Time after time
Commentary
Object:
Time is the news of the day. Yesterday was yesteryear. Today we wipe the slates clean, turn the ledger page to a new fiscal period, and leaf through the engaging photos that will mark the progress of the calendar we freshly hang. Time is on our minds, even if it is only a hangover from last night's partying. What time is it?
Einstein got it right, of course: time is relative. We're all related to it! And it treats us differently as we hold its hand. Says the poet:
When as a child I laughed and wept, Time crept.
When as a youth I dreamt and talked, Time walked.
When I became a full-grown man, Time ran.
When older still I daily grew, Time flew.
Soon I shall find while traveling on, Time gone.
Why does time seem to speed up as we age? Roy Drusky, in a classic song of decades ago, crooned about the variable speeds of time like this:
I've been up and I've been down;
I've worked the fields, I've plowed the ground.
I've taken strain and pressure till I thought I might explode.
Now I search for childhood days
Of model planes and lemonade,
When the days stretched out before me like a long, long Texas road.
Yes that long, long Texas road's about a million miles or so.
When you're just a child there ain't no time but now.
Must have left that long old road seven hundred years ago,
And I'd find it once again if I knew how.
Drusky contemplates the rush and frenzy of his life, wishing, at least for a morning, to rejoin his younger self in the careless play of a lazy Texas day. But he also knows that nostalgia is yesterday's prices at today's wages, and an unreal world that can never be found. It is the true "Neverland" of Peter Pan, and what is given up to reach it costs more dearly than the price is worth. So Drusky continues his musings:
So I watch the children play
And dream my dreams of yesterday.
Don't tell them to be grateful,
I'm sure that they've been told.
If I'd known then what I know now
That would've messed it up somehow
When the days stretched out before me like a long, long Texas road.
Entering a New Year is a moment in which time and its relativity becomes very meaningful. A year ago there were folks in our congregation who are no longer with us. Others of us will not survive this calendar turn. So the question of the day is how will we turn the ticking of the clock into moments of meaning while we can. Welcome to the new Year of Our Lord!
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13
When I was in high school, a spiritual revival swept our area and many of us pondered together big questions of life and meaning. A friend and I formed a Bible study group (that was actually more of a social club) in which we tried to wrestle with faith and angst while sheltered in the home of some trusted adults who were not yet over the horrible age of thirty. We would meet together on Sunday evenings, often deciding only when we arrived what we were going to "study" that night. Invariably Jeff, hidden back in a corner between sofas and stuffed chairs, would murmur that we should read Ecclesiastes because he was depressed, and it was depressing, and maybe these two woeful laments would find each other and somehow make the world right.
Jeff was on to something, of course. Ecclesiastes is indeed a rather dark and depressing diatribe. "All is meaningless!" is the cry, both in the beginning (Ecclesiastes 1:2) and again at the end (Ecclesiastes 12:8). In between there are lists after lists of things that only prove the "Teacher's" dark and troubling point of view:
A king builds a massive empire and his successor wastes it to nothing (2:12).
A man wrestles out an education that makes him incredibly perceptive, but he dies the same death as a fool and is forgotten (2:13-14).
A man works all his life to create a marvelous and productive estate, but there is no one to leave it to, and he dies alone (4:7-8)
A wealthy man amasses greater fortunes, but dies consumed by greed (5:10-12).
The litany is incessant, and drums its way into our brains like a leaky faucet chasing away sleep on a muggy and worrisome night. Wisdom, pleasure, folly, toil -- they all come to nothing (1:12--2:26). Time itself is a cruel taskmaster that binds and breaks down (3). Other dimensions of life leave us hopeless: oppression, hard work, friendlessness, political advancement, unfulfilled vows to God, amassing wealth (4:1--6:12).
How do we stay sane in such an existence? The Teacher suggests that we ought to try at least to get a bit of practical working wisdom, for this seems in some way to take the cynical edge off the meaninglessness of life. As a push in that direction, he offers a variety of proverbs which sound very similar to those in the more famous book known by that name (7:1--8:6).
