Years ago, sometime in mid-January, I was browsing in a bookstore and came across an astronomy magazine.

That’s not something to which I am normally drawn.

But this magazine had a captivating picture on the cover, taken from the Hubble telescope. I opened it and scanned the contents.

I discovered that about mid-year, there was to be an eclipse—the moon would pass between the earth and the sun.

According to the map, the trajectory passed over the Midwest, right over Kansas City.

It would happen about mid-morning.

I could only imagine what that would be like.

Knowing their interests, I contacted our Indian group, the Pipe Circle, and let them know.

They became excited about it.

Stumbling Deer planned a vision quest during that time.

On the day of the eclipse, he was in his staked-out circle, down in a valley.

He had been fasting for a day or so.

And about four of us, one was his sponsor and helper for his vision quest, were on a hilltop, waiting for the eclipse.

We had brought dark glasses, little shadowboxes, various things with which to safely view the eclipse.

The experience was phenomenal, and it is riveted in my memory.

It was a bright, clear morning. Almost hot. A gentle breeze took the edge off the heat.

Suddenly, the sky darkened as the dark arc passed over the sun.

It was like the whole earth turned cold. The cold is what I remember.

The gentle breeze became a biting chill. Goosebumps.

We had neglected to bring sweaters or jackets.

We enjoyed the various ways of watching the eclipse, and sharing a ceremony, and a few prayers.

But I was very glad when the warmth of the sun returned.

        I have often wondered what that experience would have been like for ancient peoples.

Especially if they didn’t know it was coming.

I grew up with a rudimentary knowledge of the solar system. I knew what was coming.

But thousands of years ago, to be out in the field hunting the wild boar or gathering berries, and suddenly see a massive shadow steal the sun … that would have been frightening.

Some myths talk about how the dragon ate the sun.

People wondered what dark force looms up there, or all around us, that can overtake our lives so unexpectedly, and so quickly, and eclipse our security.

 

The eclipse became symbolic of anything that could threaten the foundations of wellbeing.

Storms that blow up out of nowhere.

A hailstorm that destroys crops that have been months in the growing.

The earth is quiet, and all of a sudden, it shakes.

A twister, like the long finger of God, dropping out of an angry cloud and sweeping up the earth.

        People begin studying the mysteries of heaven.

Stonehenge.

Pyramids aligned with the universe.

The ziggurats of Babylon—huge, stepped mounds, high above ground, with a temple on top.

There was one built by Ur Nammu, king of Sumeria, in the city of Ur.

The city from which Abraham came, and the religion against which he rebelled.

It is probably the "tower" in the story of the Tower of Babel.

The reason for the Tower of Babel was for a buffer against insecurity.

"Let us build a tower, with its top in the heavens, … lest we be scattered."

        The need for a buffer against insecurity persists, even today.

For all our technology and philosophy and so called political wisdom … we are probably more insecure today than at any other time in history.

With the speed of communications making us one global village, and terrorism looming against our cities, and global warming threatening the earth, …

The human drama has grown to epic proportions.

        It is to this that our scripture lesson for today speaks.

Jesus and his disciples are in a boat on the Sea of Galilee.

A storm blows up and threatens to swamp the boat.

We can just see them: the disciples panicked … pulling in the sails and bailing water.

Jesus is curled up on the rigging in the back of the boat, sound asleep.

What a contrast!

The disciples woke him and rebuked him. "Do something! Don’t you care?"

It sounds like Jesus scolded them for not taking care of the matter themselves.

Then Jesus turned to the wind and the waves and said, "Peace, be still."

The wind and the waves ceased. The sea was calm. And the disciples were amazed. "Who is this, that even the wind and the waves obey his voice?"

I read one commentary that sort of explained this away.

It said that the reason the wind comes up so quickly and goes away so suddenly is that the hills around the Sea of Galilee funnel the wind.

It can come down on the waters in a blast, and vanish as quickly.

That, to me, sort of robs the story of its metaphoric power.

When our minds want to grasp things so tangibly and explain things so literally, we eschew the associative capacity of the mind, and the powerful lessons that are available to us … even in ordinary events that can be so easily dismissed.

Life itself is a boat on the Sea of Galilee.

Whether it is the moon that passes in front of the sun, or the wind and waves on the sea, it is life itself that gets eclipsed.

The sun will always struggle to get free of the dragon, and those parts of our minds that are "disciples" will always struggle against the seas.

