(Originally published at "A Year of Service" 8/22/17)
Yesterday I stood on the porch of a coffeeshop in Hermann, Missouri watching the eclipse with a small knot of employees. As we marveled and chatted quietly, the katydids striking up an evening chorus in the background, I began to think about all of us - Americans. I thought about how we are such different people - different places, different politics, different struggles, different needs, fears, beliefs, loves. And yet millions of us were all staring up, together, letting the things that divide us recede into the background for a few minutes.
We looked up at the source of all our lives, in wonder, in awe. Just being children for a few minutes.
And then a bubble of pure, incomparable brilliance bloomed out the back side of the moon and hundreds of people behind me, out of sight on the riverbank a quarter mile away, burst into screams. The sound washed over me and my hairs stood on end. And I thought of the sound in videos of the Boston Marathon bombing, the Ariana Grande concert, all the other horrific times when people become an organism, moving and wailing together.
But this time was different. It was joy, it was almost like worship. And I shuddered for joy too. We were made for this. Why can't we make this thing happen more often?
We looked up at the source of all our lives, in wonder, in awe. Just being children for a few minutes.
And then a bubble of pure, incomparable brilliance bloomed out the back side of the moon and hundreds of people behind me, out of sight on the riverbank a quarter mile away, burst into screams. The sound washed over me and my hairs stood on end. And I thought of the sound in videos of the Boston Marathon bombing, the Ariana Grande concert, all the other horrific times when people become an organism, moving and wailing together.
But this time was different. It was joy, it was almost like worship. And I shuddered for joy too. We were made for this. Why can't we make this thing happen more often?
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