In these times marked by an increasingly relentless haste, we often lament the lack of time. If the use of phones during Holy liturgies is somewhat disciplined through warnings stuck on the doors of churches, on the other hand, clocks are omnipresent. Over the years, I have found that these tiny objects, useful when it comes to keeping to a schedule, are quite disturbing during prayer. Specifically, what I have discovered is that when I pray, I tend to glance at my wristwatch more often than usual. Thus, I have become convinced that, indeed, checking the time is, among many others, one of the most common distractions. It is also a reminder that we live submerged not only in the mire of matter, as Saint Maximus the Confessor says in his extraordinary commentary on the story of the prophet Jonah, but also in time. These are, therefore, the two “tyrants” that keep us tied to earthly things, hindering our ascent to heavenly ones: matter and time.
“Remember that time is money,” Benjamin Franklin asserted in a sentence that has become the motto of the industrial world. Everything seems caught up in an increasingly dizzying rhythm, as if history and time were being sucked into a bottomless pit. Thus, we often forget that life has a purpose, an end, a conclusion, becoming prisoners of temporality, whose flow makes us forget eternity. Just as in any other situation concerning the foundations of our existence, the Revelation fulfilled by Jesus Christ and His Church, “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic,” has also brought about, regarding the relationship with time, a truly unexpected solution: living eternity in history. Before seeing how this is done, however, let us reflect a little on time.
The first classical author who left us his profound thoughts was the Athenian Plato, in one of his most substantial dialogues, Timaeus. Here, significantly, he asserts that time is an “image (i.e., ‘icon’) of eternity.” Just as the created world transposes, at our level as creatures, the eternal model of everything that exists in the mind of God (referred to by Plato as the “Demiurge” = “the Supreme Craftsman of all that is”), similarly, time is the reflection here, in the world of becoming and movement, of the eternity of its own unseen world of spirit. Plato’s remarkable formulation was further developed by some of the most important Holy Fathers of the Church, among whom Saint Augustine stands out.
In fact, there is only the present. But our memory, along with the aspirations and intentions of daily life, makes us live fragmented between what was, what is, and what will be.
Before considering his teachings on time, we must never forget his wise warning from the Confessions (IX): “What, then, is time? If no one asks me, I know; if I wish to explain to him who asks, I know not.” The doubts expressed by one of the brightest speculative minds of the era of the Holy Fathers help us understand how difficult it is to understand time. Despite the risks, Saint Augustine does not give up seeking, again and again, the most comprehensive explanations. In his last major work, De Civitate Dei, he makes some surprising statements about time. First, he explains the distinction between eternity and time:
“Eternity and timp are rightly distinguished by the fact that time does not exist without some movement and change, whereas in eternity there is no change” (Book XI, Chapter 6).[1]
Like in the speculations of Plato, in St. Augustine, time is necessarily linked to movement, to becoming, to the evanescence of this passing life, while eternity is linked to stability, to the lack of change, to the immutability of God and the heavenly world. Regarding the perspective on time, it is absolutely necessary to reflect on the distinction and difference between God’s thinking and human thinking emphasized by the African Doctor:
“He views things in quite another fashion than we do, and in a way far and greatly different from our manner of thought. For His thought does not change as it passes from one thing to another, but beholds all things with absolute immutability. Of those things which occur temporally, the future, indeed, is not yet, the present is now, and the past is no longer; but all of these are comprehended by Him in His stable and eternal presence. Neither does He see in one way with the eye and in another with the mind, for He does not consist of mind and body. Nor does what He knows now differ from what He always has known and always will know; for those three kinds of time which we call past, present and future, though they affect our knowledge, do not change that of Him ‘with whom there is no change, nor shadow of alteration’(James 1:17).”[2]
As I haven’t aimed for a study on Augustine’s philosophy of time here, I’ll describe the essentials starting from the above quote. For God, there is no time but only an “eternal present.” This is due to the perfection of the divine intellect, which simultaneously thinks absolutely everything that exists. Think about how difficult it is for us to recapitulate just what we thought in the last day, or just in the last hour. It’s probably impossible for us to remember everything. Obviously, an intellect capable of simultaneously thinking everything – every human thought, every action, every creature, etc. – is something that far exceeds our understanding. As for us, our minds “jump” – like monkeys, as Eastern parables tell us – from one thing to another incessantly. This is why when we want to concentrate, to meditate, to learn something, we discover how difficult it is. The effort we have to make is incredibly exhausting. It’s precisely this unrest of our minds that creates what we can call “the illusion of temporality.” In fact, there is only the present. But our memory, along with the aspirations and intentions of daily life, makes us live fragmented between what was, what is, and what will be.
If we don’t learn to control our worries, emotions, thoughts, intentions, etc., we will never be able to dedicate ourselves with the maximum concentration necessary to prayer and meditation – in short, contemplation. When we begin to change our lives by drawing near to God and holy things (especially those related to the liturgical universe of the Church), our minds begin to calm down and elevate. If this is supported by our love directed towards celestial “things above,” we can truly have moments of tasting eternity. Sometimes, in the semi-darkness of an old church after sunset, or in the quietness before the dawn, we feel as if time has stopped. We would wish, then, that that moment never ends. Such experiences, though incomparably more modest than the ecstasies of the saints, are possible. The sacred time of the Church, i.e., liturgical time, is meant to bring us closer to God by making us perceive, sometimes, however faintly, the grandeur of eternity.