But the full impact of the Teacher's observations is left for some concluding reflections (8:7--12:7). Since we cannot find certain or standardized meaning in the whimsical affairs of our lives, we must look beyond. In chapter 3, the focus for today, there is already a hint of this: "[God] has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men" (v. 11). The Teacher even suggested a way to make it through life with some degree of sanity: "I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live" (v. 13). Again in chapter 5 the Teacher nods in this same direction (vv. 18-20).
Yet the deepest insights of the book are to be found in the last chapters. Here there is a reminder that all of life is progressing toward a common end, and one which we are powerless to control. So we might as well enjoy life while we have it, and go with the flow rather than against it, by gaining some practical wisdom. But in the end, it is our relationship with our Creator that puts the rest of life into focus.
So the final reflections of the Teacher might be summarized in this manner:
If this world we live in is a closed system, then all is tragedy and meaningless.
But if there is a God, life may be brief and seem random, yet it is ultimately very meaningful.
We may not be able to understand the ultimate meaning of all things and experiences from our vantage point; nevertheless we sense it as we connect with transcendent realities.
If we truly believe there is a God, then the three most important things for us to use as core values for life are these:
Live boldly, for it is better to engage life than to fear it.
Live joyfully, for laughter melts the sorrows of our sometimes meaningless existence.
Live godly, for though we are not always able to understand meaning and purpose in life, the Creator's ways are still the best, even if we know them only in part.
My friend Jeff was right. Ecclesiastes is depressing. But that is only the beginning of the story. On its surface, and especially at its beginning, the screaming message is this: All we do and everything that happens to us is ultimately meaningless and has no lasting value! But if we take the time to hear the notes of hopeful optimism that begin to leak through, starting already in chapter 3, a more moderate message speaks out: Yet life goes on, so let's make the best of it and be more wise about it than foolish. And if we attune our ears to the religious confidence that forms a bedrock foundation underlying all of the Teacher's reflections, a subtle but profound message whispers as well: Life can only mean something if there is a God who sets the values (e.g., time and morality), and gives us a link to eternity which confirms our right to exist.
For this reason Ecclesiastes is in the Bible. It expresses powerfully the worldview of the Sinai covenant. This is the message that Israel could portray to the nations of its world. Indeed, this is, at its best, the true wisdom of Solomon that should have been the evangelistic beacon of his great kingdom. After all, Israel had been strategically poised to preach these things in a social and political arena where the Creator had come to be largely forgotten, and because of that, life itself often had burdened down into meaningless tedium and recurring cycles of incessant depressing failure. But only if people stopped their depressing busyness long enough to think, might these woeful thoughts drive them desperately to look for a religious perspective that was never meaningless.
Revelation 21:1-6a
The ancient Greeks talked of death as the passage across the River Styx into the region of the underworld where shades and shadows of departed persons rested uneasily in Hades. The River Styx was the domain of Charon, the ferryman of death. His job was to bring newcomers across to their final abode. Before they stepped into his boat, however, Charon always reminded his passengers that they could avail themselves of the opportunity to drink from the waters of Lethe. These magical springs had the power to make one forget, a transaction that carries with it both blessings and curses, as the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind portrayed.
One woman who came to Charon seemed eager to make use of Lethe's powers, according to a Greek legend. "I will forget how I suffered," she said quickly.
"Remember that you will also forget how you have rejoiced," Charon added quietly.
"Yes," she replied, "but I will forget my failures."
"So too your victories," came the rejoinder.
"Oh, but I will forget how I have been hated," the woman went on.
"True," opined the ferryman, "and also how you have been loved."
The legend tells of how this final word caused her to pause, and in a short while step into Charon's craft without tasting the waters of Lethe. Sometimes starting over requires as much that we remember as that we forget.
