched that shared spark of divinity that inhabits us all and makes us fully human?

Marred as it is by sin, you and I still bear his image. We all do. Perhaps we need to think of that more often.

There’s not a person alive God doesn’t love as much as he loves you.

God himself has placed eternity in the heart of every mortal. That’s why we looked up to the skies the other day.

The same God who united us in wonder of his creation will one day unite us forever in his glory and holiness. And in his love.

We shall behold him.

Keep looking up.

To order Jack Wyman’s book, “Everything Else: Stories of Life, Faith and Our World”, go to amazon.com, Christian Book Distributors or barnesandnoble.com. It is also available on Kindle and eBooks.

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