The world has rarely seen the kind of turmoil and challenges it faces today. Wars, geopolitical strife, climate change, mass immigration, the culture and politics of “hate,” and so much more shadow our day-to-day lives. It has been a disconcerting, almost unimaginable period.
That is why it helps to remember the legacy of astronaut Col. Frank Borman, the commander of Apollo 8, whose passing on Nov. 7 reminds us all of our common heritage and destiny. Not only was he a space pioneer and adventurer, but he viewed his work from an existential perspective. And no example of this ideal was greater than the photo his crewmate William Anders took, accompanied by the prayer Borman delivered 55 years ago this Christmas.
Famous “Earthrise” image taken by Apollo 8, 1968 (NASA/Wikimedia Commons)
Having spent eight years writing the book One Nation under God: The History of Prayer in America, I was struck hard by the prayer he recited, the first ever transmitted from space to earth. It came as Apollo 8 was circling the moon, the first time humankind had ever ventured so far beyond our planet. What was being transmitted visually as the prayer was invoked was, in a word, breathtaking. That famous “Earthrise” photo by Anders became iconic. Its backdrop with the mysterious darkness and infinity of space made the iridescent blue waters and wafting white clouds of Earth stand out in both their beauty and starkness. (READ MORE: Route 60: The Biblical Highway: More Than a Road Map)
Without telling anyone before the mission, Borman consulted with a fellow church parishioner and engineer at NASA to find just the right words to transmit to hundreds of millions of people on Earth to mark the Apollo 8 flight. Once those words were found, Borman and Anders, along with their third team member, James Lovell, agreed they would transmit the prayer at the right moment but tell no one until they did. They coded their plan “P1.”
As Apollo 8 approached the moon on Christmas Eve, Borman invoked the prayer. From there the astronauts took turns reciting the opening lines from Genesis describing the dawn of creation. It did not matter what one’s religion might or might not be; the prayer and Bible passage were universal, coming down to Earth at a time when the Vietnam War was raging and the civil rights movement disrupting the United States.
The moment was so moving that the newly elected President Richard Nixon reflected on their words during his 1969 inauguration address: “In that voice so clear across the lunar distance, we heard them invoke God’s blessing on its goodness.”
When my book was about to be recorded, I reached out to Borman to ask if he would read the prayer he had delivered. He hesitated and told me he needed to think about it. Two weeks later, I called again, and, realizing his continued hesitation, I told him how history and his own legacy needed to be recorded for posterity. He asked me to give him another 48 hours. I did, and he finally agreed.
He would later thank me profusely, telling me that reciting those words again and thinking about that backdrop had vividly brought back an indelible moment in his life — an extraordinary benchmark in the history of the space program and a stunning awakening in the arc of human history. The prayer he invoked put the follies and future of humanity in perspective both then and today.
Let it not be lost on the world that we have more in common than not and that it is in our collective best interest to remember that fact despite all our differences. Borman’s remarks marked an instant in which one man and his fellow travelers created a moment that must never be forgotten. As the simple prayer conveyed:
Give us, O God, the vision which can see Thy love in the world in spite of human failure. Give us the faith, the trust, the goodness in spite of all our ignorance and weakness. Give us the knowledge that we may continue to pray with understanding hearts, and show what each of us can do to set forth the day of universal peace. Amen.