total solar eclipse

April 30, 2024 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

Totality’s Gift

The long-awaited 2024 Eclipse Day arrived at our viewing location, a hotel in mid- western Ohio, with a few, high wispy clouds in a blue sky. Much better than the cloud-cover app prediction. A gentleman in the elevator expressed what the eclipse seekers staying there were hoping: “Fingers crossed that the sky stays this clear!”

Early in the morning, our family placed chairs along the side of a grassy field behind the hotel. There were nine of us, gathered from different states and from Wales. Soon the field was edged with chairs, blankets, and a popup shelter. A young man made adjustments on his sophisticated telescope/camera setup while an inventive woman tested the fit of filters she’d made from cardboard and eclipse glasses film for her cellphone and binoculars.

Once the eclipse began with barely a nibble at the lower right of the sun, glasses went on and off as the celestial event progressed. One person did some painting. Another sketched and wrote in her journal. Some played games. Many enjoyed the opportunity to use a toddler’s sidewalk chalk and contributed to drawings on the blacktop parking lot.

The mood was festive. About 30 folks from around the country – ages spanning 90 to 2 years – talked, laughed, and told stories. Two NASA employees shared eclipse glasses that became desired souvenirs and answered lots of questions not only about the eclipse but also about their work at NASA. Potters, programmers, and teachers found one another and discovered surprising connections.

The crowd held its breath and watched with glasses on as Bailey’s Beads rimmed the sun’s edge and then disappeared. Totality! Glasses came off, and a cry went up. People clapped, hugged, cried, and simply gazed at what looked like a black hole in the sky ringed with the glowing white corona. If you haven’t seen a total solar eclipse, there is no way to describe the emotional impact of the event.

I have a strange sensation of being transported into my grammar school desk-sized model of the solar system that used thin metal rods and orbs of various sizes and colors to represent it. I’m looking through the spokes radiating from the sun, trying to see it, but earth’s moon is in the way.

Today’s sophisticated animations and real-life images of planets, moons, and other astronomical bodies provide more dramatic and accurate depictions of the universe and our place in it. But, as stunning as they are, they don’t deliver the visceral impact of standing outside, feet on a patch of earth, watching the moon move across the face of the sun with my own eyes.

A total solar eclipse pulls me into that big-picture and transforms my perspective. Suddenly, I don’t visualize myself walking in my neighborhood, a park, or even my favorite place, along the ocean. Instead, I’m hovering in the solar system. For an instant I have no thoughts or observations but simply a deep sense the wholeness of everything. It surrounds me. It dwells within me.

The event intensifies my amazement at the cosmos’ magnificent expanse and our planet’s minuscule presence in it. And me? Humans? We are less than a speck in space. Humbling. And distressing when I consider that humans are mostly unable to see our oneness as a race living on a planet that needs our cooperation to continue supporting us. People are unable to get along, obsessed with differences and the need of some to dominate and control others.

The totality provides a different possibility: For a few precious hours, the wonder of the eclipse offered a respite from the fear and anger that permeates much human interaction today. There was no hatred of others for simply being themselves.

Instead, we were connected by a sense of awe. People who gathered in that field related as fellow humans. Respectful. Appreciative. Some learned how to make a lattice with their fingers or to use a pinhole to see crescent shadows. The telescope guy welcomed others to look at his camera screen. We didn’t view one another as members of opposing political parties or of different faiths or of none, but as other humans willing to travel to experience an incredible sight.

Perhaps the most amazing thing about the moon’s passing in front of the sun wasn’t the shadow it cast on the earth. Or the 360° sunset. Or the confusion of animals and birds who thought it was night. Or the crescent shaped shadows or shimmering shadow bands. Or visible red prominences or dark sunspots.

It wasn’t how quickly the temperature dropped as the moon covered the sun or how quickly the temperature rose when even the tiniest sliver of light peeked out past the moon’s edge—revealing the power of our closest star. Or even the dazzling “diamond ring” that, for a second, stunned with brilliance, bursting out along the edge of the moon signaling the end of totality.

