Redeeming Time, Part 1

Does this sound familiar?

 

Goodbye, sir, excuse me, I haven’t time.
I’ll come back, I can’t wait, I haven’t time.
I must end this letter—I haven’t time.
I can’t accept, having no time.
I can’t think, I can’t read, I’m swamped, I haven’t time.
I’d like to pray, but I haven’t time...

You understand, Lord, we simply haven’t the time....
Lord, you must have made a mistake in your calculations.
There is a big mistake somewhere.
the hours are too short,
The days are too short,
Our lives are too short....              
                              Michael Quoist

Hurrying has become such a way of life that we feel harried even when there is nothing truly urgent on our schedule.” We feel compelled to complete even trivial tasks. This past weekend I was feeling anxious and when I took the time to uncover the source of my anguish, I discovered that I was worried about getting my new tulip bulbs in the ground before winter. Really?! Would it be a tragedy if I didn’t get them planted?

The speed of life has even assaulted children’s bedtime reading. The One-Minute Bedtime Story was designed “to help parents deal with time-consuming tots.” The classic fairy tales “were condensed into sixty-second sound bites.” How do children feel about it? Carl Honore‘s three-year-old son wants long stories that are read at a meandering pace. When Honore tries to “steer him towards the shortest books and read them quickly, his son complains: ‘You’re going too fast.’” Honore confesses: “Part of me feels horribly selfish when I accelerate the bedtime ritual, but another part simply cannot resist the itch to hurry on to the next thing on my agenda. Taking a long, languid stroll through the world of Dr. Seuss is not an option.”

What has happened? Why is everyone out of breath? How have we become such time paupers when so many modern inventions have made tasks easier and quicker? Kevin DeYoung reported that in 1967, “experts claimed that by 1985 the average workweek would be just 22 hours. Instead, Americans today lead the industrialized world in annual work hours.” Those inventions did save time--but we simply transferred and added time to other tasks.

Our ancestors, who had to haul their daily water and produce their own food and sew their own clothing, seemed to have time for what is truly important. But we don’t. 

If we stop someone on the street and ask, “Do you have a free hour or two to converse about the best things in life, about wisdom and virtue, about truth and goodness?” we should expect to hear a ready “yes” more than any of our ancestors could. Yet, of course, the situation is exactly the opposite. It is much less likely today than at any time in the past that anyone will have a free hour for the most important things in life.                      Peter Kreeft

God created ample time for each of us to accomplish all that he calls us to do. But how can we do this? Over the next several blogs I will explore the issues related to our pace of life and how we can organize our lives so that we have time for the truly important.

The Seasons of Harvest

Late summer is watermelon time in Texas. The young Allen Lacy's passion for watermelon caused him to ask his granddaddy why they couldn't eat it all year round. This elderly man's wise reply was: 

We have watermelons because the Good Lord saw fit to give us watermelons. It was one of the better things He did, and special things need special times and seasons. God gave Texas a little more heat than most places just so that our watermelons would be the best on earth. It's a blessing, but the last thing in the world we need here in Texas is a few more months of heat, just for the sake of more watermelon.

Unfortunately, most grocers are not bound by "times and seasons"—I can buy peaches any month of the year. But how does a January peach taste? It was picked green in South America, trucked to a port, shipped to a U.S. port, trucked to a warehouse and, finally, delivered to my grocery store. The result? What do you think?! It is either stone hard or mushy soft. After many, many  disappointments, this fool is learning to resist the false hope of non-seasonal fruit. I now spend my money on fall apples, winter citrus, spring asparagus, summer peaches.

The challenge in life, too, is to enjoy seasonal fruit. Solomon claimed: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. (Eccl.3:1) Are you a parent of young children? Then enjoy the sweet taste of morning snuggling and bedtime reading, of candid conversations and corkscrewed reasoning, of trusting spirits and untrustworthy emotions. That delicate fruit will soon be gone. Don't crave a child who uses the toilet and sleeps through the night and carries on a rational discussion (which won't happen until they are 40!).

South Dakotans joke that we have two seasons—winter and road repair! Both provide abundant ammunition for complainers. A number of years ago Cathy and I recognized that we were habitually crabbing about our long, bleak winters. "Why does it have to be so cold?" "I don't think spring will ever come." "These icy roads are horrible!" "I'm so tired of being cold; I can't wait to be hot." "Why would anyone choose to live here?!"

Stabbed by prisoner Paul's claim that he could be content in any and every situation, we sought to enjoy the season of winter. We bought cross-country skis. We put a wood-burning fireplace in our new home. We fellowship with others more frequently. We bundle up most winter days—if the snowdrifts aren't too high or the wind-chill too low—and hike outdoors. We try to embrace the slower pace of winter. While the garden and other warm-weather activities lie dormant, we have more time to read, reflect, converse, and write.

Are you entering your senior years?  Do you find yourself in poverty? Have you recently become empty-nesters?  When our boys were young it was a challenge to get them to taste new food. "Com'n. Try a little. You'll like it." Maybe our heavenly Father is coaxing his kids in the same way. "Com'n. This season's fruit is superb. Won't you try a bite?"

