My troubled relationship with the sunrise
I watched the sun rise over the Grand Canyon and it was glorious.
I’m not a sunrise person; I will admit that I usually face mornings with some internal grumbling. I know of a woman who gets up in the pre-dawn darkness every day just to be able to photograph the sunrise. She takes beautiful pictures, helped out by the fact that she lives where there are real seasons and changing weather, making her sunrise experiences delightfully unpredictable from day to day.
Sunrise in southern Arizona tends to be undramatic—just a gradual brightening of the gray, cloudless sky until the brilliant white-hot sun suddenly flashes over the crest of the mountains like some laser death-ray.
I recently made an exception to my late-rising routine. I’d joined my friend, David, for his first visit to the Grand Canyon. He’d come over 2,000 miles to see if it lived up to its hype and was not going to miss the chance to photograph the sun rising over the vermillion cliffs. So I set my alarm, dragged myself out of bed at 4:30 a.m., and joined him and his wife in the pre-dawn twilight at Yavapai Point.
It’s chilly at 7,000 feet, even in June. I found David and Alice bundled up in coats and hats, sitting on a ledge a safe distance from the edge of the overlook. A small group of other photographers and expectant tourists were waiting with us. The air was still, voices were muted, the depths of the canyon were obscured by the darkness.
As the eastern sky slowly brightened, we could just make out a sliver of the Colorado River a mile or so below and to the north. The inky black of the canyon depths slowly brightened to purple and brown as the still-hidden sun rose steadily higher behind the cliffs on the far horizon.
What’s so remarkable about a sunrise? The Psalmist makes an interesting comparison:
I long for the Lord more than sentries long for the dawn, yes, more than sentries long for the dawn. —Psalm 130:6 (NLT)
The sentry struggles to stay alert at his guard post, shivering in the cold and damp of night, counting down the minutes until dawn breaks and his relief comes on duty. Sunrise means another watch safely completed, the promise of a hot meal, a warm bed, rest. The Psalmist says our eagerness to experience the presence of the Lord should be like the eagerness of a sentry for the rising of the sun.
I get that, but it isn’t always my reality. Sunrise doesn’t always bring joy and wonder, does it? Neither does seeking God’s presence. I seek God in his Word, in prayer, in unspoken longings, but I don’t always hear or experience what I’m hoping for, almost as if the sun on some days fails to rise.
Sunrise on the first day after my wife and I were married was full of joy and promise and the realization that we were both walking off together into something very new and very good.
Sunrise on the morning our son was born was an experience of awe and thankfulness that we had been given the chance to love and care for this tiny and wonderful little boy.
Sunrise 43 years later found us in tears at our daughter’s house, breaking the news to her that her brother had died.
Sunrises shine on moments of great blessing, as well as moments of great tragedy. The morning sun shines on people sheltering beneath cardboard on the streets, people searching for a meal or a job, people making impossible medical decisions, people who are broken-hearted. It also shines on people in love, people living out their life’s calling, people serving and caring for those who can’t take care of themselves, parents hustling their children off to school and children eager to connect once more with good friends.
I suppose you could say we humans have a complicated relationship with the sunrise, just as many of us have a complicated relationship with the creator of the sunrise.
If I were to internalize the Psalmist’s advice, I think I should view the rising of the sun each day as proof that God is still God, that God is still present, and that he has brought me safely through the night into a new day filled with promise and possibility and hope. Perhaps remembering my Grand Canyon sunrise experience will be a way to keep those realities alive in my heart.
As the sun finally appeared over the rim of the canyon, my only thought was, “How glorious, and how glorious is the God who made all of this and has blessed me to be able to see it.”
My iPhone snapshot doesn’t do justice to what we say, nor does it capture the emotions we felt as we watched the sun rise and pondered God’s greatness, his goodness, his glory, and the remarkable fact that he has reached down from high Heaven to meet us, love us, and walk with us through life.
The God who made the earth rotate under the warming, life-giving rays of our sun is the same God who waits for us to awaken each morning and acknowledge his blessed and much-needed presence in the day ahead. Whatever your situation, the Lord waits with you through the night and watches with you as the dawn breaks.
May you seek the Lord today and experience his marvelous presence.
Beautifully done as always, Charlie.
This is beautiful, Charlie. Thank you.