Time

"Time isn’t something to outrun. It’s a gift—given to us by God, to make a difference, to show up, to be present."

Back in 1976, the soundtrack of summer had everything from the Bee Gees to Queen blaring through the radio.

But what I was surprised to learn, there was one big song that year which never made it to the number one spot on Billboard's Top 100. It was Fly Like An Eagle by The Steve Miller Band. 

You might know how this classic rock song begins: “Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’… into the future.”

Of course, I was only ten when that song came out. And back then, time always seemed to be at a standstill. Until one day it wasn’t. Instead of setting my day with sunrises and sunsets I found myself constantly chasing deadlines always doing more and more.
 
As our last kid is packing up for college, and we prepare to be empty nesters, I’m rethinking what The Rolling Stones sang. Because time definitely doesn’t feel like it’s on my side.
 
Google “songs about time,” you’ll find thousands out there. But none quite capture its mysterious essence like Genesis does. The book that is. Not the band. Here's what it says:

And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth.” And it was so. God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars. God set them in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the fourth day.                                   -  Genesis 1:14-19

 Our summer sermon series began with Light. Then Water. Then Land. Now, on this fourth sacred move of creation, we return to light. But this time, it’s more than illumination. It’s a heartbeat. Breath. Night and day, the rhythm of a divine clock.
 
You probably noticed Genesis marks time in numbered days. This has sparked all sorts of debates. Was the world made in six literal, 24 hour days? Or is this a poetic unfolding—one that holds space with cosmology?

If the former and we take this passage literally, how then do we reconcile the inconsistencies between the two different creation stories in Genesis 1 and 2? Or if we only look at it scientifically, how does it speak to our deeper longing for meaning and purpose?
 
The Apostle Peter reminds us that God doesn’t wear a wristwatch. He writes, “With the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day” (2 Peter 3:8–9). That’s neither literal or scientifically possible.
 
However, you see this great mystery, Genesis says when God speaks…things happen. The light is divided into day and night. And time begins to tick.
 
All of creation keeps pace with this holy and sacred rhythm. The moon waxes and wanes with quiet faithfulness. The oceans follow causing the tides to rise and fall in rhythmic harmony.

Trees keep this sacred beat going too. They don’t bloom on demand. But rest and toil in seasons. Their rings don’t grow in deadlines — they grow in circles, marking the slow and steady pace of growth.

Bears or cicadas don’t need an alarm clock to come out of hibernation. That knowledge is already built into them. And into us – our breath, heartbeats, menstrual cycles, circadian rhythm are not set by the Atomic clock, but by the natural pulse God spoke into creation.
 
There’s a time to plant and a time to pluck what’s been planted. A time to live and a time die. And the time between these seasons? A time of holy waiting, growing, becoming, being.
 
Out of everything that God created, and called good, we’re the only ones who wake up with to-do lists. And fall asleep worrying if we did enough. Time isn’t slipping away, we are.
 
We weren’t made to be machines. Instead, we were made to be mindful. Alive in the present, right here in the space between that God declared good.
 
Jesus understood this. He moved through the world not with urgency, but with awareness. He lingered at tables. Paused for children. Stopped to be with those who cried out to him.

Jesus used his time to “bring good news to the poor, freedom to the captives, sight to the blind, liberty to the oppressed” (Luke 4:18).
 
With Jesus, love isn’t in a rush. It’s the unfolding of God’s glory in every second of life.  The story of Lazarus makes that clear.
 
When Jesus learns his dear friend is sick, he doesn’t panic … or drop everything and run to him. He waits. Not an hour. Not overnight. But four days. When he finally arrives, Lazarus is already rotting away in a tomb.
 
His sisters, Mary and Martha, don’t understand. Their grief is thick. They cry out to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here…” Yet Jesus waited, not just to reveal the glory of God, but something more subtle and just as profound: Love doesn’t live by the tyranny of the clock. 

Sometimes, love waits. Sometimes it sits. And weeps before it calls forth life.
 
