Time spent

Earlier this month the St. James bible study group hosted a morning out at Mt. Savior Monastery in Pine City, NY. Several hours were scheduled at the site and truthfully, I was experiencing some anxiety about what we might do to fill up those hours. I am constantly moving; the anticipation of being still for even a little while with nothing, in particular, planned tends to produce something akin to mild panic.  But its good to stretch oneself; to go into those uncomfortable places and visit for awhile I told myself.  

It was a bitterly cold morning, snow threatened. We gathered together, the six of us, and pulled our chairs into a circle. We began with prayers all around followed by a short Advent mediation from a book filled with choices, all appropriate to the season and our time together. Then we went our separate ways. We regrouped two more times for expressions of prayer and another meditation. Before I knew it, it was noon. We joined the monks in the chapel for chanted noontime prayers, completed our bookstore purchases and we were off to Panera's Bakery for lunch. The time had flown by in the still silence and snow.

The rock band, Creed, has a song on their most recent CD with the lyrics, "Time, you're no friend of mine." The plucking of the acoustic guitar roughly mimics the continual ticking away of time. Time is the undefeated enemy of the perfectionist. There simply isn't enough time to get things done the way they should be done.  What a difference it would make if time wasn't always pushing in on me!  Sometimes I even bargain with God:  "If you'll just give me a little more time to finish this I promise I won't waste it!"

So, feeling pressured to scratch out a little more time I had brought work with me to the monastery.  The pastor in me is too aware that Sunday's always a coming; it frames each day of the week.  Amazingly, even in the broken fragments of time between the meditations I had accomplished what I'd set out to do. The quiet solitude resting in the sticking snow was wonderfully magical and filled with the heaviness of God's presence. Time ticks away no matter where we are. Working there didn't stop the hands of the clock, but the time was strangely tangible and non-threatening. It was time personified; the old familiar enemy transformed into a creative companion. This form of time was not a force to work against but a pleasant wide open space with plenty of room to work in.

I did not spend my day in the perfect monastic posture. I never even made it down to the crypt to pray at the foot of the virgin. Despite or perhaps because of my inability to stop struggling with time, God opened the possibility that I might be a valued element of time and not simply a rogue element at its mercy; like deadwood bobbing around at the whim of the sea. This newly acquainted, old companion has come home with me. I hope it sticks around. I rather like time as friend of mine.