This is certainly true in the Christian gospel. John's vision of a new heaven and a new earth in Revelation 21 does not wipe the slate clean entirely as the do-over begins. Instead, there is a purging process that brings with it memories of the greatest acts of both God and humankind, while sanitizing out those bits that the Devil spit in with tarnish. We recognize all the elements of this scene: heaven is there, as it has hovered over our world from the beginning; earth remains, though chastened and restored; then comes Jerusalem: David's city, the Temple Town, and symbol of how closely humans can reach toward heaven while the Creator stoops down to touch their fingers; a throne appears, not unlike the combination of the Ark of the Covenant, Yahweh's portable dais during Israel's wanderings and the grand seat of Messianic royalty established by the Royal Grant of 2 Samuel 7.
But the same old, same old is wonderfully new as the tears are gone, the frustrations dissipate, the scything specter of Death had disappeared, and pain is no longer needed as a divine megaphone (a la Paul Brand and Philip Yancey in Yancey's powerful book Where Is God When It Hurts?) calling us wandering wenches back home.
What a scene for a New Year's morning! It's the kind of thing singer Murray McLaughlin penned for a year-end holidays song in 1989:
May I get what I want, not what I deserve
May the coming year not throw a single curve
May I hurt nobody, may I tell no lies
If I can't go on, give me strength to try
Ring the old year out, Ring the new year in
Bring us all good luck, Let the good guys win
May the one you love be the one you get
May you get some place, you haven't been to yet
May your friends surround you, never do you wrong
May your eyes be clear, may your heart be strong
Ring the old year out, Ring the new year in
Bring us all good luck, Let the good guys win
Of course, McLaughlin's prayer and hope is John's testimony and anticipated reality. Whatever the New Year brings, today is a day of confidence for the child of God. It is indeed "The Year of Our Lord," and we know how the story ends. Or perhaps, finally truly begins.
Matthew 25:31-46
Chronos happens to us, and we fill it with minutia -- the daily reports in journals and news and business quarterlies. But Kairos is what Billy Graham always called "the Hour of Decision," and what T.S. Eliot pointed to as "the moment that gives meaning." How will this "Year of Our Lord" reach upward from chronos to kairos? What will lift the ticking of the clock into an eternal destiny of significance?
Jesus pits tick-tock time against meaning moments in this famous passage. In essence he challenges us in a comparison between chronos and kairos, between the chronology of events that happen in succession and the significance they build as an era that we can define. It is an important gem tucked into a dark cauldron of despair. We think we are doing this and that and the next thing, bopping along in time, and suddenly the eyes of eternity are on us and the meaning of everything changes.
This is the meaning of Jesus' parable for us. While we get caught up in time, doing little things that in and of themselves may or may not have existence, God monitors the whole of our existence and stamps it all with meaning. But of course, we have to be doing things that align with the values of heaven.
No doubt a few "New Year's Resolutions" have already been made and broken. Jonathan Edwards' string of commitments, to be "read over... once a week," is a rather demanding exercise in spiritual sanitization:
Resolved, that I will do whatsoever I think to be most to the glory of God, and my own good, profit, and pleasure, in the whole of my duration; without any consideration of the time, whether now, or never so many myriads of ages hence.
Resolved, to do whatever I think to be my duty, and most for the good and advantage of mankind in general.
Resolved, never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in the most profitable way I possibly can.
Resolved, to live with all my might, while I do live.
Resolved, never to do anything I would be afraid to do if it were the last hour of my life.
Resolved, never to do anything out of revenge.
Resolved, never to speak evil of anyone, so that it shall tend to his dishonor, more or less, upon no account except for some real good.
Resolved, to study the Scriptures so steadily, constantly, and frequently, as that I may find, and plainly perceive, myself to grow in the knowledge of the same.
Resolved, never to count that a prayer, nor to let that pass as a prayer, nor that as a petition of prayer, which is so made that I cannot hope that God will answer it; nor that as a confession which I cannot hope God will accept.
