A New Dawn
The Spiritual Power of a Good Sunrise
"We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise if we have waited in the darkness." — Sapna Reddy
La Salida del Sol
Sunrises hold a spiritual power that speaks to our most profound experiences. I learned this firsthand in March 2021, when I found myself on a beach in Mexico, unexpectedly overcome with emotion.
Being able to get vaccinated early, my husband and I took a quick weekend Caribbean get-away after not leaving our house and/or the hospital for a year. Always the early riser, I took a run on the beach. It was dark and the air was cool. Seaweed was strewn like streamers all over the sand, the remnants of an underwater party the night before. I jogged along, at my slowish pace, remembering what it was like to take deep gulps of air without the fabric of a mask.
As I came around the bend, I was greeted by a trio of wild dogs. Not the cuddly type. The scrappy, angry and hungry type. I took this as a sign to turn around and run back. The dogs took this as a sign to chase me. Even when I am running for my life, I am not fast. Mercifully, a resort worker on the beach raking seaweed saw me and used his rake to scare the dogs away. I heard him yelling some choice Spanish words at them while they left the beach for a deserted alley. I kept running as my heart rate spiked more from fear than physical exertion.
Still catching my breath, I sat at the end of a pier, trying to calm my racing heart. But as the sun rose, something deeper inside me cracked open. My gaze was affixed to the splendor of the vibrant sky before me and tears began to flow. And didn’t stop. I was soon sobbing and shuddering. My whole body was involved in the crying.
That the dogs had scared me? Very much so. But it wasn’t about the dogs. It usually isn’t about the last thing that happened to us.
It was that I had been running without stopping for so long. Going through the motions of trying to keep moving when faced with terror.
Covid had been too much. I had seen more death and suffering than anyone should have to witness.
I wasn’t sure I could keep doing this work of caring for others when I was so depleted. I was desperate to feel God’s presence in the awfulness of this time.
The faces of patients flashed through my mind. I had forgotten their names, but the wails of family members on the phones still rang in my ear.
The helplessness of not being able to make anything better. The agony of not knowing when (or if) it would end. The hypervigilance of always being on guard, worrying and trying to navigate this strange new normal that none of us wanted.
My impromptu viewing of the sunrise allowed me to reconnect with myself and God. It gave me the space and the peace to tap into the inward tumult I had been experiencing. It was a release of all I had been holding up until that point. I wept as the sun brightened my countenance. And it was sacred. The beauty of the sunrise reminded me that not all was lost and it was a new day.
I’ve written before about thin places and how they are gateways to the divine. That ramshackle pier on a beach patrolled by mangey dogs became a gateway to God for me. In experiencing an ordinary, yet extraordinary sunrise, I was renewed. As I got up and shook the sand from my leggings, my face still red, I felt calm and serene. I didn’t have any new answers or a change of situation, but I rested in the assurance that I was not alone.
You may have heard of “Dark Nights of the Soul” before - Covid was one for me, and there have been a few others. What gets me through them is the promise that the dawn is near. And sometimes we get to see that dawn, literally or figuratively.
Even as painful seasons return, I can remember the sun is always coming up. This promise helps me to endure and then inspires me to be a beacon to others.
The Spiritual Nature of Sunrises
"The sun is a daily reminder that we too can rise again from the darkness, that we too can shine our own light." — S. Ajna
There is something intrinsically spiritual about sunrises and sunsets. They cause people to stop, look at the horizon and bask in the moment. They may spark a sense of revelation and renewal like I had on the beach - or they may give us a sense of serenity in an otherwise chaotic time.
“Being in nature” is the number one answer when I ask people to describe moments of transcendence in their lives. Watching sunrises is commonly mentioned. The layered hues of gold, red, and pink stir awe—even in the most hesitant of hearts.
There are a few reasons why sunrises can soothe our spirits so deeply:
To watch a sunrise is an intentional act.
You must get up early, seek out a location and be attuned to the weather. Some planning is required. You can even check the exact sunrise time beforehand, ensuring you get it right.
To watch a sunrise is a meditative act.
It involves slowing down and being present. Sunrises only last for 2 to 5 minutes (it varies based on geographic location). You can’t look at your phone or you might miss it. There are very few moments when we are that focused on natural beauty without distraction.
To watch a sunrise is a communal act.
Even if we are watching one alone (as I often do), we are connected by the knowledge that others are watching the same sun at the same time, in various parts of the world.
To watch a sunrise is a hopeful act.
It involves embracing the new day. Some of you know how much I love musical theater. You may not know that I was Annie in 5th grade and belted out that famous line “The sun’ll come out tomorrow, so ya gotta hang on ‘til tomorrow come what may.” I would never say this to a patient, spiritual directee or someone in the throes of suffering. But sometimes I sing this to myself (only in the car with no one else around) – because the promise of the world still spinning regularly on its axis can provide solace when everything else feels out of whack.
To watch a sunrise is a numinous act.
There is divine grandeur in the majesty of this everyday phenomenon. It shifts our attention toward something beyond ourselves. For many, taking it in can be a silent prayer of gratitude and wonder. It can give us greater perspective as it reminds us how small we are in the wider world.
Visio Divina
I often like to include spiritual practices in my posts. The one I would recommend today is to watch a sunrise! But maybe you won’t find yourself up that early or on a beach or a mountaintop anytime soon. Just as watching a sunrise can be an act of prayer, so too can engaging with sacred images. This practice, called Visio Divina, invites us to see with the eyes of the soul.
You can use any type of picture – a photograph, a painting, an icon. You can try it with any of the pictures in this post. Whatever visual you choose is a way to ground yourself in contemplation.
Here are some steps and prompts to guide you in this practice.
Choose an image that you are drawn to (don’t overthink it!)
Take a few deep breaths and center yourself. You may want to invite the Divine to guide your seeing.
Look at the image slowly and attentively.
Notice (without judging/analyzing) what part of the image your gaze is drawn to. Breathe deeply as you take in this part of the image.
Now look again at the whole image.
Reflect and ask yourself:
What emotions, thoughts or memories arise?
What is this image stirring in me?
Is there an insight or invitation to bring into your life?
To close, take some moments in the silence to pray or journal. Or whisper to yourself what you are taking with you into this day from sitting with this image, maybe it’s simply a word or a feeling.
For more visio divina inspiration, I encourage you to check out any of
’s substack posts, such as the one below. (He also has an excellent book you can purchase - and I’m not just saying that because I want to support a fellow Presbyterian minister!)
If you’d like music to accompany your meditation, I recommend this song, “Long Time Sun.” It was written from an Irish blessing, popularized in meditation circles and is now sung at the end of many Kundalini yoga classes.
May the long time sun
Shine upon you
All love surround you
And the pure light
Within you
Guide your way on
Guide your way on
"It usually isn't about the last thing that happened to us." Very much resonated with this. It's usually always a collection of little things. I love a sunrise AND a sunset. Both are so anchoring.
This was beautiful Christine, thank you for sharing this with us 💗✨