When the time comes

Time fascinates me. It is a hallmark of our creaturehood, a constraint from which none of us can escape. It is a dwelling place we are all born into, a place we must learn to inhabit and thrive in, if we are to live the good life.

It is like a silent judge, objective, impartial, discerning. The right thing done or said at the wrong time, becomes the wrong thing.

Time shows no mercy. It is stoic, marching on regardless of how we feel. As time advances, it unfurls the consequences of our acts in the present into the future. 

It proceeds at its own pace, dictated by its own tempo. It does not slow down, nor does it hurry up.

Time leaves its marks on us. Its passage literally carves tracks through our faces, leaving smile lines and frown lines and wrinkles and creases that crisscross to form a unique terrain of our joys and sorrows.

I wrote the above paragraphs almost three months ago, and I have chosen to return to it now. It is apt to take time to write about time.

Now, more than ever, time is telling us that it has the final word. Across the world, time ran out for people who succumbed to COVID-19 infections and businesses that shut down for good. Time ran out on travel plans that were deferred, people we put off seeing, work we didn't get started on.

For a long time, we were able to travel. To see one another. To embrace. To build deep, shoulder to shoulder. 

For a long time, we were able to probe, to re-examine, to pull down, to clear the rubble, to listen, and to have face-to-face conversations about difficult topics. 

For a long time, we could roll up our sleeves, get our hands dirty, give one another high-fives, seal the deal with a handshake, without fear of catching a virus.

There was a long time to repent, to wake up from our slumber, to ask one another for forgiveness, to learn to work together, no matter how difficult it was.

There was a long time for us to give ourselves to cross-cultural missions, in particular, to go and to bridge that gap between the kingdom of darkness and the kingdom of light, in an incarnational way, like the Word that became flesh.

That time has ended. We all know that missions as we know it, will simply not be possible for a long while. Short-term mission teams. Bible camps. Evangelistic rallies. Church conferences. May they rest in peace.  

What have we done with the time and opportunities we were given? What is the verdict of the impartial judge, Time? Who has been caught with their pants down, unprepared, unable to give a proper account? Who has been vindicated? Our subjective thoughts and feelings have no power to change the verdict. It is what it is.  

I wrote this paragraph in a letter to some mission partners of ours, back in September 2019.

“I personally feel that a season of accounting is coming (and to some extent, has already come), whereby missionaries will be leaving the field, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, and the fruit of their labour will be tested and exposed.”

I often think about these words in light of how the world has changed beyond recognition in a matter of months. I knew something was brewing that we would have no control over, but the ferocity and ruthlessness of what has actually hit us is beyond my imagination.

I am not saying anything new here. Jesus expressed these sentiments, loud and clear, a long time ago.

“I must work the works of Him who sent me while it is day; the night is coming when no one can work.” (John 9:4)

 

If there is one thing we must learn, it is that endings – and new beginnings – will sneak up on us as engineered by Time. It is merciless in its approach, and its impact will not be mitigated by political correctness. Our only defense is total diligence in the presence, a shrewdness in understanding the season, and unflagging courage to do what we must do, now.