All this was incredible. Mind-blowing. Exhilarating. But the most amazing effect may have been that for those hours, a collection of humans of various political and religious leanings, of different prejudices and socioeconomic backgrounds, from different places, gathered amicably to celebrate and marvel at creation.

At the end of the afternoon and during the next morning as I watched people loading suitcases into cars and returning home, I wondered if the unity we shared for those hours would have any lasting effect on how we live our lives. Will any of us be more welcoming of diversity? More respectful? More compassionate? Less controlling? More kind? More aware of the fragility of our planet?

I think not. We will return to a world where people experience the constant stress of being “different” from those in power. People will continue to suffer from wars waged over land, ideology, resources, or simply a desire for power and personal aggrandizement. Change is painfully slow.

I pondered how to encourage change: Speak up for human dignity when conversations demean others. Respect scientists and their work. Contribute to politicians and campaigns that support human rights and care of the environment. Speak truth to power if only through emails, calls, or signing petitions. It boils down to doing what you can, where you are, small as that seems. To do good work. To care for the common good. To put love and kindness into the world.

My experience of the totality offers an additional practice: Look long and listen deeply to the natural world. Practice AWE. Allow yourself to be amazed by creation. A flower. A bird in flight. Refreshing rain. Weeds poking up through cracks in sidewalks, roads, and walls. Develop a contemplative approach to life that reveals the connectedness of all things and the Sacred Presence in it.

My daughter once said she learned about the interdependence of all things by spending childhood hours wading in the creek behind our house, noticing and studying the creatures in, on, and above the water. What might you do to let creation nurture your soul and inform your living?

Thank you, spectacular eclipse, for doing just that.

Photo credits: Images of the eclipse from Jarred Keener. All other photos taken by Mary van Balen

Resource

In case you weren’t able to view the totality, here’s a link to NASA’s live coverage. Enjoy! 2024 Total Solar Eclipse: Through the Eyes of NASA

Solar systems and Galaxies

Our solar system (the only one officially called that) is one of an estimated 3,200 planetary systems (stars with planets orbiting them) in our galaxy, the Milky Way.
An older estimate of 100-200 billion galaxies in the observable universe has been expanded to 2 trillion galaxies using new images (from the Hubble and James Webb Space Telecsopes) and research methods.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Awe, compassion, cosmos, creation, diversity, encourage change, human dignity, inclusivity, interdependence, Presence, sustainabliity, total solar eclipse, Totality, wholeness

September 20, 2017 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Solar Eclipse II: A Reflection

NASA photograph of the total solar eclipse taken at Oregon State Fairgrounds by Dominic Hart

PHOTO: NASA taken by Dominic Hart at the Oregon State Fairgrounds August 21, 2017

When the eclipse reached totality, the dramatic appearance of the sun’s corona took the crowds collective breath away—stunning and larger than I had imagined it would be. Was it the blackness of the moon that made the corona look so bright, or the brightness of the corona that made the moon’s darkness absolute, like a hole in the sky looking into emptiness?

“The corona’s always there,” I thought, “just overpowered by the sun’s brilliance.”

Only darkness could reveal the light.

Darkness is often used to describe something to be avoided or escaped. It’s a metaphor for what’s wrong in our world or in us. It’s where we don’t want to be. We read about moving from darkness into light, and the spiritual journey is often described that way.

But the eclipse reminded me that when it comes to darkness, it’s not so clear cut. Darkness has an important role to play in creation, in life, and in spiritual deepening.

Years ago, a close friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. A few weeks later, after having had an inconclusive mammogram, I was called back for a second screening. While waiting for the appointment, I thought a lot about cancer and dying, imagining the worst: Would I see my children grow to adulthood? How well would I deal with the pain and process of treatment? How would it affect my family and friends? Was I ready to face death? And how was my relationship with God?

The morning of the appointment was clear and bright. The prospect of death had sharpened my senses, and on the way to the imaging facility, I noticed everything: the coolness of the air, the color of leaves, the beauty of the city, the crisp, dark shadows on the buildings that made edges sharp and shapes distinct. Without the shadows, everything would blend into everything else. “Maybe that’s what’s meant by ‘the shadow of death,’” I pondered. “It provides definition, bringing life into focus.”

