You may be aware that just four days from now, on Monday, April 8, there will be a total solar eclipse over parts of the United States. You can click here to see a map showing its path: https://science.nasa.gov/eclipses/future-eclipses/eclipse-2024/where-when/
You may not be aware that in the 20th century, there were only 12 total solar eclipses in the contiguous (48, excluding Alaska and Hawaii) United States. You can click here to view a map showing the paths of these 12: https://nationaleclipse.com/maps/usa_20th_century.html Furthermore, in this century, there are only a total of 8; one was in 2017, and then there is the one happening next week. After that, you will have to wait another 20 years for the next one. (On the other hand, there are total solar eclipses happening in other parts of the world; there are 68 total worldwide in this century.) The point is, a total solar eclipse is a comparatively rare event. I have had the privilege of witnessing the two most recent ones, in 1979 and 2017. Rather than just using overused adjectives to describe how awesome (oops, there’s one!) they are, I will relate my experience in 1979. I wrote an essay about that experience for a college class, but sadly, I have not been able to find it; regardless, I will do my best to relive and recount the experience here:
“I am sitting with 20 or so other students at my astronomy professor’s house. There is a great deal of animated conversation as we look at some of the best photos from our recent eclipse trip. My mind drifts away from the conversation and back about two weeks to that transcendent experience…
“On Saturday, we had all packed into a bus for an 8-hour ride that took us from northwest Iowa to a small town in North Dakota, just south of the U.S.-Canada border. We had spent the weekend scattered among seven houses belonging to incredibly hospitable people who housed us, fed us, took us to church, and asked us questions about the total solar eclipse.
“We got up early on Monday morning. One thing about a total solar eclipse is that totality lasts a mere 2-4 minutes; another thing is that the path of totality is relatively narrow, so it’s vital to be in the right place at the right time. And finally, everyone prayed for clear skies so that we could see it! Thankfully, our astronomy professor knew exactly where to be and when to be there. And thankfully, the Lord provided clear skies that morning! Our best bet was to travel a few miles to and then across the border. When we stepped onto the snow-covered, frozen plains of Manitoba, two of the Canadian students in our group immediately knelt down and kissed the ground.
“It was about 9:00, and totality was supposed to start at 10:36. Our professor quickly set up his telescope and a small whiteboard on a stand to show a projection of the disk of the sun; that way, we could see how much of the sun was covered as the minutes ticked by. At approx. 9:30, we could see that a tiny part of the disk was blacked out, so partiality had begun. As time ticked by, those of us with cameras and tripods (not including me) prepared them; nobody stood (or sat) still for very long, as it was only about 10 degrees (this was February 26). There was also a lot of excited conversation, including from the 7-year-old son of Professor Hodgson.
“By 10:00, it had already gotten noticeably darker, and as the minutes ticked by, that continued. At 10:30, it was very noticeably darker, and we soon noticed shadow bands on the snow; these are moving, wavy lines of alternating light and dark. We also noticed that there were fewer bird calls; Prof. Hodgson had told us that during a solar eclipse, they are fooled into “thinking” that it’s a false dusk. Then suddenly, the world was plunged into almost complete darkness. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a little light on the horizon. I took a quick glance; it looked like a sunset. I quickly turned my gaze to the blacked-out sun. Prof. Hodgson’s son yelled, “Totality!” while those with cameras began snapping photos. There were initially a lot of oohs and aahs, but most of us simply looked up in awe and gazed at a black disk with an irregular ring of fierce, insolent white fire (the sun’s corona) surrounding it. The ring seemed to be saying, “Try as you like, you can’t snuff me out completely!” I wasn’t sure, but I thought I glimpsed a reddish spot on the outer edge. Later, when I saw a couple of great photographs taken by a couple of my classmates, that spot and others were revealed to be red tongues of fire (solar prominences) that were coming out of the ring as well. (Here’s a link to a stock photo that includes prominences: https://www.sciencephoto.com/media/328798/view/prominences-seen-during-a-total-solar-eclipse) It was as if the white light and the red tongues were fighting against the darkness. Hmm…more than one spiritual parallel here… I was reminded at that moment of how primitive societies would become frightened during totality; they would beat drums, dance around, and yell to frighten away the evil spirits that had blotted out their light-giver; their strategy always worked! In our case, there were a few more exclamations, but there was mostly silence (except for the snapping of photos), as we all reverently drank it in. Prof. Hodgson had warned us, however, that as soon as we saw the bright light of the sun emerge, to immediately look away. (Eclipse glasses were not yet a thing.) All too soon, and very suddenly, the light of the sun reappeared, and we immediately averted our gaze…
“My attention returns to my classmates and Professor Hodgson at his house. In contrast to the two and a half minutes of totality, our conversation continues, loud and animated, as we examine some of the best eclipse photos. I think that those 2+ minutes will be forever burned into my memory as a transcendent, once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
That’s the end of the 1979 story. However, as I mentioned at the outset of this post, I got to see a second total solar eclipse in 2017, 38 years after my first one. My second one was especially special because my wife was with me; we traveled all the way from central California to the mountains of Idaho to see that one, and again, thank the Lord, on the morning of the eclipse, it was clear. We have friends, a couple, who had moved to North Carolina but had come back for a visit just a couple months after the 2017 eclipse. When we asked the man if he had seen it, he said that they would have had to travel about an hour to be in the path of totality; he and his wife didn’t consider it worthwhile. When he found out that we had traveled ~12 hours (one way) to see it in Idaho, he looked at us incredulously. He then made some disparaging comments about the “types” of people (such as environmentalists, who care more about nature than making money) who typically go to such events, as well as expressing how he thought it was a waste of time and money. This friend has always been uninhibited about expressing his opinions and doesn’t enjoy being out in nature, so I kept that in mind. However, I told him that what my wife and I had recently witnessed was an incredible blessing and a unique expression of the glory of God; he had no response.
My wife and I are not going to be able to travel to the band of totality next week. If you are so blessed as to live somewhere within that band, you won’t even have to travel! If you live close by, please take the time to enter the band, unlike my friend; you won’t regret it. Even if you have to travel a few hours to get there, I believe you will find the experience to be as transcendent as I have, regardless of whether you are a follower of Jesus Christ or not. And if you are already a follower, I believe you will find yourself worshiping the Lord in a new way.
