Beauty Emergency
“God is calling through the whisper of the Spirit’s deepest sighs,
Through the thrill of sudden beauties that can catch us by surprise.”
When I sang these words during worship on the Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, a broad smile spread across my face as I recalled the sudden beauty that caught me by surprise on an extraordinary evening five days prior. At 10:00 p.m. on a Tuesday night, while my husband and I were engaged in a competitive round of Wingspan, our son texted us an urgent message: He could see the Northern Lights in his neighborhood.
Since we live only 13 miles away from our son as the crow flies, we hoped we would also be able to view this astronomical phenomenon. Grabbing our coats and hats, we headed out the door and hopped into Paul’s pickup truck. Where were we going? We didn’t know. But this was a beauty emergency, to borrow a phrase from the poet Maggie Smith, and we were not going to miss this rare opportunity to glimpse the aurora. The last time an intense solar storm produced a breathtaking display of dancing lights at our latitude, we were preoccupied with the birth of our granddaughter.
As we headed down our street, I suddenly urged my husband to stop. Through the windshield, I thought I could see a strange, faint light in the sky above Holland Mountain. Hastily exiting the truck, I took a photo of the horizon with my iPhone. A magenta curtain of light appeared on my screen above the ridgeline – my first encounter with the Aurora Borealis.
Scrolling quickly through social media posts, I determined the aurora might be best viewed from the farm fields adjacent to Warren Wilson College in Swannanoa. As we drove, I kept my eyes fixed on Jupiter, which was rising in the east. A half hour later, we parked alongside a field, stepped out into the chilly darkness, looked to the north, and pointed our phones at the sky.
What a surreal sight! The towering magenta curtain was once again visible, now joined by a green expanse glowing low on the horizon - both set against a deep purple backdrop speckled with stars. For years, I had longed to witness this solar spectacle. Paul and I had talked about planning a trip to Alaska one winter for the expressed purpose of viewing the Northern Lights. But here we were, in the mountains of North Carolina, basking in their beauty, no cross-continental flights necessary.
Before we retreated to the warmth of the truck’s cab, I slowly turned around to gaze at the full expanse of the cloudless night sky. So many stars! Surely the psalmist was inspired by a night like this when she wrote: “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of God’s hands” (Psalm 19:1).
Even though the hour was late, in my exhilarated state I longed for one more expansive view of the Northern Lights, so we headed toward the North Fork Reservoir. Unbidden, lyrics from a long-forgotten song from “The Muppet Movie” rose to the surface of my consciousness: “Aurora Borealis shining down on Dallas. Can you picture that?” Why, yes, I can.
Awash in gratitude, I also had a startling revelation: Seeing the Northern Lights had been on my bucket list for years, and tonight I was checking that item off. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t have anything else on my bucket list. I guess my work here is done! (Either you have lived a very full life or you need to dream more, a friend commented later when I shared this story.)
At our second stop in valley where the North Fork of the Swannanoa River valley flows beneath the lofty heights of the Blue Ridge Parkway, we lifted our eyes to the mountains. Through the lens of the camera, movement was visible above the outline of the peaks. In the stillness of the night, waves of flowing pink and purple and green lights transfixed us.
We arrived home as the clock struck midnight. We walked out onto our deck to take a final look at the night sky. At this liminal hour, the Aurora Borealis was breathtakingly vivid with the naked eye. Even from inside my living room, the flaming sky filled my field of view.
The following morning as I drove east again on I-40, I reflected on the previous night’s transcendent experience. What a priceless gift! It would have been enough to simply breathe in the beauty of something I could not create or control. But since I am always on the lookout for insights inspired by images, I felt prompted to ponder. I did sense the Spirit whispering a deeper message for me, a renewed call to be light in a dark world.
“God is calling through the whisper of the Spirit’s deepest sighs,
Through the thrill of sudden beauties that can catch us by surprise.
Flash of lightning, crash of thunder; hush of stillness, rush of wonder:
God is calling – can you hear? God is calling – can you hear?”
When has sudden beauty caught you by surprise? God is calling - can you hear?
“God is Calling Through the Whisper,” Mary Louise Bringle, 2003
Celebrating Grace Hymnal #478