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

The relationship between darkness and light is a constant theme in literature and art. It runs through Scripture. Phrases like “a light that darkness could not overcome” or “calling you out of the darkness into the light” quickly come to mind, portraying “darkness” as evil. But there are others.

The creation story starts out in chaos. God then separates light from darkness suggesting both were present—light in darkness, darkness in light—to make day and night. Neither were banished. Life needs both to work. And God said it was all very good.

In Exodus, God was in the pillar of cloud as well as the pillar of fire when leading the Hebrews out of Egypt, and when Moses met the Holy One face to face, the people hung back and watched from the light as Moses entered the thick, dark cloud because that’s where God was.

Psalm 139 says: “Darkness is not dark for you, and night shines as the day. Darkness and light are but one.”

God is in both.

The great mystics speak of darkness as a necessary part of the journey. It helps us see what is otherwise missed—like the corona that’s present but invisible. Darkness invites us to reach deeper, to look intently, to accept ourselves as we are. And in the darkest times, we may learn how to sit with God in the night while the Holy Mystery does the work we are unable to do ourselves.

Photo Credit: NASA/Carla Thomas

The coming together of darkness and light during the eclipse was magnificently beautiful, a profound experience that will remain for me an image of the power of darkness to illumine the spiritual journey—a metaphor of the grace found in embracing our darkness as well as our light, and encountering God there.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, eclipse, grace, hope, humility, prayer, spirituality, total solar eclipse

September 8, 2017 By Mary van Balen 3 Comments

A Confluence of Events

Originally published in the Catholic Times September 10, 2017

Sometimes disparate events come together, touching a common place in my heart. Only after reflection and usually some writing, do I understand their connection and what they are saying.

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By Evan Nesterak

Protests and violence in Charlottesville, Virginia, and the responses that followed uncovered what we’d rather avoid. Racism, anti-Semitism, and white supremacy raised their ugly heads reminding us that, no matter what we thought or what we want to believe, anger and hatred based on race, ethnicity, and fear of the “other” remain a blight on our country’s soul.

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Blessed Fredric Ozanam

Perusing this week’s liturgical calendar, I discovered Blessed Fredric Ozanam (1813-1853). He moved to Paris at 18 to study at the Sorbonne. Conditions were wretched for the poor and working class. As a result of its old and public alliances with the aristocracy, the Catholic Church was attacked by intellectuals as oppressive and harmful. Ozanam had a different view. The Church was more than its hierarchy. It was all, clerics and lay alike, and he understood service to the poor as central to the call to discipleship. Actions must accompany words. He organized debates and argued that the Catholic Church had brought much good to the world.

There is a story that during one of these debates, when challenged to show what the Church was doing to help the poor and suffering in Paris, he had no answer. A few days later, Ozanam gathered a small group of Catholic students and together they began what would become the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. They were helped by Sister Rosalie Rendu who served the destitute in the Mouffetard area of Paris and insisted that the young students visit them in their homes and learn what was truly needed.

Saint Peter Claver

I read about St. Peter Claver (1581-1654), a Spanish Jesuit who found his life’s work in Cartagena, a hub of slave trade, in what is now Columbia. When slave ships arrived, he managed to get into the hold and minister to them with food, water, and medicine.

“Deeds come first, then words,” he said.

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PHOTO: NASA

I joined two daughters, a friend, and other family to experience the eclipse in Columbia, South Carolina. We gathered with others in a school’s athletic field. The mood was festive and people moved in and out of the green space to observe the moon sliding in front of the sun. But, with fifteen minutes to go, they found a spot, put on eclipse glasses, and didn’t move.

When totality arrived, glasses came off. People clapped, shouted, cried, or stood in awed silence as the black disk of the moon covered the sun, revealing its brilliant corona. For those two minutes and thirty seconds, we were one people, small creatures on a single planet in the vast universe.

Of course, it didn’t last. Totality passed. Eventually people picked up their chairs and coolers and walked home or to their cars. The one family became tribes again.

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Nikki Giovanni

Krista Tippett’s On Being podcast featured an interview with poet Nikki Giovanni. Tippett describes her as a “revolutionary poet in the Black Arts Movement that nourished civil rights.” Now in her seventies, Giovanni is joyfully alive, a professor at Virginia Tech, and still writing.

