Last night I sat in my dark living room with the curtains open so I could watch the lunar eclipse, aka blood moon, from the comfort of my living room loveseat. The pictures disseminated in the weeks leading up to it made it look like it would be vivid and amazing.
From my point of view, the moon had more of an orange tinge than the red it appeared to have in those pictures. It was a full moon alright, but it’s size didn’t seem much different from what I have grown used to over half century.
Was it my vision that was off or did I just not have a close enough perspective? Was everyone who saw what I saw, but exclaimed over it just listening to what they were told without paying attention to their own senses?
The moon was eclipsed by a sure and steady shadow moving with unavoidable precision, not that we would want to avoid it. Natural phenomena, whether or not they live up to the hype, are pretty special, after all.
Think of it: that moon, whether appearing fairly ordinary to my unaided eye or whether viewed as the amazingly huge, beautiful orb caught through the lens of a photographer, was seen by people from all points of the earth over which it hangs. The child in Buenos Aires and the nursing home resident in Sheboygan peering out his window, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and the street sweeper in India, the Pepperdine University college student and the Lincoln Elementary School third grader allowed to stay up late all saw the moon last night. People all over the world watched the moon from indoors or outdoors or affluence or austerity.
Every eye looking at that moon, every person with a happy or horrible history, every perspective, whether from comfort or constraint, saw the same light in the sky. And while they were watching, God was watching them.