Sabbath Devotional :: Eclipsed Expectations

This month, I joined millions of Americans in an effort to encounter the celestial: watching the total solar eclipse. The experience wasn’t what I expected; it was beautiful, but I couldn’t help feeling FOMO (fear of missing out), disappointed that it had been better for other people at other locations. This ambivalence can characterize many of our heavenly encounters. With the renewed emphasis on the temple at General Conference, how we can approach our interactions with the heavens with an eye towards gratitude, grace, and God?

I missed the 2017 eclipse, but that increased my desire to see this one. Plotting maps years ago, Austin, Texas looked like a good viewing location. I was prepared: I had astronomical playlists, themed snacks (Eclipse gum, anyone?). I read eclipse poems and studied the cosmic wisdom of D&C 88. Watching a talk lessons learned in the 2017 eclipse about the spiritual power of light and darkness, I was so hyped.

The Texas weather forecast was dismal, and I prayed hard. We gathered with other hotel guests wearing special glasses. As the moon shadow gradually advanced across the sun, the skies darkened. Clouds scattered, we saw the ring of fire, and then minutes later, it was daylight again. It was really cool. An answer to prayer, truly a miraculous sight to see that glowing ring in the sky. For a few moments, millions were thinking celestial together. But I didn’t feel changed. The awe of totality didn’t enter my soul. Afterwards, I was somewhat discouraged reading others’ comments: “It changed my life!” “transcendent!” “the most powerful spiritual awakening I’ve had!” When people asked me, “How was your eclipse?”, I wished I could say the same.

Temple worship can be similarly complicated. I have had some beautiful and powerful experiences in the temple, but certainly not every time I attend. Some visits may be transcendent, uplifting, profoundly life-changing. Some may be routine, sleepy, or even painful. I get spiritual FOMO when I hear about those who commune easily at the temple with ancestors, angels, and deity. Although I do my best to prepare, do I receive that celestial communion? Occasionally, yes. Mostly, no. And that’s just me! “How was your temple worship?” is a thorny question with as many answers as participants each time.

How should we approach these complex celestial experiences? I have been focusing on three thoughts: gratitude, grace, and God.

First, gratitude that we have both of these opportunities in our daily life. How many humans throughout history witnessed eclipses and understood them? Did they think in horror that the world was ending? Did they go blind after peeking at the sky? By contrast, we can know when and where the next eclipse is, and search it out if desired. We can try for a better view, a new perspective. Similarly, how many humans throughout history attended a temple? In biblical eras, only a very small percentage of tribal Israelites attended, only males allowed in the most sacred spaces, and even then at very particular times. Now without restrictions on race or gender, many of us have the choice of dozens of temples to attend, at ever-younger ages. They are open on predictable and convenient schedules. I can print off ancestral names in minutes. I travel in my climate controlled car rather than walking miles with a reluctant sheep in tow. Unlike the pioneers, Nauvoo is not our one visit of a lifetime. We can prepare differently, try again, come more awake.

Secondly, extending grace to others and to ourselves. We all are in varying places in our lives and our geography. Maybe you weren’t interested in this eclipse, or couldn’t travel for it. Maybe you had rainy weather or bad traffic. Maybe you had the best moment of your life. The sun and moon did the same celestial dance whether or not we watched, whether or not we looked up, whether or not we cared. The temple is a changing experience throughout mortality as well. It could be your first visit or your nine hundredth. Perhaps you prepared for years, repented desperately, and were so thankful to enter at last. Perhaps you only attend for family events. Perhaps you struggle with your place in your family or in God’s kingdom. The temple can feel like a place you don’t belong, or one you want to love, or home. The temple has changed for me as a clueless young bride, a tired new mother, a worried parent of teens, and an empty nester — it has not been static in my life, and I expect further transformations ahead. Giving grace to those who have different experiences there than we do is critical. When asking, “How was your temple worship?”, we can approach others and ourselves without requiring a particular “right” answer. We can extend grace rather than expectations.

Lastly, encountering God. God is grander, greater, closer, and more majestic than finite minds understand (Mosiah 4:9). The eclipse and the temple both give us glimpses into the celestial sphere, that cosmos beyond our comprehension. Heavenly parents tend spirit and star nurseries, the complexities of galactic expanses yielding to our pleas for lost keys. “He covers the face of the full moon, spreading his clouds over it. He marks out the horizon on the face of the waters for a boundary between light and darkness. . . And these are but the outer fringe of his works; how faint the whisper we hear of him! Who then can understand the thunder of his power?” (Job 26:9, 10, 14 NIV). Whatever our experience is on the ground, we can trust that it is even more spectacular in the heavens. Look up, be inspired. For a brief moment at the temple, in the eclipse, we are in the path of totality with the heavens. And that is breathtaking.