Henri Nouwen reminds us that, “waiting is a period of learning.” But we don’t like to wait…do we? We tend to see it as wasting valuable time that could be better spent doing something more productive. But all of life is set by God‘s clock, not ours.
 
Waiting isn’t a waste of time it’s “actively entering into the moment, fully ready to receive what is hidden there.” That’s how Jesus lived—Christ, in the flesh, fully present and awake in every moment—never rushing into the next before fully entering the now.
 
When Jesus says, “Are there not twelve hours in the day?” He not offering a productivity hack. He’s reminding us to use this gift of time to do what truly matters in the kingdom of heaven. Love.
 
This begs the big question: Why would we waste a single second on anything less than love?
 
I have sat with people in their final days of life. Not once did someone ask for more time to check one more thing off a list. They asked for the time to hold someone’s hand. To hear another song. To feel the quiet joys that make life worth living.
 
In his Sacrament of the Present Moment, Brother Lawrence wrote, “We ought not to be weary of doing little things for the love of God, who regards not the greatness of the work but the love with which it is performed.”
 
Time is not our enemy. It’s a gift given to us to love God, love others and serve both. This is how life is blessed. And how a lifetime becomes sacred. We might do well by slowing down, not the clock but our need to rush ahead. Jesus showed us, love doesn’t move at the speed of efficiency. It moves at the speed of presence.
 
I was reminded of that last Thursday, while leaving the nursing home where I preach each week. A resident I barely knew stopped me and asked for prayer. But the prayer quickly invited something deeper—the sharing of her life; a confession of the loss, abuse, and grief she’s been carrying for years.
 
Yes, this moment took more time than I had to spare. Yes, her story made me miss an important call. And yes, being present set me behind schedule. But in that moment, kneeling by her wheelchair, I didn’t feel frustrated or rushed. Only peace and presence.
 
Sometimes, the holiest moments happen when we let go of the schedule—and simply show up.

As I thought about this experience on the way home, I realized: You don’t put love on the calendar, you place it where it’s needed.
 
If we’re going to build a community of love together, then we need to be people who honor time not as a taskmaster but as a temple where God’s Spirit dwells. Every second we give over to love is a second that doesn’t slip away.
 
This week, Sean was part of the leadership team at a spiritual retreat. He constantly had to keep telling the kids, “Participate. Don’t Anticipate.” In other words, don’t worry about what’s next on the schedule. Just be present with what God has placed in front of you. This mirrors what Jesus said, we can’t add a second to our life by worrying about tomorrow. There’s enough to do today (Matt. 6:34).
 
If trees can flourish and oceans can move without clocks…so can we. I hope you’ll remember this as you go out into a world ruled by time.

Go, not beholden to a stopwatch. But as God’s beloved creation. Life is not a race where the first one wins it all. It’s a slow and steady pace where love declares, the last will be first in the kingdom of heaven.
 
We are only guaranteed this moment—that’s it. There is no past, no future without the now. Each day, each holy and sacred breath of creation, quietly asks: How will you spend this precious gift? Angry and at odds with each other? Or as loving co-creators in the kingdom Jesus has opened to us?

Time isn’t something to outrun. It’s a gift—given to us by God, to make a difference, to show up, to be present.
 
In her poem ‘The Dash,’ Linda Ellis poignantly reminds us it’s not the years on our tombstones that matter—but how we live that tiny dash between. The quiet space where day by day we choose to make love grow.
 
Steve Miller wasn’t wrong to sing, “time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping.” And in a way, the Stones had it right too—because when we walk in God’s rhythm, time really is on our side.

As every sunrise and sunset reminds us, today is the day to be who God made you to be. The beloved.
 
We may not know the exact time life came into being, but we do know this eternity doesn’t begin later—it begins now.


Work Cited
Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God, trans. John J. Delaney (Image Books, 1977), 77.
Linda Ellis, The Dash: Making a Difference with Your Life from Beginning to End (Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks, 2004).
Henri J.M. Nouwen, Waiting for God (New York: Crossroad Publishing, 2001), 13.