The Expectations of the Harvest

One seed catalog described several varieties of the same vegetable: "adds zest to salads," "most astonishing," "outstanding tenderness," "bursting with flavor and nutrition," "distinctive flavor." Which exotic vegetable were they describing? The green bean! All these tinseled descriptions make it difficult to know what a mature garden looks or tastes like.

Many of us are no less ignorant of the flavor of a mature relationship. Mildred Walker's novel, “Winter Wheat”, tells the story of Ellen Webb—the only child of her American father and her Russian mother. While attending college, Ellen fell in love with Gil, a young man who came to her farm home for a summer visit. But after a shortened stay, he bolted home. When mom tried to comfort Ellen, Ellen exploded, blaming her parents’ marriage for her Gil’s departure:

"I'm not like you, Mom, so I'd do anything to get a man to marry me!” Mom looked at me so blankly it made me all the angrier.

“Don't look as though you didn't know what I was talking about. I know how you tricked Dad. I overheard you the night after Gil left. I know he married you and took you to America because you told him you were pregnant. And when he knew you weren't going to have a child it was too late. He was married to you, and he was too honorable to go away and leave you." I couldn't seem to stop. I watched my words fall like blows on Mom's face.

"And you've gone on all these years hating each other. Gil felt that hate. He could tell just being here. That's one of the things that drove him away from here, from me." I almost choked on my own words. I guess I was crying. Mom was still so long I looked up at her. All the color had gone out of her face, except in her eyes. She shook her head. "You don't know anything, Yelena. In our church if baby is not christened we say she go blind in next world. I think you go blind in this world—blind dumb! She stopped and then went on slowly. "No, Yelena, I never hate Ben `an Ben don't hate me. I love him here so all these years!" Mom touched her breast and her face broke into life. He eyes were softer, "Me hate Ben"! She laughed.

Mom explained that she had deceived her father. But it was only because she was seventeen, in love, and had already lost all of her family during World War I. Though Ben was upset by her deception, his love wouldn't allow him to hold a grudge. Mom looked at Ellen and sighed: “Yolochka, you don't know how love is yet."

What does a healthy marriage look like? a healthy friendship? Many of us hold a ripe friendship in our hands but don't recognize it because it has a few blemishes. As Jesus agonized over his date with the cross, he confessed to his disciples, Peter, James and John: "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death." As he strained to obey the Father's will, he implored his friends to keep watch and pray. But his friends promptly fell asleep--not once, not twice, but three times! How many of us would hang onto friends who snored through the crisis of our lives? Though certainly disappointed, Jesus knew his friends' hearts: "The spirit is willing, but the body is weak." All mature relationships have frequent failings.

Measuring the Harvest, Part 2

Some harvest measurements can deceive us. When a church's pews are full, the church should not assume that it is mature. When a psychologist claims that 90% of a child's personality is established by the age of 4, a parent must not infer that his school-aged child doesn’t need him. When most of my students rate me favorably, I must not conclude that my teaching has no need for improvement. When a motivational speaker promises that a habit is formed by 21 days of consecutive action, we should not believe that only three weeks of sowing will reap a lifetime of discipline.

Early students of human behavior coined the phrase the "social sciences." They believed (and many still believe) there are precise laws of human behavior, like the laws of physical science, that can be monitored and measured. As Neil Postman has written, these "psychologists, sociologists, and economists will have numbers to tell them the truth or they will have nothing." But human behavior is too unpredictable to know with certainty what people will do in any given situation.

Measuring the harvest is also tricky because we observe people who sow evil, but reap good -- demagogic politicians who are respected and re-elected; depraved filmmakers who win fame and fortune; cheating students who receive accolades and awards. Like the Jews of Malachi's day we may become discouraged: "It is futile to serve God. What did we gain by carrying out his requirements? . . . Certainly the evildoers prosper, and even those who challenge God escape." (3:14f)

When evil prospers, a moral fog blankets the earth. But occasionally the fog lifts -- a politician is caught lying; a professional athlete is suspended for using performance enhancing drugs; a religious leader is caught stealing church funds. But one day the veil will completely and permanently lift when we "will again see the distinction between those who serve God and those who do not. Surely the day is coming; it will burn like a furnace. All the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble, and that day that is coming will set them on fire." (3:18 - 4:1). All the wicked -- even the most celebrated fools -- will simply be stubble, the refuse from God's harvest. They won't survive his fiery judgment.

  

Harvest Numbers

The harvest in my garden can be easily quantified—a bushel of squash, two pints of strawberries, one quart of honey. But can all harvests be numerically measured? A while back my bank conducted a telephone survey consisting of fifteen multiple-choice questions. When the caller hung up, though, I was left with an uneasy feeling—several questions had no fitting answer and no questions were open-ended. Why wasn't I given the latitude to talk about other issues? Probably because my words couldn't be reduced to a graph line.

