Wonderful or fearful, a full solar eclipse gives us pause to consider our place in these times.

I was determined to be there in the Great American Eclipse “shadow of totality” on April 8. So were, evidently, thousands of other eclipse junkies heading east on U.S. 60 in South Central Missouri. Or rather, I should say, they were RACING east along that highway and passing me like I was standing still. Minnesota, Arizona, Georgia, Nebraska, Wisconsin, and other far-away states saw their curious, faithful, or just plain nutty residents converge on rural towns close to the Missouri Bootheel area. Leaving Springfield, I yielded to a minivan from New Jersey, but I figured they were just lost.

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Pray for your fellow intercessor.

The press of crowds at fuel stops along the way was concerning. If you’ve ever been trapped in a crowd when something ignited fear, or in any form of sudden mass movement, then you know that eerie feeling of being almost out of control.  Desperate people do desperate things. Vehicles snaked around gas pumps. Gridlocked drivers felt valuable minutes ticking away. Tourists of all ages queued around the shelving units of convenience stores like the waiting line at an amusement park ride. Mothers prayed for a quick turn at the overworked restrooms as their children danced around nervously. (A shout-out to women everywhere: Your patience in these situations is truly inspiring!)

Unable to reach my intended destination on time, I chose to exit at a Missouri state conservation area, the Twin Pines, right off the highway. Like the drivers of a few hundred other vehicles, I ignored the No Parking signs and squeezed my truck into a space meant for a golf cart. A quick glance at the sun showed the moon taking an initial bite out of the sun’s face, and I scrambled for a comfy spot in the shade of some pines. Duh! I moved.

I wondered as this human drama played out if this is what the masses might have looked like when pressing in to see Jesus. HIS words rang in my head: “But what did you come to see?” Far from being a direct comparison to our ancient Judean counterparts, these eclipse hunters did know what they would see. Quite a few of the folks advertised their participation in the 2017 event on their T-shirts. Still, the motive for these faithful to make the journey remained elusive. Was it to witness the majesty of God’s handiwork? To feel the earth shake under the impact of divine judgment against an unrepentant nation? To take a day off work and catch a novel show in the sky? Probably a mix of these.

The area was parklike, with families picnicking, throwing Frisbees, and generally having a pleasant time. Activities slowed as the crowd put on their safety glasses and marveled at the progress of the moon’s travel. An older gentleman wandered from group to group, offering the use of a metal colander and reflective board in case anyone forgot their protective glasses. Nature displayed impeccable manners as the air temperature cooled and the birds fell silent. The church group under the big awning whispered a collective prayer.

It’s an odd thing about the moon performing like this — upstaging the sun. Intent on its mission, the “lesser light” elbowed its way across the stage of the “greater light.” Who among this varied group didn’t feel a bit small while witnessing such an awesome display of creation’s majesty?

Then it happened. Some celestial switch was thrown, and the last curved sliver of sunlight disappeared. Right on cue, a thin line of those dazzling red beads circled the darkened moon, adding a moment of bling to the corona. These few hundred former strangers took in a collective breath, then let out an “Ahh!” a “Wow!” a “Cooool!” or some other utterance, as humans faced with a display of the fantastic. A round of applause erupted from the assembly for the moon’s charade at the sun’s expense. The Creator’s choreography was as you would expect: perfect.

The next four minutes of totality set the stage for all manner of spiritual manifestations, or so I hoped.

The opening 2 minutes: The audible voice of the Lord could have thundered but didn’t. The sky could have split open, and the angelic chorus heard across the land, but no such luck. The darkness could have enveloped the unrepentant souls, and spontaneous revival broken out — alas, nothing that dramatic would happen. The Lord wisely disregards my counsel and works in quiet ways within the heart. Something was working, however, as most of the crowd remained quiet, reverent, and amazed. My attention alternated between glances across the area and moments of gazing skyward.

The closing 2 minutes: The magic of the moment started to break. A dog barked. The Frisbee hit a picnic table. Folks started chatting and walking around in the strange twilight. The children of the family near me stood close by their parents, eyes wide, taking into memory the surreal surroundings. The old guy with the colander smiled and remarked that this would be the last full solar eclipse he would see on this side of eternity. The moon excused itself, the sun returned unfazed, and the congregation went its way.

Time will tell if current prognostications of doom heralded by these “signs in the heavens” will come true. The New Madrid Fault may again release its pent-up rage. Some other woe may befall this nation. Our faith in the unseen, however, will be severely tested. I remember noticing warning signs posted along the highway by a pair of street ministers: “REPENT! REPENT! THE END IS NEAR!” Cliche and almost comical as that old punchline is, the warning rings loudly in America now as we see the long-prophesied darkness closing in. Those two quirky intercessors are sounding the call of the ages.

Years ago, an atheist confided to me that when he looked into the night sky, the thought of a supreme being or a “god” having created everything seemed as if it just might be true. I remain hopeful for him, and for so many others. Signs in the heavens and in nature are, we are told, evidence enough! Let us remain in the light of the Son, intercede even more diligently, and strive to bring that Light to all those trapped in blinding darkness. Hold your children close, and encourage them to look up.

Help others to keep looking up by sharing your own prayer of light below.

John Clark has been an ever faithful Missouri intercessor with IFA since 2022. Photo Credit: Matt Nelson on Unsplash.