Resolved, to ask myself, at the end of every day, week, month, and year wherein I could possibly in any respect have done better.
Resolved, never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my fight with my corruption, however unsuccessful I may be.
Resolved, after afflictions, to inquire, what I am the better for them; what good I have got by them; and what I might have got by them.
Resolved, always to do that, which I shall wish I had done when I see others do it.
These are certainly commendable promises. The outcome of a life lived as Jonathan Edwards so pledged would probably look a lot like that envisioned by Jesus in today's Gospel reading. But there is a subtle difference. Notice that the actions Jesus commends are all good and upright and moral and socially transforming. But notice as well that those who do such things, to the glory of God and the honor of Jesus, don't even realize what they are doing. It is not a checklist of perfections that they mark with a pious pen. Instead, it is a lifestyle of other-focus that leads to blessings on those around them.
New Year's resolutions are appropriate, to a degree, since self-discipline is one of the most powerful educational devices available to the human race. Moreover, goals are extremely important in building a life of significance, for "he who aims at nothing will always be certain to achieve it!" But spirituality is never served best when packaged in its nutritional information and festooned with a snobbish price tag that boldly declares "See what a good boy am I!"
Instead, the point of Jesus' teaching is to tumble our New Year's resolutions on end and develop eyes for the world around us. If by the close of this New Year the edges of darkness are pushed back slightly, children have slept in greater peace, sores have been soothed and loneliness reduced, Jesus' parable will have taken root, and we won't even have noticed it. But others will!
Application
This is a day for anticipations and commitments and well wishes. In the words of Murray McLaughlin:
May the times to come be the best you've had
May peace rule the world and make us glad
When you see something wrong, make it right
Put a shadowed world into the bright sunlight
Ring the old year out, Ring the new year in
Bring us all good luck, Let the good guys win
Minnie Louise Harkins (1875-1957) penned a poignant reflection that serves well each New Year's celebration:
I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
"Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown."
And he replied,
"Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!"
New Year's Day makes us think about time and opportunity. In that context, Robert H. Smith summarized well what we all know:
The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.
An Alternative Application
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13. We are bound by Time, the great organizer of all that we experience. We cannot return to yesterday except in our memories, and these do not allow us to change anything which has already taken place. Human (and for that matter, universal) existence is hung on the sweeping hands of Time. We do not understand Time. We cannot control Time. Even when we explore the relativity of our experiences of Time we are unable to alter its massive grip and pull on our existence.
One of the most fascinating stories of human history is told by William Manchester in his masterful A World Lit Only by Fire. In it he describes medieval Europe, and the communities there and then that were entirely regulated by the cycles of the sun. Time had a much more immediate grip on life, for virtually nothing happened in society that was not directly linked to the presence or absence of the sun, and even its angle above the horizon. We have pushed back the night with our artificial lighting, and challenged the tyranny of the aging process with our chemicals and plastic surgeries which pretend to be a magician's wand cure for the malady of Time's inevitable march across our bodies.
Still, everyone who is born, dies. Every plant, even the mightiest oak, topples. Every age goes to war, vowing this will be the one to end it all. Every masterful Roman forum becomes eventually a tourist trap ringed by cappuccino cafes. No tears can last forever, nor will the straitjacket of sorrow win forever against giddy jigging. Time wrestles all into its incessant, rhythmic beat.
But why? Why did God invent Time as a prerequisite for life on planet earth? Could we not bop about through space, staying forever young? The writer of Ecclesiastes is sober enough to know that such speculations lead nowhere. But he also has begun to show grudging appreciation for Time as Life's great organizing principle. Time makes sure that we all move in the same direction at the same rate. Time provides the context for both memory and hope. Time destabilizes pain, even while it takes the edge off excessive hilarity. Time is the janitor that keeps the classes moving through the school so that they don't get stuck in "Hotel California."