“…race was a bad idea 200 years ago, 300 years ago. It’s a ridiculous idea today,” she said in the interview. “Hatred was a bad idea, and it’s a ridiculous idea today. We’re on the third planet from the yellow sun. We have got to come together to see—and how to make sense out of this…How do we find a way to make the best of us?”

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How indeed. How to root out hate and anger? How to stand with the marginalized and oppressed? How to bring Love into this time?

Ozanam, Rendu, and Claver saw what is often forgotten: Every person is a child of God deserving respect and love. They responded to physical needs as well as spiritual ones; actions accompany words. We are called to do the same, recognizing all are God’s people—Black, White, Latino, Indigenous people, refugees, LGBT, Jews, Muslims, prisoners, the poor. All one family on this planet. No exceptions. As Giovanni said, there is no place to go but forward. We do what we can. We love. We speak the truth we have been given. Bit by bit, we let go of what separates us and hold on to what binds us together. We listen. We pray. Like Mary, honored this week with the feast of The Nativity of Mary, we are called to birth Christ into the world.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: acceptance, civil rights, creation, eclipse, faith, Fredric Ozanam, Grace in the Moment, hope, inclusion, justice, LGBT, Nikki Giovanni, Peter Claver, Pope Francis, racism, total solar eclipse

September 4, 2017 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Solar Eclipse I: The Experience

After a flight into Maryland and a 625-mile drive to Columbia, South Carolina, I was ready to experience the total solar eclipse on August 21 with two of my daughters, a friend, and extended family. A long trip that was more than worth every mile.

Predictions of thunderstorms at our intended viewing site initiated a quick change of plans. Instead of driving from our hotel in Murrells Inlet to nearby Georgetown, we went to Columbia and met with my niece and her family who were hoping for good weather there for the event.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

By 12:45 pm we headed to a nearby middle school with a large, open athletic field, and set up our chairs under the shade of a covered walkway. Slowly more people arrived with chairs and pop-up canopies. Some brought picnic lunches and spread blankets under the few trees edging the field. Others tossed baseballs or threw Frisbees, or just sat and chatted.

When first contact occurred at 1:29, everyone stopped what they were doing, put on their eclipse glasses, and watched as the black moon began to slide over the sun. We moved in and out of the field for the next hour mesmerized by the beauty, marveling at the power of the sun that even as it was disappearing behind the moon, kept the air hot and the light bright.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen Darkening sky during the totality

By 2:30, voices lowered, balls and frisbees were forgotten. The temperature had dropped and the sky was darkening.

People moved into the field. Standing or sitting, you could feel the crowd holding it’s breath.

Excitement built as the sliver of sun became thinner, thinner, and suddenly my glasses went black. I pulled them off and saw the sun’s corona blazing out behind the black moon.

PHOTO: NASA taken by Dominic Hart at the Oregon State Fairgrounds August 21, 2017

People applauded, shouted, gasped, laughed, and cried. Some stood in awed silence before the magnificent sight. I did them all and hugged my daughters, grateful to be sharing the moment with them. Words can’t communicate the experience. It was profoundly moving, stirring something elemental deep within.

Together, the sun and moon, spoke truth: Remember, you are part of something beyond anything you can imagine; you are creatures on a tiny planet in the vast universe.

For two minutes and thirty seconds we were one people, standing together, not in Columubia, not in the United States, but on earth. Boundaries and current national and worldwide issues lost their power to divide. For two minutes and thirty seconds.

Then it was over. Some lingered to watch the moon complete its transverse of the sun. Eventually, people carried their chairs and coolers back to their cars and left.

Driving long hours back to our hotel, we shared our thoughts. Words continued to fall short, though we tried: amazing, awesome, unbelievable, overwhelming, beautiful, unforgettable, stunning….

In moments of silence, I wondered if the powerful event would change some who experienced it? Will we remember and embrace an expanded vision of who we are and how we live? Of this planet and the people we share it with? Of the Mystery who is the Source of all?

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: compassion, creation, eclipse, faith, grace, hope, humility, inclusion, peace, Presence, total solar eclipse