Focusing on numerical measurements can be misleading. One day while I was idly taking notes in a seminary class, one of my classmates asked the professor: "Will we have to know this for the test?" What a great question! A “No" would give my wandering thoughts more freedom. But my normally placid professor exploded: "What are you guys doing here?! Do you think anyone will care what grade you made in this class?! Do you think a nominating committee will ask for your transcript?! What they want to know is whether these truths are transforming your life and ministry." What a novel thought—study to learn something! Though I had mastered the educational assessment game, how much was I truly learning? That day sparked a new attitude toward learning—I would focus less on grade point average and more on developing the knowledge and skills to serve God for a lifetime.

Similarly, a few years ago an enthused publisher expressed interest in reprinting my book, Remodeling the Family. As I was completing several months of revisions, and dreaming about how many copies would be printed, the editor called, informing me that ZERO copies would be printed—the company had changed its mind. I was dejected. Why would God lure me down this dead end road? As I gazed at my "wasted" investment, I spied a cluster of fruit hidden behind the leaves of my disappointment. This project was my first extensive writing in several years, reawakening my calling to communicate God's truth through writing—which eventually led to this blog, Captive Thinking. Furthermore, the re-writing reminded me of major themes in my life, rekindling a desire to spread those truths. I was reminded (again!) that the harvest in my life can't be measured in bushels or ounces, or even the number of books sold but in how God was working in me: "The fruit of righteousness will be peace and quietness and confidence forever. Though hail flattens the forest, how blest you will be." (Is.32). Though God flattened my hopes, I could still be at peace, confident that He still wanted to bless and use me.

A Disappointing Harvest

God’s prophet, Haggai, asked his fellow-Jews to reflect on their puny harvest:  

You have planted much, but have harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it. (1:5f)

Why were these frustrated people plagued by the proverbial “hole in the pocket?” God explained: "What you brought home, I blew away. Why? Because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with his own house." (1:9f). As the Jews returned from captivity in Babylon (6^th century B.C.) and began the rugged task of rebuilding their shattered nation, they became consumed with their own homes. They had gone beyond providing shelter—they now lived in “paneled houses” while God's house lay unfinished and unusable. As a result of this lengthy neglect of their spiritual duties, God sent a bitter harvest as a warning.

These procrastinators, though, were unmoved: "the time has not yet come." How often have we with puckered lips told God, "The time has not yet come"? We taste the bitter fruit of a depressed child but say, "I know he needs more of my time, Lord, but I've got this new job." Or we taste the unripe fruit of a chilled heart toward God and say, "Lord, I know I have been ignoring you, but I’ll join a small group Bible study when the kids return to school.” Or we taste the pungent fruit of marital strife but promise to seek help when our house remodeling is complete.

As I have reflected on my recent gardening, I have "repented" of my deficient soil—I need to fortify my soil through better composting. It is easy to be committed to the concept of composting. It is not easy to be committed to the chore of composting—hauling manure, turning the pile, adding grass and leaves, watering. There are no quick fixes for my soil—or my soul. Repentance brings my life out of winter. But I won’t reap a harvest unless I commit to the timeless, daily cycles of the farmer. When Israel strayed, God's message was "break up . . . sow . . . reap." No one reaps a bountiful life by putting off today's work.

Measuring the Harvest

I coached my youngest son's traveling soccer team for seven years. Though the team had few elite athletes, their hard work had enabled them to compete with many elite teams. As we approached our very last tournament, I envisioned a storybook ending. The two best teams were in the other bracket and we were the best in our bracket. I dreamed about us playing in, and winning, the championship game. What a harvest after all the years of disciplined work!

The first team we played had never beaten us. In the closing minute of the game, the out-of-shape referee (who was forty yards out of position) whistled us for a foul, awarding them a penalty kick—which they made. The referee clearly made the wrong call, enabling that team to tie us 1-1. I was very upset, yelling repeatedly at the referee: "That's the worst call I have ever seen!

In our second game, we opened strong, leading 2-0 at half. But questionable officiating and sloppy play led to a 3-2 loss. On one occasion, I angrily slammed my hat to the ground and stomped on it to protest a call. (A grown man stomping on his own hat?!) My fantasy of a championship had evaporated. During our final game we were clobbering the next best team in our division 4-0 at half. It was probably the best soccer the boys had ever played. I thought: "Well, at least we'll go out on a high note." But the second half was a complete disaster. We were badly outplayed and only a phenomenal stop by our goalie preserved a 4-4 tie. The game ended with a fistfight—a first for my team. As I went home that evening I was mostly disappointed in myself. Had my temper fueled their fists? The fruit in my life was sour that day.

Once again my garden's harvest is instructive. Though I have been gardening for several decades, I still mess up. My inattention might cause me to lose some seedlings during a hot spell. Or I might overlook an insect invasion. Does this mean I should list my garden tools on e-bay?  No. I must look at my garden—and my life!—more panoramically. Before I worked myself into to funk over my coaching failure, I reflected on the past seven years. I had grown in my ability to love and lead young men, to control my volatile emotions, to trust God to give the boys the experiences they needed.

As a Christian I want a measure of my walk with God—the harvest provides that measure. My garden is to be increasingly filled with the Spirit-grown fruit of love, joy, peace, and patience. When Paul wrote to the Thessalonians he commended them: "Now about brotherly love we do not need to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love each other." But he urged them "to do so more and more." God looks for progress, not perfection.