Then comes the "Preacher's" affirmation. We live in Time, but Eternity tells us why. It is like Grant Tuller's marvelous reflection:
My life is like a weaving
Between my God and Me
I do not choose the colors;
He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes He chooseth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the skillful Weaver's hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Einstein got it right, of course: time is relative. We're all related to it! And it treats us differently as we hold its hand. Says the poet:
When as a child I laughed and wept, Time crept.
When as a youth I dreamt and talked, Time walked.
When I became a full-grown man, Time ran.
When older still I daily grew, Time flew.
Soon I shall find while traveling on, Time gone.
Why does time seem to speed up as we age? Roy Drusky, in a classic song of decades ago, crooned about the variable speeds of time like this:
I've been up and I've been down;
I've worked the fields, I've plowed the ground.
I've taken strain and pressure till I thought I might explode.
Now I search for childhood days
Of model planes and lemonade,
When the days stretched out before me like a long, long Texas road.
Yes that long, long Texas road's about a million miles or so.
When you're just a child there ain't no time but now.
Must have left that long old road seven hundred years ago,
And I'd find it once again if I knew how.
Drusky contemplates the rush and frenzy of his life, wishing, at least for a morning, to rejoin his younger self in the careless play of a lazy Texas day. But he also knows that nostalgia is yesterday's prices at today's wages, and an unreal world that can never be found. It is the true "Neverland" of Peter Pan, and what is given up to reach it costs more dearly than the price is worth. So Drusky continues his musings:
So I watch the children play
And dream my dreams of yesterday.
Don't tell them to be grateful,
I'm sure that they've been told.
If I'd known then what I know now
That would've messed it up somehow
When the days stretched out before me like a long, long Texas road.
Entering a New Year is a moment in which time and its relativity becomes very meaningful. A year ago there were folks in our congregation who are no longer with us. Others of us will not survive this calendar turn. So the question of the day is how will we turn the ticking of the clock into moments of meaning while we can. Welcome to the new Year of Our Lord!
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13
When I was in high school, a spiritual revival swept our area and many of us pondered together big questions of life and meaning. A friend and I formed a Bible study group (that was actually more of a social club) in which we tried to wrestle with faith and angst while sheltered in the home of some trusted adults who were not yet over the horrible age of thirty. We would meet together on Sunday evenings, often deciding only when we arrived what we were going to "study" that night. Invariably Jeff, hidden back in a corner between sofas and stuffed chairs, would murmur that we should read Ecclesiastes because he was depressed, and it was depressing, and maybe these two woeful laments would find each other and somehow make the world right.
Jeff was on to something, of course. Ecclesiastes is indeed a rather dark and depressing diatribe. "All is meaningless!" is the cry, both in the beginning (Ecclesiastes 1:2) and again at the end (Ecclesiastes 12:8). In between there are lists after lists of things that only prove the "Teacher's" dark and troubling point of view:
A king builds a massive empire and his successor wastes it to nothing (2:12).
A man wrestles out an education that makes him incredibly perceptive, but he dies the same death as a fool and is forgotten (2:13-14).
A man works all his life to create a marvelous and productive estate, but there is no one to leave it to, and he dies alone (4:7-8)
A wealthy man amasses greater fortunes, but dies consumed by greed (5:10-12).
The litany is incessant, and drums its way into our brains like a leaky faucet chasing away sleep on a muggy and worrisome night. Wisdom, pleasure, folly, toil -- they all come to nothing (1:12--2:26). Time itself is a cruel taskmaster that binds and breaks down (3). Other dimensions of life leave us hopeless: oppression, hard work, friendlessness, political advancement, unfulfilled vows to God, amassing wealth (4:1--6:12).
How do we stay sane in such an existence? The Teacher suggests that we ought to try at least to get a bit of practical working wisdom, for this seems in some way to take the cynical edge off the meaninglessness of life. As a push in that direction, he offers a variety of proverbs which sound very similar to those in the more famous book known by that name (7:1--8:6).
