A reflection from A Month of Sundays.
We invest all creation stories (large and small, universal and individual) with our sense of time, so that every birth is a beginning rather than a revelation, every death an ending rather than a return to the dark waters from which life sprang.
Despite the solemn invocations of our preaching and our prayers, we ignore eternity because our minds do not comprehend it, our hearts cannot hold it; we’re dizzied by its lack of definition.
We cast our lot with time because it is our worthiest tool: time alone gives shape to things, makes a habitable dwelling within whatever’s everlasting.