movin' the tide

I recently saw a performance by Shinyribs Russell and heard him tell the background story on his song, "Who Built the Moon." He told a funny story about a conspiracy theorist's idea the moon was built by someone. I like the song for what it is, never mind the conspiracy. That song went through my head again and again this weekend as the Super Moon rose from the gulf horizon, sailed across the sky, and set over the bay. The moon, "hangin' in the sky, shakin' the oceans, and movin' the tide" has long shaped our human lives. It has helped us mark time, it can guide us in our fishing habits, and it inspires artists, musicians, and fireside philosophers. Life looks different in the moonlight.

On Sunday morning, as I finished writing my sermon, I took a break to walk outside
to see the Super Moon set, and I caught it hanging in the porch of the church. That night, Laura, Eli, and I went to the beach to watch it rise again. Someone told me it's the closest we will be to the moon in our lifetime.

The moon usually marks time in months. But this time, I suppose, it was marking time by a generation. Shinyribs's song goes on, about this Pilgrim who built the moon, "If his calculations were not true, then we wouldn't be here, lonely, looking at the moon." There's something beautiful about a continent of people looking at the moon in mutual loneliness. Even sitting right next to Eli, I was aware of the difference of his life from mine; maybe he will get another glimpse of a Super Moon, but I know I won't. Then I wanted to call my dad to see what the moon looked like from where he sat.

Awareness of mutual loneliness led to opportunity for connection. After all, it is a plural "we" who sit here "lonely, looking at the moon."