The Thorn of Time

Ps 90:4 For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.

I will reveal the proposition of this essay up front so that you will know that I am working toward a conclusion and not merely rambling in vain speculation, for I do tend to be a ramblin’ man. I propose: Those who have died in Christ are beyond time; therefore they are, as we who are enduring time speak, enjoying fellowship with those of us who will be with them in Heaven in our future. This thought gives me a great deal of joy here and now. I am happy that they are not languishing in a state of waiting for us to join them.

The elapsing of time is either eternal, or it only happens during the existence of the material universe. I think the latter because time is pointless unless there is something that can be measured by it, and I have not known God to do pointless things. We sing a song: “When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound and time shall be no more…”. I agree.

The elapsing of time began when God said, “Let there be….”. When the earth was spun and the greater and lesser lights were flung throughout the heavens, space and matter began to relate to time, but only to the slightest degree. Even after the creation of man, the passing of time was a non issue. I doubt that Adam and Eve were continually checking their day timers; BUT, when the fall of man took place in the garden, the whole creation came under a curse. Death, of course was one aspect of the curse. Thorns and thistles another; but death came into the picture and man’s days were numbered. When that happened, time vaulted into position as a tyrannical king over all things material. The second law of thermodynamics and its irrevocable entropy began, not just for man but the whole creation groans under it. All matter began it’s forced march toward absolute zero. I believe the enduring of time’s relentless despotism is a “thorn” of man’s curse. The hope of escaping our bondage to dwell in an existence where the meaning of “past” and “future” are annihilated is a blessed hope indeed, and the more time I endure, the more I know it. We speak in terms of “the present”, but loosely. We are riding the “train” of time, so the precise “present” is always passing by the window of our conveyance, just beyond our grasp. Before we have said “I am”….we were. The hope of the Christian is that he will finally disembark at the most joyous of destinations and at last “be” as the great “I Am” is.

Mercifully, time is relative. Let me be a little silly. A house fly has a life span of about a month. Should we then pity them? How do we know how fast time is passing for them? They seem to us to be buzzing and burning themselves out at an incredible rate, when perhaps they see themselves as eagles, lazily wafting on the currents. I can imagine two of them sitting on my knee enjoying carelessly discarded remnants of a sandwich. I gear up to make my hand move as fast as possible to swat them. Perhaps one says to the other: “I see the hand beginning to move.” “Yes” says the other. “I guess we’ll eventually have to fly, but let’s have lunch first. Mmmmm, peanut butter and jelly! Let me check the radar and see where the hand is. Yes, the hand is still coming in our direction, but it won’t be here for a while. When it gets over us, let’s fly and meet on the other knee. Perhaps he wiped some of his sandwich on that one too. We’d better get some sleep before the long trip. It’ll take a thousand flaps to get over there non stop.” Now back to my awareness of time. My hand comes down so hard I hurt my knee, but to no avail. They are already gone. Do flies go through puberty on the 6th day? Do they get fat and bald and have mid life crises on days 12 and 13? Who knows?

About 4 months ago, I began my 34th avocation; working for a Farmers’ Coop in the fertilizer dept. On rainy days when we can’t spread or spray we only work 9 hrs. These are terribly long days we spend in the shop fixing what broke, maintaining machinery, topping off Roundup shuttles and fuel tanks, filling anhydrous wagons, laughing and crying with customers and playing Euchre. When it dries out, all that isn’t set in concrete breaks loose. First light ‘til dark; but it seems that the Sun fairly flies across the sky! I think we all prefer these days when time finds another gear.

At my age, time has found another gear. Far from lamenting it, I see it as one of the benefits of aging. We are made to know full well that we will not be stuck here forever, thank God! Perhaps the acceleration of time as we age is preparing us to be free of it all together.

When I say that those departed brethren are dwelling beyond time, I am not saying that they are, like Oxenham’s thoughts, “Bees in Amber”; in stasis, awaiting activation. That is not a very alluring prospect. It certainly was not the state of Abraham and Lazarus in Luke 16. No. They have “Zoe” life. In other words: life as God has it. A living, active, blissful and purposeful type of existence. Those of us who have been saved have “Zoe” life also in our spirits, but because our bodies are still slaves to time we can only see it through a glass, darkly. We should also remember the rich man of Luke 16. He was in eternity, but not with Zoe.