The repetitiveness of the liturgical moments is meant to indicate precisely this unexpected presence of eternity into history: in the world of “fallen,” linear time, only cyclicity (i.e., repetitiveness) can symbolize eternity.
If we begin by reflecting, as simply as possible, on the church calendar, we will notice some features that hide an unexpected conception of the world and time. One thing that draws our attention is the repetitiveness of certain liturgical moments: the liturgical week repeats itself over and over again, starting with the holy day of Sunday and ending with Saturday. The liturgical year also repeats endlessly. We have annually the same calendar cycles, the same feasts, the same commemorations of the Church’s saints. In fact, even the day, the smallest liturgical unit, has a recurring structure: the seven hours of Lauds are repeated over and over again every day.
What significance does this repetitiveness we encounter during the time of the Church have? Is it just something purely accidental? By incarnating in the history and time of fallen humans, God the Son, Jesus Christ, has extraordinarily introduced eternity into history. By dying and then rising again, He opened the gates of Jerusalem for us, but at the same time, He also reopened the gates of the fallen world (and time) to eternity. The repetitiveness of the liturgical moments is meant to indicate precisely this unexpected presence of eternity into history: in the world of “fallen,” linear time, only cyclicity (i.e., repetitiveness) can symbolize eternity, i.e., the immutability of that nunc stans about which St. Augustine speaks, referring to God and the heavenly Jerusalem.
Penetrating into the heart of the symbolism of liturgical moments, we will understand that eternity has truly been made present in time by the Person of the Savior, Jesus Christ, in whom His divine (eternal) nature and His human nature, meet. The place where time meets eternity is the sacred, liturgical space of the Church.
To explain and systematize this formula as clearly as possible, we must imagine a map of humanity’s journey. Everything began in the divine eternity: the Heavenly Father, assisted by the Son and the Holy Spirit, fashioned the creature by giving it life. This is the “zero” moment of human history. The second moment, disastrous, is that of the fall: by consuming the forbidden fruit, the first parents lose the immortality that had been given to them, and death, transience, and evanescence enter the world. Thus, humanity “fell” from Paradise, simultaneously falling from eternity into a time of corruption, of destruction. Just think about the inevitable degradation of our bodies with the passing years, and you will discover that the same thing happens, as ancient and medieval thinkers say, with the world. Then, at a moment determined by God, an epochal event takes place: eternity re-enters history through the descent among humans of the incarnate Word – Jesus Christ. From this moment, the “heaven” is reunited with the “earth,” and history is no longer just the place of the curse, but also the realm of blessing that God has given, gives, and will give to all who believe in Him and strive to fulfill His commandments.
To mark in a holy way this third, restorative moment of the history of humankind, our Holy Church celebrates all the crucial events of Sacred History: the Birth of the Lord—Christmas; the Resurrection of the Lord—Easter; the Ascension of the Lord and Pentecost, plus all the other feasts. These events are celebrated over and over again, every year. Their repetitiveness already indicates the presence of divine eternity among us. Just as numerous prayers that we repeat over and over again in a liturgical context, the sacred time of the Church offers us the possibility of stepping out, even for a short time, from the flow of profane time in which we are literally “bombarded” by all sorts of worries, thoughts, and temptations.
Perpetual liturgical updating of the virtues and merits of the Lord, which ultimately brings to mind the inexhaustible richness of divine graces, precisely indicates the entering of eternity into history, into sacred time. This sacred time, radically distinct from the profane time, is the time of salvation, the time of heavenly Jerusalem, whose existence we can already taste during our earthly lives.
But are we aware of all this? Do we experience the paradisiacal state within the context of the Holy Liturgy? The greatest problem we face is secularization. The artifacts I mentioned at the beginning – the phone, the wristwatch – indicate the intrusion of the world into the Church. Fighting fiercely against us, Satan and his minions seek to transform us into beings subject inexorably to time, incapable of living, of enjoying eternity. For, let us admit it: the rhythms of our bustling lives penetrate our hearts so deeply that we can hardly live the heavenly moments of the Eucharistic Sacrifice. Faced with the Divine Heart beating on our altars, we still think about our own affairs, about the trivial sorrows or joys of everyday life, about events that seem more important to us than God Himself, and often forget even to silence the cell phones that often disturb the peace of sacred ceremonies. What can we say about those who sometimes leave the Holy Liturgy to answer calls? Considering such negative signals, we understand that it is not enough to be present physically in the Church. We must be present with our whole soul, with all our heart. And this state is not attained without a certain preparation, quite difficult for the citizens of a too hurried world. Where do we start? Let us dare to leave behind at home (or in the car) the phone, the watch, in short, anything that might distract us from prayer, from the Holy Liturgy. It would be a good start to step out of time to penetrate into the eternity of the One who offers Himself to us so generously through the holy hands of His priests.
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[1] All quotations are from R.W. Dyson’s excellent translation: The City of God against the Pagans, Cambridge University Press, 1998.
[2] Op.cit., p. 475.
