This afternoon, the moon will pass in front of the sun like a perfect lid covering the liquid ring of fire.
Anyone imagining that a random big bang started such a dance will be stumped at the precision—especially since scientists can tell you exactly when the next one will happen.
They say hotels are sold out. “Make sure your car’s gassed up,” people warn in the same ominous tone they used at Y2K.
I imagine the Google Earth satellite, and whoever owns it, will have a fun time looking down on a census of North Americans in backyards and hilltops, their 3-D glasses balanced on craned-back heads like a drive-in iMax movie. In the daytime.
What It Means
There’s something about looking up that makes you look around. No one can view such a phenomenon without pondering deep things. Whether you decide to worship the God who set the heavenly bodies in alignment or the heavenly bodies themselves is largely dependent on what you see when you look around.
In case you’re reading this in 2024, when the next eclipse over America happens, let me get you up to speed.
When the Headlines Meet the Heavenlies
The past few weeks, cherished statues of historic figures have been removed. Heroic statesmen like Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson have borne the brunt of racial tensions that must surely grieve them from their observation posts in heaven.
Black Christians meet in quiet clusters at their churches, smiling at their playing children while stealing nervous glances at passing cars. Who can they trust?
White Christians with dear black friends fume about the audacity of the statue removers who want to erase history.
“Quit crying about slavery! It’s been gone 150 years!”
The other side:
“Quit crying about the Confederacy! It’s been gone 150 years!”
And nobody listens.
As we look up today, may we finally listen. The God who designed that moon to perfectly block out a sun 150 million kilometers away has designed each of us to be at this place, at this time. He covered us with the skin He chose. He covered our neighbors likewise. He loves us all, at our brightest and darkest moments, equally.
Jesus Christ, the Messiah, humbled Himself to visit this hateful planet to suffer death in the place of each of us. Our sins of fear, anger, apathy, and bitterness were placed on Him when He was punished for our sins on another day the sun went black.
Today as we look up, let’s think on Jesus. Only the Messiah can cleanse this dark world and make it bright. None of our attempts to rewrite history or “get over it” can change the darkness and pain that drives such hate.
Only Jesus can.
Only the One who made the moon and the stars, the sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars can fix this mess. He’s the Light of the world. Looking to Him will fill us with the light we need to reflect Him and drive out the darkness.
His light is for the Black Lives Matter folks. It’s for the people hiding under white hoods. It’s for you and me, who feel trapped in a world that wants to tell us who to hate.
“Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”