Chair's July Blog: A Partial Eclipse - Learning to ‘Let Our Light Shine Before Others’When Our Communities are Separated
One day this will be over and we will see each other face to face again - we will have learnt to read faces better, to appreciate the gift we are to each other, to feel the warmth as you shine.
I was reminded of Annie Dillard’s short story ‘Total Eclipse’ recently, in which she describes the disorientation that occurs to her as she witnesses the phenomenon of a total solar eclipse.
She knew what she was going to see. She was one of many observers who had gathered to marvel at the forces of nature. She had a contemporary woman’s knowledge of the natural world to know that this was not the end, and yet…from somewhere within her arose an unexpected response.
A radiant “diamond” of sunlight is seen in the moments after totality during the total solar eclipse on Aug. 21, 2017 in Jefferson City, Missouri. NASA/Rami Daud, Alcyon Technical Services
“At once this disc of sky slid over the sun like a lid. The sky snapped over the sun like a lens cover. The hatch in the brain slammed. Abruptly it was dark night, on the land and in the sky. In the night sky was a tiny ring of light. The hole where the sun belongs is very small. A thin ring of light marked its place. There was no sound. The eyes dried, the arteries drained, the lungs hushed. There was no world.”
Annie Dillard, Total Eclipse, a short story, p. 8 in the Annie Dillard Reader
What she describes is not an intellectual response. It is visceral. It affects her perception of reality and appears to impact on her physical being through her brain, ears, eyes, arteries and lungs. It cannot be explained away. It just is.
I had my own disorienting ‘eclipse’ moment this month when I wore a face mask for the first time. Like others, I am a strong proponent of any measures that will protect the wider community, our health services, and my family in these times, and so I did so willingly. But, like Annie Dillard’s experience, my initial response was visceral, felt in my body. There was no sound and my lungs felt hushed. It was not total, nor spectacular, nor did it last for very long, but there was a sensation of being disconnected from the world. What could be the root of such a feeling?
Today’s Gospel (Matt.13 36-43) refers to the righteous shining ‘like the sun in the kingdom of their Father’, and Matthew has previously referred to Jesus’ encouragement to his disciples to ‘let their light shine before others’ (Matt. 5:16). We believe in a relational God who calls us to be together in community. We are meant to ‘shine out’ to encourage one another.
Our belief in a personal God, the Source of all Being, can be strengthened by the adoption of human features, thus the scriptures speak of the ‘Hand’ or ‘Mighty Arm’ of God. Most powerful, however, is their description of God’s Face, which is so awesome that we may be unable to live if we were to see it. Jacob wrestles with God and lives, Moses’ face becomes radiant from his encounters with the Divine, and the Book of Numbers records this beautiful Israelite blessing,
The Lord bless you and keep you The Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord lift up his countenance to you, and give you peace. Numbers 6:24-26
So, having God’s face turned towards us and shining upon us can be understood as possibly terrifying, and certainly awesome, but ultimately sublimely beneficial.
Could it be then, that we, created in God’s image (Genesis 1:27), should strive to imitate our creator and benefit each other by ‘turning our faces’ to one another? Do our faces really make such a difference?
One need only look into the face of a small child to see truth, trust and honesty displayed. I am also reminded of my first experience of the CPW Zoom prayer and seeing all the familiar faces appear. What a joy that was!
This morning I was sent a link to a talk delivered by Fr. Damian Howard SJ, Provincial of the Jesuits in Britain, entitled The Church After Lockdown, in which he describes the effects of social disconnection as “profoundly problematic” in our individualistic culture, which he suggests is “atomised” and “boundaried” where distancing is the easy comfortable option :
“Faced with the choice of being close to others but having to hide who I am, or being able to express my identity freely in splendid isolation, your average Brit plumps without much hesitation for the latter every single time.” Fr. Damian Howard SJ, Provincial of the Jesuits in Britain
Fr. Howard goes on to describe how the Catholic Christian Community “glory in the physicality of our communion,” where Christ comes close. We find it hard to be Christians and to stay away from people.
There is always a chink of light, however which shines through to guide us in difficulties. Matthew provides this too:
“The eye is the lamp of the body. So if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of Light” Matt. 6:22
The eclipse is only partial after all.
I cannot see your mouth but I know when your eyes crinkle that you are smiling, when they shine you are excited, when they fill, you are sad. One day this will be over and we will see each other face to face again. And I will have learnt to read faces better, to appreciate the gift we are to each other, to feel the warmth as you shine. I hope I remember.
I will leave it to Annie Dillard to describe our haste to return to normality:
“When the sun appeared as a blinding bead on the ring’s side, the eclipse was over. The black lens cover appeared again, backlighted and slid away. At once the yellow light made the sky blue again: the black lid dissolved and vanished. The real world began there… We never looked back…when we left the hill, the sun was still partially eclipsed - a sight rare enough, and one that, in itself, we would probably have driven five hours to see. But enough is enough. One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendour, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.” Total Eclipse, Annie Dillard Reader, P.17
By Anne Dixon