But the full impact of the Teacher's observations is left for some concluding reflections (8:7--12:7). Since we cannot find certain or standardized meaning in the whimsical affairs of our lives, we must look beyond. In chapter 3, the focus for today, there is already a hint of this: "[God] has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men" (v. 11). The Teacher even suggested a way to make it through life with some degree of sanity: "I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live" (v. 13). Again in chapter 5 the Teacher nods in this same direction (vv. 18-20).
Yet the deepest insights of the book are to be found in the last chapters. Here there is a reminder that all of life is progressing toward a common end, and one which we are powerless to control. So we might as well enjoy life while we have it, and go with the flow rather than against it, by gaining some practical wisdom. But in the end, it is our relationship with our Creator that puts the rest of life into focus.
So the final reflections of the Teacher might be summarized in this manner:
If this world we live in is a closed system, then all is tragedy and meaningless.
But if there is a God, life may be brief and seem random, yet it is ultimately very meaningful.
We may not be able to understand the ultimate meaning of all things and experiences from our vantage point; nevertheless we sense it as we connect with transcendent realities.
If we truly believe there is a God, then the three most important things for us to use as core values for life are these:
Live boldly, for it is better to engage life than to fear it.
Live joyfully, for laughter melts the sorrows of our sometimes meaningless existence.
Live godly, for though we are not always able to understand meaning and purpose in life, the Creator's ways are still the best, even if we know them only in part.
My friend Jeff was right. Ecclesiastes is depressing. But that is only the beginning of the story. On its surface, and especially at its beginning, the screaming message is this: All we do and everything that happens to us is ultimately meaningless and has no lasting value! But if we take the time to hear the notes of hopeful optimism that begin to leak through, starting already in chapter 3, a more moderate message speaks out: Yet life goes on, so let's make the best of it and be more wise about it than foolish. And if we attune our ears to the religious confidence that forms a bedrock foundation underlying all of the Teacher's reflections, a subtle but profound message whispers as well: Life can only mean something if there is a God who sets the values (e.g., time and morality), and gives us a link to eternity which confirms our right to exist.
For this reason Ecclesiastes is in the Bible. It expresses powerfully the worldview of the Sinai covenant. This is the message that Israel could portray to the nations of its world. Indeed, this is, at its best, the true wisdom of Solomon that should have been the evangelistic beacon of his great kingdom. After all, Israel had been strategically poised to preach these things in a social and political arena where the Creator had come to be largely forgotten, and because of that, life itself often had burdened down into meaningless tedium and recurring cycles of incessant depressing failure. But only if people stopped their depressing busyness long enough to think, might these woeful thoughts drive them desperately to look for a religious perspective that was never meaningless.
Revelation 21:1-6a
The ancient Greeks talked of death as the passage across the River Styx into the region of the underworld where shades and shadows of departed persons rested uneasily in Hades. The River Styx was the domain of Charon, the ferryman of death. His job was to bring newcomers across to their final abode. Before they stepped into his boat, however, Charon always reminded his passengers that they could avail themselves of the opportunity to drink from the waters of Lethe. These magical springs had the power to make one forget, a transaction that carries with it both blessings and curses, as the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind portrayed.
One woman who came to Charon seemed eager to make use of Lethe's powers, according to a Greek legend. "I will forget how I suffered," she said quickly.
"Remember that you will also forget how you have rejoiced," Charon added quietly.
"Yes," she replied, "but I will forget my failures."
"So too your victories," came the rejoinder.
"Oh, but I will forget how I have been hated," the woman went on.
"True," opined the ferryman, "and also how you have been loved."
The legend tells of how this final word caused her to pause, and in a short while step into Charon's craft without tasting the waters of Lethe. Sometimes starting over requires as much that we remember as that we forget.