Let the more precise Greek language elucidate. The Greeks had at least two words for life. One is “Bios” which simply means “life” by its most rudimentary definition. Using oxygen, consuming and excreting, reproducing. Amoebae have “bios” but certainly not the other term for life: “zoe”. (I don’t think. Perhaps Amoebae have some pretty wild parties.) When Jesus said John 10:10 The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly . He used the term “zoeen”. An abundant life that is far beyond mere bios. We Christians who are still here enduring the curse of time have a foretaste of “zoeen”, but we will not know it’s full glories until we pass over into a dimension where time is not a factor.

It is we who are still in time who endure the suffering caused by the loss of loved ones; but my suffering is considerably ameliorated by the thought that my mother, my grandparents, and other Christian friends who have escaped, as I write, may be in my company in a land where we have realization of our full potential and are employing and enjoying it without limits. “Without limits” is the wonderful abundance of this sort of life.

One may object to my theme because of Rev. 6:10 where the souls of the martyrs cry out “How long?” How long before you avenge our deaths, Lord? If this is taken literally, then trash this essay; and I will have to trash a lot of what I believe about the afterlife. My opinion is that the souls of those martyrs are not suffering pangs of impatience. My opinion is that they no more literally cried this out than Abel’s blood literally cried out for vengeance on Cain. It is symbolic imagery depicting the nature of God’s justice; which sometimes seems slow, but is nevertheless inexorable. Surely any martyr for the faith will be too overwhelmed by the glories of this wonderful estate to worry about past indignities. If anyone would have been within rights to call God to hurry His vengeance it would have been Paul. Instead he says 2 Cor 4:17 For our light affliction , which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; Surely any martyr who is made fully like his master has forgotten his suffering and would rather cry for forgiveness. I can’t fathom a place called “Paradise” being similar to a street in Tehran full of people burning their enemies in effigy and screaming for the powers that be to even the score. If that’s paradise, I don’t wanna go.

One may also object to my inferences on the basis of Paul’s statement about the Christian martyrs in Heb 12:1 Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses…. Many assume from this that they are in Paradise as if in a great grandstand watching (witnessing) us as we run the race here and cheering us on, hence, waiting for us to finish the race and join them (which necessitates the endurance of elapsing time). I believe Paul is not saying that they are witnesses of us, rather he says that they are witnesses to us by the lasting memory of their lives.

Any reference to the afterlife that seems to require the element of passing time must be a concession needed to convey it to us in understandable terms.

I do not believe that those who have passed on are aware of anything we are doing “down here”; because for them we are already there. To be absent from the body and present with the Lord is an existence free of tears. Surely, if they were witnessing our journey through time, our foibles and struggles would cause them tears. Oh! How I would hate to think of my mother observing my temper tantrums! (Which, I must hastily add, are mild and fleeting compared to what they used to be) I remember how they bothered her so when she was rearing me. I was the oldest of 5 children and sometimes took advantage of my size in order to subjugate my siblings. In short, I was a bully. Back before every child had to have a room of their own, we three brothers all slept in a small bedroom. A full bed and a half bed were squeezed in wall to wall. If I wanted to sleep and my brothers were horsing around I would threaten; “One more ‘peep’ and it’s 5 minutes in the ‘crack’”! Sure enough, one of those little imps would go “peep”. My wrath instantly fell upon him and he was shoved down into the dreaded “crack” between the mattresses where he remained immobilized (and perhaps suffocating, which concerned me not in the least.) Mom called my treatment of them “strong arm tactics” and she cared not at all for them. Regardless, the last words I remember her saying to me were “You’re doing a wonderful work, son.” I was 750 miles away doing that work when she died. I tried to talk with her on the phone when my sister called and informed me that she was on the “home stretch”. By that time she was unable to communicate with me. Sometimes time and space are a terrible curse. I was always gone. She called me “the wandering Jew.” I was gone a wandering when she died. Gone a wandering when Grandpa and Grandma died. Gone a wandering when my nephew died. Gone. Gone a wandering. Now, praise God, I believe that as far as they are concerned I am not gone. They are not anxiously watching and waiting; straining to see over some distant aqueous horizon for the first glimpse of the flag on my mast. I am already there with them in a land where time and space are of no consequence. It is I who must endure what few years I may have left without them. It is I who must endure time.

It is they who are temporarily gone from me. If I remain faithful to the profession of my faith, I am no longer gone from them.