I’m watching “The Crown.” It’s an episode about July 1969 and the walk on the moon, along with resultant interesting discussions about religion, God, faith, science, doubt. I remember that time. I wrote an essay about it, how it all made me feel. As I recall, it was the first time I shared anything I wrote (which was quite a lot really) with a family member…my grandmother and one of her sisters. I’m not quite sure why the reluctance to share even with my parents, but my grandma and I were really close and we were spending a couple of days at my great-aunt’s house. It just seemed the right time. I remember it was an essay of hopefulness, of peace. Of course, I was an idealistic young teen at the time. Ironically, that was the last July spent with my beloved grandmother…she died in June the next year four days after my birthday.
I knew this space event went far beyond the amazing technological accomplishment of three astronauts going to the moon. I couldn’t help but think of God, of a spiritual element to it. In retrospect, it may have been the first stirrings of pantheism in my Methodist soul, even though they would take years to really burst forth.