This is certainly true in the Christian gospel. John's vision of a new heaven and a new earth in Revelation 21 does not wipe the slate clean entirely as the do-over begins. Instead, there is a purging process that brings with it memories of the greatest acts of both God and humankind, while sanitizing out those bits that the Devil spit in with tarnish. We recognize all the elements of this scene: heaven is there, as it has hovered over our world from the beginning; earth remains, though chastened and restored; then comes Jerusalem: David's city, the Temple Town, and symbol of how closely humans can reach toward heaven while the Creator stoops down to touch their fingers; a throne appears, not unlike the combination of the Ark of the Covenant, Yahweh's portable dais during Israel's wanderings and the grand seat of Messianic royalty established by the Royal Grant of 2 Samuel 7.
But the same old, same old is wonderfully new as the tears are gone, the frustrations dissipate, the scything specter of Death had disappeared, and pain is no longer needed as a divine megaphone (a la Paul Brand and Philip Yancey in Yancey's powerful book Where Is God When It Hurts?) calling us wandering wenches back home.
What a scene for a New Year's morning! It's the kind of thing singer Murray McLaughlin penned for a year-end holidays song in 1989:
May I get what I want, not what I deserve
May the coming year not throw a single curve
May I hurt nobody, may I tell no lies
If I can't go on, give me strength to try
Ring the old year out, Ring the new year in
Bring us all good luck, Let the good guys win
May the one you love be the one you get
May you get some place, you haven't been to yet
May your friends surround you, never do you wrong
May your eyes be clear, may your heart be strong
Ring the old year out, Ring the new year in
Bring us all good luck, Let the good guys win
Of course, McLaughlin's prayer and hope is John's testimony and anticipated reality. Whatever the New Year brings, today is a day of confidence for the child of God. It is indeed "The Year of Our Lord," and we know how the story ends. Or perhaps, finally truly begins.
Matthew 25:31-46
Chronos happens to us, and we fill it with minutia -- the daily reports in journals and news and business quarterlies. But Kairos is what Billy Graham always called "the Hour of Decision," and what T.S. Eliot pointed to as "the moment that gives meaning." How will this "Year of Our Lord" reach upward from chronos to kairos? What will lift the ticking of the clock into an eternal destiny of significance?
Jesus pits tick-tock time against meaning moments in this famous passage. In essence he challenges us in a comparison between chronos and kairos, between the chronology of events that happen in succession and the significance they build as an era that we can define. It is an important gem tucked into a dark cauldron of despair. We think we are doing this and that and the next thing, bopping along in time, and suddenly the eyes of eternity are on us and the meaning of everything changes.
This is the meaning of Jesus' parable for us. While we get caught up in time, doing little things that in and of themselves may or may not have existence, God monitors the whole of our existence and stamps it all with meaning. But of course, we have to be doing things that align with the values of heaven.
No doubt a few "New Year's Resolutions" have already been made and broken. Jonathan Edwards' string of commitments, to be "read over... once a week," is a rather demanding exercise in spiritual sanitization:
Resolved, that I will do whatsoever I think to be most to the glory of God, and my own good, profit, and pleasure, in the whole of my duration; without any consideration of the time, whether now, or never so many myriads of ages hence.
Resolved, to do whatever I think to be my duty, and most for the good and advantage of mankind in general.
Resolved, never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in the most profitable way I possibly can.
Resolved, to live with all my might, while I do live.
Resolved, never to do anything I would be afraid to do if it were the last hour of my life.
Resolved, never to do anything out of revenge.
Resolved, never to speak evil of anyone, so that it shall tend to his dishonor, more or less, upon no account except for some real good.
Resolved, to study the Scriptures so steadily, constantly, and frequently, as that I may find, and plainly perceive, myself to grow in the knowledge of the same.
Resolved, never to count that a prayer, nor to let that pass as a prayer, nor that as a petition of prayer, which is so made that I cannot hope that God will answer it; nor that as a confession which I cannot hope God will accept.
Resolved, to ask myself, at the end of every day, week, month, and year wherein I could possibly in any respect have done better.
Resolved, never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my fight with my corruption, however unsuccessful I may be.
