Sharing Awe
Last night I woke up from a strange dream and my podcasts were still running. They were talking about the upcoming eclipse, why so many people travel to see it. Among the reasons, an eclipse is a moment in the human experience in which we can so easily share a sense of awe.
In my sleepy thoughts, my heart did a little twirl. I was so grateful to have caught that part, and promptly returned to my strange dreams.
I already talked about my relationship status with God: It’s Complicated™. Or, not really that complicated in my heart but complicated to explain. But this is one reason why I go back to church. I still find a sense of awe, sometimes.
Sometimes it is the sermon, sometimes it is the worship. Sermons are an opportunity for deep thinking that might be rare in our day-to-day life. I’ve found that it is possible at any kind of church, regardless of my beliefs. I remember reflecting on the sermon we heard at the Tri-State Buddhist temple with my good friend Sean, many years ago. We had wandered in after a night in downtown Denver. I recall that Sean appreciated the practical nature of the advice, I believe it even included investment advice, related to the message of the sermon. Indeed, that’s not something I was accustomed to hearing at church.1
But sometimes, in the message of the sermon, you feel something massive swimming beneath you.
The worship is more complicated. Every so often I feel a wave of doubt during worship, because a part of me thinks I should not sing these words unless I am certain of them. But then I remember who would be listening, that they know my heart, and I am at peace.
I understand why people seek the experience. It is very like the reason people seek out an eclipse. It is a rare moment when we can feel something so much bigger than ourselves, moving beneath us or above us. Perhaps even something benevolent and kind.
Here’s something that catches my attention. When people speak of nature, or the universe, or the movement of celestial bodies, the words often carry emotion. We speak of mother nature, a nurturing and majestic presence in our lives. Even the most emperical and rational scientists can get emotional, listen to the words of Neil deGrasse Tyson and Carl Sagan. The shadow of something massive, bigger than we can ever comprehend, moves across the face of the earth, giving us insight into something exponentially more massive that casts the light we took for granted.
No matter who we are, no matter how we think about it, the majesty we behold in the universe can bring us to our knees— bring us to whisper, thank you. This is why we sing. This is why we gather for an eclipse.
It is important, to sense there is something out there, something great. I believe every creature can feel it. For other creatures, maybe sometimes it is us. To care for another creature with different needs, needs that are within our power to meet, it is a special bond. It is an experience we share with ancient humans and before. It is humbling, even, perhaps because we can’t help but imagine something that cares for us in that way.
I was talking to a friend about it tonight, she visited the path of a total eclipse a few years ago. The first thing that she mentioned was how it got so cold, it felt to her like 20 degrees colder.
We can almost imagine how our ancestors must have experienced an eclipsed. We do not understand what is happening, but we understand that two elements vital to our survival, heat and light, are now scarce. Imagine the terror that might come without the certainty that it would return. Having depended on it all our lives and now experiencing its absence in the middle of the day, how are we to feel?
Shook. It had the power to stop wars. The people of earth right now could use that particular power.
Imagine the relief we must have felt when the heat and light returned. Perhaps it only left for a moment to remind us it is there. We can feel a part of that relief afresh at each sunrise. It is an ancient human ritual to greet the sun, found in many cultures across time and place. Each morning we feel the warmth and light with a grateful heart and a thought goes out almost like a prayer, here comes the sun again.
And there is something unique about sharing the experience of awe with another person. Even alone, it can be life-changing. With another person, it is even more affirming, our mirror neurons lighting up like a galaxy, beholding the expression of another soul transfixed. Among a whole group of humans, it is transcendent.
To all the people traveling to a special place to behold the event, I will be thinking of you. I will be on a part of earth where the shadow of the moon only grazes. But we are experiencing her presence together.
No matter what is out there, it is healthy to feel something bigger swimming beyond us. I find it beautiful that the human heart is so ready to feel that presence as like a mother or a father. In some cultures, the sun is thought of as like a father and the moon is thought of as like a mother. In this rare moment, our heavenly father and mother pass each other, with a loving touch on the arm. As the warmth and light returns, we are reminded how small we are and feel comfort and gratitude for our place in the whole thing.
It’s too bad our values don’t inform our investments more, eh?