But there is also a part of us, deep inside, that can say to the wind and the waves, "Peace, be still!" and they will obey.

And the other parts of us will be amazed.

Amazed at that deep mysterious communicative connection we have between ourselves and the Hand of Providence.

        As a youth, I was employed as a fishing guide on Yellowstone Lake.

I drove a 21 foot open cruiser, with an inboard motor.

We would go as much as five miles out on the water.

Once or twice over the summer, we’d get caught, miles from shore, in those winds that can drop down off the mountains.

The boat was designed for open water. They told us it would never tip over, and it never did.

But with about a foot and half of freeboard, and six and seven foot waves, it can give one pause to wonder.

Especially when you are in the trough of one of those waves, with banks of water on all sides.

The mind can panic. Indeed, the mind wants to panic. Or … the mind can stay calm.

And it is really a choice, if you can get the right mental distance to have a choice.

To choose calm, you have to trust in the design of the boat, and your knowledge of the waves, and the Hand of Destiny resting on your shoulders.

To put on the raincoats on a perfectly sunny day and patiently weave against oncoming waves, at an angle, so you don’t rise up and smack down, but gently roll up over them to make your way back to the docks.

        "Stormy waters" is a basic biblical metaphor.

Peter walked amidst the wind and the waves, as long as he didn’t focus too much on them.

When he became obsessed with them, he sank. Jesus stretched out a hand to rescue.

To obsess with the wind and the waves makes for a most insecure life.

There is this ability in all of us:

To say to the wind and the waves, "Peace, be still," and watch it become so.

       When one of those square-sailed ships got caught in a storm at sea, they’d drop anchor.

The anchor would hold them in place until the storm passed.

The anchor became a Christian symbol for "Faith."

The cross is a Christian symbol of life’s suffering.

The cup, or chalice, is the Christian symbol for communion. Our Common-union.

The dove is the symbol of the Holy Spirit, and hope, especially hope for world peace.

It has its origins the Noah story.

It is often pictured carrying an olive branch in its beak.

The heart is a symbol of love. It is a secular symbol, but it is also a Christian symbol.

Three circles interlocking is the Christian symbol for the Trinity.

The fish, in Greek, "Ichthus," is a Christian symbol of the Good Confession.

The "X" that we see in the word "Christmas" is for the Greek word for Christ, "Christos."

In Xmas, the "X" refers to a chi, shorthand for "Christ."

Over time, the anchor evolved to be the Christian symbol for "Faith."

Faith not in the sense of the various things we believe.

But faith as in an anchor for life’s storms.

The faith that enables us to be calm, no matter what the disturbance.

         Years ago, I visited with a woman in the hospital.

Her mind was slipping. She phased in and out of hallucinations.

When I entered her room, she greeted me, and asked me to put her suitcases over in the corner.

She thought I was the bellhop in some Chicago hotel.

I told her who I was, but she insisted, almost to the point of irritation.

So I went over to the corner, set down the "suitcases," and politely left.

When I dropped by to see her a couple of days later, she knew who I was.

And the incredible thing!

She apologized to me for her behavior on my previous visit.

How did she know? It was only the two of us in the room.

It’s like there was a part of her, a "Watcher," down deep inside of her, that "knew."

Theologians have called this our capacity for self-transcendence.

Carl Jung calls this the "Self," with a capital "S."

This is something in us much deeper than our "ego."

A part of us can simply watch. With a dispassionate passion, to simply wish and watch.

When it identifies with what is happening, we take the roller-coaster ride with life, and it’s like we are living in a trance. A waking dream state that can seem so intensely real.

Or, this "Watcher" can get a deeper perspective on what is happening, recognize the dreaming, and even become a lucid dreamer.

I like to think of this as the "soul." That seat of awareness, centered deep within us. It is the pivot point of our very lives. Perhaps this is the "parakeltos" of John 14:16-17.

This part of us is eternal. It was never born. It will never die. It can never get sick or injured.

Once we have experienced it, whether in mediation or deep reflection, it is no longer an idea or a belief.

It is something we have experienced.

Indeed, it is the very Presence that is experiencing. The "Imago Dei"

It is that part of us that can stand up in a boat and look out over the stormy seas, and say, "Peace, be still." And the wind and the waves will obey.

It’s not what happens to us that makes the difference. It’s the relationship we take to what happens to us that makes the difference.

So thus, what eclipses our lives gives us the opportunity to claim that anchor that holds us solid through the storm.