It doesn’t seem to matter where we’ve been, we’ve observed the phenomenon of people being drawn to the sun—whether for sunrise or sunset.
Many years ago while living in Vermont, we vacationed in Bar Harbor, Maine, at the gateway to Acadia National Park in Mt. Desert Island. Cadillac Mountain rises imposingly in the midst of the park and has the distinction of the highest elevation on the North Atlantic seaboard. If you happen to be on the summit some morning from now until early March, you can be among the first in the United States to see the sun break the horizon.
We visited in the summer and mistakenly thought that distinction held true then as well, so we got up early one morning and drove to the summit to catch the sunrise. We arrived before 5:00 a.m., so I was quite surprised to see a few dozen other people drawn to the sunrise as well! What made us all do that?
The same surprise greeted us at about 5:30 a.m. on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, in late May. The sunrises are stunning, we were told. So we had to see for ourselves. Indeed they are—at least it was that morning!
When we lived in Vermont, our home was close to Lake Champlain. Developers who must have been drawn to the sun built a park—Overlook Park—about five minutes from our house. It sits on a north-south-running ridgeline above a housing development and affords excellent westerly views. The park even has its own Facebook page! (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Overlook-Park-South-Burlington-Vermont/1623346187954752)
Often on a summer or early autumn evening, we’d hustle to the park, arriving 20-30 minutes before sunset to sit, wait, and watch the spectacle unfold. Rarely were we disappointed. And we were never alone. Sometimes it was difficult to find a parking place.
If the Overlook Park sunsets are grand—and they are—those along the Lake Champlain shore are even more so. I have so many sunset photos from the Burlington lakefront, I had a difficult time selecting one! There’s something about standing at the water’s edge as the bright orange disc gradually slips behind the Adirondack peaks, casting its golden hues across the waves, transforming the white, puffy clouds into billowing streaks and plumes and columns of pink and orange and red and yellow, against a backdrop of deepening shades of blue and purple. I’ve never been at the Lake Champlain shoreline at sunset alone. Scores are as drawn to it as I.
Likewise on the west coast in California. Whether walking along the beach in San Diego…
or driving the famed Highway 1 along the coast…
or sitting on the shoreline of Lake Tahoe…
or peering through the smoky haze of a controlled burn in Yosemite National Park…
or trekking among the Joshua Trees…
…people are drawn to witness the day descend into night.
You don’t have to travel to the coasts to enjoy the evening display. I belong to the Illinois Nature Lovers Facebook Group (https://www.facebook.com/groups/illinoisnaturelovers) that often features glorious sunsets in ordinary places near home. The western coast of Lake Michigan is but a few hours away, and those drawn to the sun flock in droves to take in the beauty.
Always Something New
Do we ever tire of it?
Chris and I recently returned from a few weeks on the gulf coast of Florida—first in Indian Shores (one of a string of communities on an island off St. Petersburg), then in Ft. Myers. One of the daily highlights in Indian Shores was watching the sunset from our balcony. It was there, looking north and south along the beach, that I took particular notice of the number of people who made their way to the beach just to watch the sunset. What drew them, I wondered? What draws us?
And then in Ft. Myers, we stayed in an age 55+ mobile home community a bit more than a 10-minute drive to the beach. Yet, most days we tried to arrange our very flexible schedule to catch the sun’s adieu. We joined scores of others.
The thing is, we’ve been to Indian Shores three times now, and to Ft. Myers four. And on every visit, we want to catch the sunset.
Why Are We Drawn?
Why? What draws us—all of us—to sit and wait to catch a few minutes of something that happens every day?
Perhaps we enjoy the sun’s joy. I’m referring to the psalmist’s words in Psalm 19. He recounts that in the heavens, the Lord “has set a tent for the sun, which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber, and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy.” [Psalm 19:4-5] We might see in the evening palette the sun expressing its joy for a race well run, retiring from the day’s labor with satisfaction, awaiting the new day to begin it all again.
Certainly, we appreciate the beauty. A spontaneous beauty, isn’t it? Like the tiny snowflakes, no two sunsets are exactly the same, it seems—not if we really stop long enough to look. It’s that uniqueness, I believe, that draws us. The serendipitous nature of the evening splendor is such that we never quite know what we’re going to get.
How easily we forget that beauty, too, don’t we? I have more photos of sunsets than I care to admit. Ask Chris, she’ll tell you! But none ever quite captures the live experience. “Was last night’s as glorious as this?” I found myself asking many evenings as we turned away from the darkening sky. And the next evening, we return because last night’s has faded from memory.
A Divine Purpose
I truly believe this daily display of beauty has a divine purpose behind it. As he opens Psalm 19, the author declares, “The heavens declare the glory of God….” What the Creator intends in the grand displays of heavenly splendor is that the heart be drawn toward and long for the greater glory—the glory of the One who spoke the sun into existence.
I enjoy gathering with God’s people on Sunday to worship Him through our Lord Jesus. So many times in those worship services I’m struck by some splendid aspect of God’s glory. But the service ends, and in time, the warm glow of that glorious display fades. That’s one reason, perhaps, my favorite time of day is the hour I shut out everything else, open the Word, and seek His beauty again. And like the sunset coming at the end of the day, I find each day’s display unique. Sometimes stunning. Sometimes rather ordinary. Sometimes just a ray or two breaks through the clouds.
Don’t Rush Away
One of the sunset lessons I learned in Vermont is not to turn away and leave too soon. Linger awhile. After the top arc of the orb falls beneath the horizon, most observers slowly make their way back to their cars or inside their beachfront vacation home. As if the show’s over and nothing is left but the credits. Anticlimactic stuff.
But many, many times have we witnessed some of the most beautiful displays of light and color fill the entire sky after the sun itself sinks from view. Chris and I have made it a practice, as often as possible, to tarry ‘til the colors fade to hues of gray. Often, we’ve watched in silent wonder as a kaleidoscope of colors transforms the now sunless sky. And we leave with a greater sense of fulfillment and appreciation.
Linger awhile. Bask in the splendor and glory of the God who reveals Himself in His Word, in the gathered worship of His people, in the quiet moments of solitude with an early morning cup of coffee and open Bible. Watch as different hues and shades of earlier colors of God’s glory emerge to offer a deeper appreciation of His beauty.
What draws us to the sun, in its rising or its setting?
The sun’s Creator, the Lord of glory, the Source of all beauty, the only truly deserving Object of our worship.
From the rising of the sun to its setting, the name of the Lord is to be praised.
Psalm 133:3
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