©Suzanne Grimmett
Centrally in the Colleges of Cambridge University there is a very famous and I think, quite disturbing, clock. It was created by Dr John C. Taylor who was fascinated by clocks, believing them to be the invention which has most changed humanity. “The wheel,” said Dr Taylor, “is the servant of mankind, but clocks control us.” This fascinating timepiece was unveiled to the public by Cambridge physicist, Stephen Hawking in 2008. Its dominant feature is the mechanical grasshopper like creature which Taylor calls “The Chronophage”, which literally in the Greek means “time-eater”, and which moves its mouth, seemingly eating up the seconds as they pass. It is designed to be accurate only once every five minutes, representing our lived experience of time where some excruciating minutes seem like hours and some perfect hours like seconds. This relentless timekeeper, however, always catches up to the correct time. In case anyone was in danger of missing the inescapable weight of this image, there is an inscription underneath with a quote from the First Letter of John, “the world passeth away, and the lust thereof.”(1 John 2:17)
As we turn to the New Year and are prompted by Luke’s Gospel to stay awake and attentive, the passage of time looms large. There is a sense of not wanting to miss anything, but we probably associate watchfulness most with care for safety or security. Be alert! You never know what terrible thing is around the corner! I am reminded of this New Year’s cartoon that went up at the end of 2020 after the first year of pandemic and a number of other horrific events. It was a hard year, but we humans seem to be hard-wired for remembering the worst things that have ever happened to us and focussing on bad things that could happen to us in the future. Plenty of us, including myself, specialise in catastrophising, imagining things that will most likely never come to pass. In fact, our life experience should tell us that life is invariably unexpected and trying to mentally prepare for bad things does not help in any way to alleviate grief when it does arrive. Worse, getting ready for sorrows that have not happened only robs us of joy in the present.
But I wonder if we know how to be as alert and watchful for other, less fearful things? The Gospel set down for a New Year’s night watch service in our lectionary is one of the apocalyptic readings. After hearing a story about slaves being ready to open the door when the master knocks we are told, “You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” Apocalypse is a word associated with the end times and the second coming of Christ. However, the Greek word literally means an uncovering or revealing – with the suggestion of a moment in time that reveals what is most real.
The language of slaves and masters is difficult for our modern ears, but even we can feel the shock of a master who, when he arrives, tightens his belt ready for work and begins to serve the slaves. This was not just unheard of but was deliberately turning Roman social order of the day on its head. And Jesus, the babe of Mary, born in Bethlehem, has continued to turn social hierarchies on their head ever since. Christ coming in history has overturned relations of power that were thought to be unchangeable and patterns of oppression so established as to be thought an unalterable law of the way things are. There have been many so many followers of Mary’s child down generations who have drawn courage in the Spirit to resist institutionalised oppression and dehumanising violence. We call many of them saints, but other everyday people have brought hope to the world with their love and courage… and disappeared into anonymity. Perhaps that is something we always need to be ready for- those moments when suddenly there is the possibility for the power of love in the lives of everyday people to overturn the love of power.
And we are talking about such moments tonight. We are, after all, only hours away from the possibilities of the New Year and time is on the table, freighted with possibility. The theologian Paul Tillich speaks about kairos moments when ‘the eternal judges and transforms the temporal’[1] Now what does he mean by that and why does it matter? We experience time chronologically, as depicted so graphically by The Chronophage, but there is another form of time where events and possibilities are created where the infinite finds a home in the finite, and heaven and earth meet. The birth of the Christ child we have just celebrated is the most clear example of a kairos moment, where the grand narrative and purposes of God were fulfilled, paving the way for transformation of all creation. They are moments which demand a response or lifechanging decision or fresh alignment with the transforming work of the Spirit. As you look back across your life, or maybe even across this past year, you can probably identify such life-transforming moments where the world seemed to open and you responded in ways that were life-changing for yourself and others. It is to such kairos time that we are being called to attend, to be watchful- dressed for action and with our lamps lit, watching for the pregnant moments of possibilities for the kingdom of God to be revealed on earth.
Kingdom of God is a phrase used by Jesus, but perhaps better understood as the reign of God, or even the dream of God for the world- a reign which invariably invokes a world of justice and peace. New Year’s Eve is a good time for such dreaming. So often our dreams named as resolutions for the new year are far too small- to get a bit fitter, eat better, save for that holiday- but perhaps that is fitting given that the whole paradigm of the New Year is set in chronos time, bound by its restrictions and reduced possibilities. But what if we take heed of Jesus’ words and begin to keep watch not on the passing minutes but on inbreaking possibilities set against an eternal horizon? What would then be the desires of our hearts?
First, we need to take stock of the cultural and economic colonisation of our desires. If you hold a high understanding of humanity, (which Christianity does), then it follows that our deepest and most truly human desires direct towards that which enhances our freedom, honours our dignity and increases our love. However, in a society where anything can be and is commodified, our desires have been redirected towards objects within that system. Wherever we feel a need, an aloneness, a separation, there is a product, whether from technology or the self-help gurus who find such eager customers at this time of year. Are you alone? Swipe right. Do you feel like life lacks meaning? Employ a life coach or find a new podcast. Needing a better life balance? There’s an app for that. If I was to look anywhere for the creeping despair I sense in our culture, I would point to the alienation and commodification of our hearts’ desires.
But where our hearts are open to the inbreaking of an eternal horizon- the kairos that dances into the disappearing beats of chronos– our desires can become grounded in the depths of what is most real.
Jesus calls to his followers and says, “Come follow me”. Another way of saying that would be “Come, align your desire with divine desire.” To walk this way means to be watchful not for catastrophes but for possibilities; possibilities for growth and change, friendship and forgiveness, peace and justice, love and faith. It means not less agency but more human responsibility. While we wait and we watch, journeying through chronos time, we can do the work, preparing the way within ourselves and our communities for an inbreaking of kairos possibility. We can learn how to pray, to make space for others, be alert to our relationship with power, be peacemakers attentive to justice. Such work can become discouraging when it can feel like so much is beyond our power to change and even our best efforts are limited by our own understanding and resources. While our lives are at the mercy of chronos time, bounded and limited, kairos reminds us that any ‘no’ of God is always nested within God’s larger ‘yes!’
This year, may we have the courage and vulnerability to change and be changed, watchful and alert for opportunities to make peace in our lives and communities. And beneath the ticking of the days and weeks, may be glimpse what is lasting, the eternal joyful ‘yes’ that holds us in life and love.
+Amen
[1] Paul Tillich, The Protestant Era, (University of Chicago Press, 1948), 38, 45.