Time

September 2, 2019

“Procrastination is strong in this one,” Darth Vader would say about me. It’s no secret that band is starting up again. The first rehearsals were while I was on vacation; it’s already week two, and I still haven’t pulled my bassoon out of the closet where it’s sat for two years. I intended to practice Saturday, but split and stacked wood instead before spending a delightful evening at our annual Labor Day corn roast with Linda’s sisters and their husbands. After dinner when everyone left yesterday would have been a capital time for practice, but I raked up the debris from the wood splitting adventure, read a little, and before I knew it, the day was gone.

Today I was just plain lazy this morning, rising late, treating Linda to her favorite—breakfast in bed, and reading again—just for the pleasure of it. Late morning, I made a sandblaster out of a pop bottle and an air gun, sandblasted the rust and peeling paint and painted the bucket arms of my tractor. Though a bit unwieldy, it turned out quite well in spite of the air nozzle continually plugging up. By the time that job was done it was time to drive over to our son’s home for our annual family and neighborhood Labor Day picnic. 

It will feel a bit odd not going in to work this week. The grandkids will be back in school, and our kids and their friends will go to work while my time is my own to do as I want. I do plan to visit a friend who is expecting surgery in Rochester later this week, but don’t have to squeeze in sermon preparation. Though the calendar tells me I’ll be quite busy, it doesn’t feel busy, which is quite nice. 

Time is an odd thing. We think we know what it is, but it can be quite elusive. The Greeks had at least two words for time; chronos is chronological time—seconds, minutes, hours, days and so forth—time as it ticks along, moment after moment. They also had the word kairos, which was what we mean when we say, “Now is the time,” or “At the right time.” It was the opportune moment, the right time, the time when something happened. Chronological time can be precise. It can also drag or speed up. For a child waiting for her birthday, time can take forever, but when school starts in September, it seems like the summer has come and gone in the blink of an eye. Waiting for the results of the cancer scan can seem like an eternity; hearing the doctor say, “You have only months to live,” reminds us that life is fleeting.

In the book of Daniel, the king Nebuchadnezzar ruled a vast empire, but was haunted by the prospect that his time might be coming to an end. When the advisors he called in to interpret the dream he had couldn’t do it, he accused them of stalling for time, of looking for the right time to attempt a coup. Time is no friend to the rich and powerful. “My times are in thy hands,” so says Psalm 31:15. “Remember how short my time is,” the psalmist begs of God in 89:47. Retirement gives me time to reflect on time. It is good to do so. I think one of the devil’s sneakiest deceptions is tricking us into thinking we have all the time in the world for the things that are most important. He’s right about part of it—we have all the time in the world. We just don’t know how much longer we’ll be in this world. Now is not the time to fritter it away. There is less of it ahead of me than behind me, and I want to make the most of it. I’m thankful tonight for the time to think about time.