The Eclipse of the Son

On the day of the solar eclipse, we traipsed lazily through the vineyard of a friend, past the lake with its shining waters. It was in the path of totality, and a bunch of friends gathered for the occasion. As we found a spot on the grass with the others, I leaned back, pulled the eclipse glasses out of my pocket and slipped them on. Immediately, I was plunged into darkness, except for the small, distant, muted ball of fire there in the sky above. I took them off and gazed at the beauty: in nature and in the people around me. It was midday yet the sky was gradually darkening into a lovely dusk, as the crickets started their chirruping and the frogs began their evening croaking. Some of the kids threw their line into the water, dearly hoping for a nibble on the other end, while others laughingly chased the Beagle who was playing a rousing game of keep away from his dedicated admirers.

Then, the moment we all were waiting for arrived as the moon passed in front of the sun and everything became dark. I looked up and gazed with wonder at the big black circle in the sky, as light rays streamed out on all sides.

Then, the most surprising thing of all happened…

The sky, which moments before had been a lovely blue surrounded in sunshine, darkened, and the stars which had been completely hidden by the sun, suddenly materialized…

and that which was unseen became visible.

It is a lot like grief, this eclipse. I often refer to the day Caleb died, as the day when the darkness came. Death is a great darkness. It blots out everything. Who you are is changed forever. The foundation of your understanding of life itself is rocked to the core. Everything is turned upside down, and you feel as if you are being swallowed up by a power greater than you’ve ever known. The grief itself is all encompassing, complete in its totality.

On July 13th, 2022, the darkness came into our lives.

But so did the stars.

And with the stars, God weaved his grace in and out of our lives, holding us, lifting us up, encouraging us with his words, his presence, his people. There truly is “a friend that sticks closer than a brother.” At times, all I could feel was the breath of his Spirit. But that was all I needed. It brought me to the end of the day. Then, the next. There is no way to navigate grief except to take it day by day, moment by moment.

In the bright light of day, we cannot see the stars. Yet, they are there. In the darkness of an eclipse, we realize that they always have been there. It was in the darkness that we were made aware.

We live in a world surrounded by death and dying. But that seems so far away; a distant reality. Then, we experience an eclipse, and death squeezes into our lives, causing the sunshine of God’s providence to be blotted out, and our days are suddenly plunged into darkness.

I remember feeling as if a heavy hand was pushing me down into a coffin in the earth. Down into the darkness. I wanted to scream! I wanted this nightmare to end. It seemed surreal, yet more real than anything I’ve ever known.

But there, in the sudden blackness, the stars shone forth in all their brilliant splendor. And through the agonizing pain, I felt the strong arm of Jesus wrap around me, giving me stability from death’s invisible hand.

The Greatest Eclipse the world has ever known happened over 2000 years ago.

And for a time, it looked as though darkness had won.

For a brief moment, the light of the world was eclipsed by the power of darkness.

But the blackness of the night could not overpower the light. The stars were there; beckoning us to wait, believe, trust. Death will not win, just as darkness cannot overcome the light.

And just as surely as the sun came out from behind the covering of the moon, so too did the Light of the world defy death and because of him, I no longer have to fear it. I can live with hope in my heart that one day, I will be with him. And I will see my son again.

Forever.