Resolved, after afflictions, to inquire, what I am the better for them; what good I have got by them; and what I might have got by them.
Resolved, always to do that, which I shall wish I had done when I see others do it.
These are certainly commendable promises. The outcome of a life lived as Jonathan Edwards so pledged would probably look a lot like that envisioned by Jesus in today's Gospel reading. But there is a subtle difference. Notice that the actions Jesus commends are all good and upright and moral and socially transforming. But notice as well that those who do such things, to the glory of God and the honor of Jesus, don't even realize what they are doing. It is not a checklist of perfections that they mark with a pious pen. Instead, it is a lifestyle of other-focus that leads to blessings on those around them.
New Year's resolutions are appropriate, to a degree, since self-discipline is one of the most powerful educational devices available to the human race. Moreover, goals are extremely important in building a life of significance, for "he who aims at nothing will always be certain to achieve it!" But spirituality is never served best when packaged in its nutritional information and festooned with a snobbish price tag that boldly declares "See what a good boy am I!"
Instead, the point of Jesus' teaching is to tumble our New Year's resolutions on end and develop eyes for the world around us. If by the close of this New Year the edges of darkness are pushed back slightly, children have slept in greater peace, sores have been soothed and loneliness reduced, Jesus' parable will have taken root, and we won't even have noticed it. But others will!
Application
This is a day for anticipations and commitments and well wishes. In the words of Murray McLaughlin:
May the times to come be the best you've had
May peace rule the world and make us glad
When you see something wrong, make it right
Put a shadowed world into the bright sunlight
Ring the old year out, Ring the new year in
Bring us all good luck, Let the good guys win
Minnie Louise Harkins (1875-1957) penned a poignant reflection that serves well each New Year's celebration:
I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
"Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown."
And he replied,
"Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!"
New Year's Day makes us think about time and opportunity. In that context, Robert H. Smith summarized well what we all know:
The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.
An Alternative Application
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13. We are bound by Time, the great organizer of all that we experience. We cannot return to yesterday except in our memories, and these do not allow us to change anything which has already taken place. Human (and for that matter, universal) existence is hung on the sweeping hands of Time. We do not understand Time. We cannot control Time. Even when we explore the relativity of our experiences of Time we are unable to alter its massive grip and pull on our existence.
One of the most fascinating stories of human history is told by William Manchester in his masterful A World Lit Only by Fire. In it he describes medieval Europe, and the communities there and then that were entirely regulated by the cycles of the sun. Time had a much more immediate grip on life, for virtually nothing happened in society that was not directly linked to the presence or absence of the sun, and even its angle above the horizon. We have pushed back the night with our artificial lighting, and challenged the tyranny of the aging process with our chemicals and plastic surgeries which pretend to be a magician's wand cure for the malady of Time's inevitable march across our bodies.
Still, everyone who is born, dies. Every plant, even the mightiest oak, topples. Every age goes to war, vowing this will be the one to end it all. Every masterful Roman forum becomes eventually a tourist trap ringed by cappuccino cafes. No tears can last forever, nor will the straitjacket of sorrow win forever against giddy jigging. Time wrestles all into its incessant, rhythmic beat.
But why? Why did God invent Time as a prerequisite for life on planet earth? Could we not bop about through space, staying forever young? The writer of Ecclesiastes is sober enough to know that such speculations lead nowhere. But he also has begun to show grudging appreciation for Time as Life's great organizing principle. Time makes sure that we all move in the same direction at the same rate. Time provides the context for both memory and hope. Time destabilizes pain, even while it takes the edge off excessive hilarity. Time is the janitor that keeps the classes moving through the school so that they don't get stuck in "Hotel California."
Then comes the "Preacher's" affirmation. We live in Time, but Eternity tells us why. It is like Grant Tuller's marvelous reflection:
My life is like a weaving
Between my God and Me
I do not choose the colors;
He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes He chooseth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the skillful Weaver's hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
