Living in the Fullness of Time
Only through time is time conquered.
-T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton
“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”
-Jesus, Revelation 22:13
During my travels in Ireland, I began to notice something a bit strange about how I experienced the passage of time. For the first time in forever, it felt like there was time enough—time to do and be and explore and breathe and rest. Time was no longer scarce, fleeting, and slipping away; instead, it was robust, entire, and expanding to fill itself each day. As the days progressed, I began to trust the gift of discovering this new way of being in time. I knew a peace I do not often experienceon a daily level, the peace of being precisely where you are meant to be—which is, of course, where you are. In Ireland, time was friendly and generous, and through experiencing this version of time, I began to connect with the Christ who dwells both within and outside of time.
Despite my best intentions, I’ve already slipped back into experiencing time as chiefly linear—a rapidly depleting resource. In my day-to-day life, I perceive time as threatening. It is always running out, and I am always running behind. When I put away my work for the day, the clock tells me that I could have done more—if only I had managed my time better. In these moments, I experience a frustrated relationship with time—what T.S. Eliot described in Burnt Norton as “distracted from distraction by distraction.” But deep within me, the memory of kairos time whispers there is more.
The ancient Greeks had two distinct ways of looking at time: Chronos and Kairos. Chronos is a quantitative word which speaks to the linear passage of time; it is the root word of “chronological.” Kairos is qualitative in its nature, referring to the beauty of a timely moment; it describes the just-the-right-moment-ness of time. What is our relationship to time today? I fear we lean heavily on chronos time, to the point that we forget kairos moments are even possible. Think about the words and phrases we use to describe our interaction with time:
We spend time
We waste time
We run out of time
We pass time
We buy time
We manage time
We act just in time
We take time
Can you identify the sense of desperation and mastery in those phrases? In our chronos-obsessed society, we leave no room for time to ripen and become more than just the passage of days. We deprive ourselves of the sweetness that kairos time offers—the delicious gift of experiencing beauty, awe, love, wonder, joy, at connection at just the right moment. We don’t trust eternity, so we trade our birthright for a bowl of soup.
I believe that one key reason I experienced kairos time in Ireland was the simple fact that I was not constantly checking my phone to look at the time, which freed me from distraction. As the rigid confines of linear time softened, I grew open to a fuller way of being—a liberating peace that occurs when we slow down and pay attention, tuning our spiritual senses to the Word that is always speaking something better and truer than what our dim senses perceive, yet is seldom heard.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
There is a verse in Galatians that has always captivated me, but it wasn’t until I began researching for this post that I realized why. In Galatians 4:4, Paul writes:
But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.
The fullness of time. What does this mean? In this verse and in his other letters, Paul seems to be offering a third way of experiencing time in pleroma, the Greek word for “fulfillment” or “completion.” God sent his Son into chronos time at just the right kairos moment, a moment which redeemed and fulfilled all of time—past, present, and future—with the promised presence of Christ.
In his article “Living by Kairos Time in a Chronos World,” Josh Pauling writes;
The heavenly and earthly realms overlap in Christ as the events of redemption established before the foundations of the world enter chronos in real time-and-space history in the mystery of the incarnation. This great mystery is understood in relation to kairos as well. . . The transcendent has entered history. And that changes everything.
Christ is the one who fulfills the hopes and fears of all the years across time and space, uniting them into a single, eternal moment of redemption.
In his letter to the church at Ephesus, Paul writes:
In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness (pleroma) of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.
(Ephesians 1:7-10)
In the Incarnation, our broken fragments of time are gathered up and woven into a cohesive whole. Our stories become something greater that our isolated experiences of chronos because of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. In Christ, we experience time in all its rightness (kairos) and its fullness (pleroma)—time as it was meant to be.
And yet, I do not know if it is possible to talk about kairos moments—those fleeting glimpses of heaven kissing earth when time deepens and stands still—without acknowledging the times of pain and brokenness that so often fill our days. Two thousand years past the pleroma fulfillment of God in the birth of Christ, we still wait for total redemption on the day Christ returns. But sometimes the most un-kairotic moments—things which seems to be happening at the worst time possible—have the potential to become the most redemptive if we stay open to such unpleasant occurrences as possible annunciations, hints that good news can be found in the most unlikely places. Like in a barn full of animals and earthy odors, where a virgin gave birth to her first child—both of their cries tearing the night sky even as the angels announced good news to the shepherds.
This week I stepped out of our cozy twinkle-lights home into the shivering night with my husband to get a vaccine at our local drug store. An odd smell filled our car as we drove, for which I glibly blamed the marijuana smokers on our street. However. Beneath the unyielding fluorescent lighting only to be found in drug stores, dental offices, and grocery stores, I learned ‘twas I who had stepped in dog matter and was currently tracking it all over the nice white floors. After gracefully hopping on one foot to the restroom with 100% of my dignity intact, I surveyed the damage. It was not good. My cleaning efforts resulted in clogging one toilet with the sheer volume of paper towels I used to put distance between myself and the offending shoe. I tried the sink next and was apparently in there for so long that an employee felt compelled to check on me,
“Because sometimes people forget to turn the sink off and leave the water running.”
Her confused glance at my one-foot-on-the-ground-with-one-shoe-in-my-hand stance turned to dismay as I said, “I’m sorry. I stepped in dog stuff and I’m trying to clean it off.”
“Ohhh…” she said, her voice faltering.
“It’s just a really bad situation,” I explained as brown water continued to rise in the now-clogged sink.
I really think she felt (or smelled) the weight of it too because after a pause she simply said, “No worries. I got you,” and graciously left me to continue the unpleasant task I could not have envisioned for myself on this lovely Christmastime night even thirty minutes prior—all of this before receiving a nearly-equally unpleasant injection.
What is the good news in what I now call “The Situation?” Maybe it was simply that the sheer smell and hideousness of what I stepped in caused me to wake up a bit and become more aware of my surroundings. Perhaps it was the fact that I received kindness and grace from a stranger as I (remorsefully) sullied the bathroom she would likely have to clean. If the kingdom of God came to earth in a dirty barn, then maybe it could come to earth in a dingy Rite Aid bathroom, too.
With this in mind, I wonder:
What would it look like to have a gentler, redeemed relationship with time in all its complexity—to experience time not as a threat, but as the vessel of God’s ongoing grace?
Could we begin to see even the slow and unremarkable seasons of our lives not as ‘wrong’ or ‘lacking’ but full of the patience and kindness of God, who wants to keep the lights on just a bit longer so every lost child can find their way Home?
The book of 2 Peter speaks to this:
The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.
(2 Peter 3:9)
Because of the Incarnation of Christ, time is no longer slipping away from us but running towards us, encircling us in the arms of eternity.
This is good news, indeed.
A prayer: