Chapter 11: The Eternal
Now
I am
the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
Revelation 21:6
It is our destiny and the destiny of everything in our
world that we must come to an end. Every end that we experience in nature and
mankind speaks to us with a loud voice: you also will come to an end! It may
reveal itself in the farewell to a place where we have lived for a long time,
the separation from the fellowship of intimate associates, the death of someone
near to us. Or it may become apparent to us in the failure of a work that gave
meaning to us, the end of a whole period of life, the approach of old age, or
even in the melancholy side of nature visible in autumn. All this tells us: you
will also come to an end.
Whenever we are shaken by this voice reminding us of our end,
we ask anxiously -- what does it mean that we have a beginning and an end, that
we come from the darkness of the "not yet" and rush ahead towards the
darkness of the "no more"? When Augustine asked this question, he
began his attempt to answer it with a prayer. And it is right to do so, because
praying means elevating oneself to the eternal. In fact, there is no other way
of judging time than to see it in the light of the eternal. In order to judge
something, one must be partly within it, partly out of it. If we were totally
within time, we would not be able to elevate ourselves in prayer, meditation
and thought, to the eternal. We would be children of time like all other
creatures and could not ask the question of the meaning of time. But as men we
are aware of the eternal to which we belong and from which we are estranged by
the bondage of time.
I
We speak of time in three ways or modes -- the past,
present and future. Every child is aware of them, but no wise man has ever
penetrated their mystery. We become aware of them when we hear a voice telling
us: you also will come to an end. It is the future that awakens us to the
mystery of time. Time runs from the beginning to the end, but our awareness of
time goes in the opposite direction. It starts with the anxious anticipation of
the end. In the light of the future we see the past and present. So let us
first consider our going into the future and towards the end that is the last
point that we can anticipate in our future.
The image of the future produces contrasting feelings in
man. The expectation of the future gives one a feeling of joy. It is a great
thing to have a future in which one can actualize one’s possibilities, in which
one can experience the abundance of life, in which one can create something new
-- be it new work, a new living being, a new way of life, or the regeneration
of one’s own being. Courageously one goes ahead towards the new, especially in
the earlier part of one’s life. But this feeling struggles with other ones: the
anxiety about what is hidden in the future, the ambiguity of everything it will
bring us, the shortness of its duration that decreases with every year of our
life and becomes shorter the nearer we come to the unavoidable end. And finally
the end itself, with its impenetrable darkness and the threat that one’s whole
existence in time will be judged as a failure.
How do men, how do you,
react to this image of the future with its hope and threat and inescapable
end? Probably most of us react by looking at the immediate future, anticipating
it, working for it, hoping for it, being anxious about it, while cutting off from
our awareness the future which is farther away, and above all, by cutting off
from our consciousness the end, the last moment of our future. Perhaps we could
not live without doing so most of our time. But perhaps we will not be able to
die if we always do so. And if one is
not able to die, is he really able to live?
How do we react if we become aware of the inescapable end
contained in our future? Are we able to bear it, to take its anxiety into a
courage that faces ultimate darkness? Or are we thrown into utter hopelessness?
Do we hope against hope, or do we repress our awareness of the end because we
cannot stand it? Repressing the consciousness of our end expresses itself in
several ways.
Many try to do so by putting the expectation of a long life
between now and the end. For them it is decisive that the end be delayed. Even
old people who are near the end do this, for they cannot endure the fact that
the end will not be delayed much longer.
Many people realize this deception and hope for a continuation
of this life after death. They expect an endless future in which they may
achieve or possess what has been denied them in this life. This is a prevalent
attitude about the future, and also a very simple one. It denies that there is an end. It refuses to accept that we
are creatures, that we come from the eternal ground of time and return to the
eternal ground of time and have received a limited span of time as our time. It replaces eternity by
endless future.
But endless future is without a final aim; it repeats
itself and could well be described as an image of hell. This is not the
Christian way of dealing with the end. The Christian message says that the
eternal stands above past and future. "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the
beginning and the end."
The Christian message acknowledges that time runs towards
an end, and that we move towards the end of that time which is our time. Many
people -- but not the Bible -- speak loosely of the "hereafter" or of
the "life after death." Even in our liturgies eternity is translated
by "world without end." But the world, by its very nature, is that
which comes to an end. If we want to speak in truth without foolish, wishful
thinking, we should speak about the eternal that is neither timelessness nor
endless time. The mystery of the future is answered in the eternal of which we
may speak in images taken from time. But if we forget that the images are
images, we fall into absurdities and self-deceptions. There is no time after time, but there is eternity above time.
II
We go towards something that is not yet, and we come from
something that is no more. We are what we are by what we came from. We have a
beginning as we have an end. There was a time that was not our time. We hear of it from those who are older than we; we read
about it in history books; we try to envision the unimaginable billions of
years in which neither we nor anyone was who could tell us of them. It is hard
for us to imagine our "being-no more." It is equally difficult to
imagine our "being-not-yet." But we usually don’t care about our not
yet being, about the indefinite time before our birth in which we were not. We
think: now we are; this is our time -- and we do not want to lose
it. We are not concerned about what lies before our beginning. We ask about
life after death, yet seldom do we ask about our being before birth. But is it
possible to do one without the other? The fourth gospel does not think so. When
it speaks of the eternity of the Christ, it does not only point to his return
to eternity, but also to his coming from eternity.
"Truly, truly, I say to you, before Abraham was, I am." He comes from another dimension than that in which the
past lies. Those to whom he speaks misunderstand him because they think of the
historical past. They believe that he makes himself hundreds of years old and
they rightly take offense at this absurdity. Yet he does not say, "I was" before Abraham; but he says,
"I am" before Abraham was.
He speaks of his beginning out of eternity. And this is the beginning of everything
that is -- not the uncounted billions of years -- but the eternal as the
ultimate point in our past.
The mystery of the past from which we come is that it is
and is not in every moment of our lives. It is, insofar as we are what the past
has made of us. In every cell of our body, in every trait of our face, in every
movement of our soul, our past is the present.
Few periods knew more about the continuous working of the
past in the present than ours. We know about the influence of childhood experiences
on our character. We know about the scars left by events in early years. We
have rediscovered what the Greek tragedians and the Jewish prophets knew, that
the past is present in us, both as a curse and as a blessing. For
"past" always means both a curse and a blessing, not only for
individuals, but also for nations and even continents.
History lives from the past, from its heritage. The glory
of the European nations is their long, inexhaustibly rich tradition. But the
blessings of this tradition are mixed with curses resulting from early splits
into separated nations whose bloody struggles have filled century after century
and brought Europe again and again to the edge of self-destruction. Great are
the blessings this nation has
received in the course of its short history. But from earliest days, elements
have been at work that have been and will remain a curse for many years to
come. I could refer, for instance, to racial consciousness, not only within the
nation itself, but also in its dealings with races and nations outside its own
boundaries. "The American way of life" is a blessing that comes from
the past; but it is also a curse, threatening the future.
Is there a way of getting rid of such curses that threaten
the life of nations and continents, and, more and more, of mankind as a whole?
Can we banish elements of our past into the past so that they lose their power
over the present? In man’s individual life this is certainly possible. One has
rightly said that the strength of a character is dependent on the amount of
things that he has thrown into the past. In spite of the power his past holds
over him, a man can separate himself from it, throw it out of the present into
the past in which it is condemned to remain ineffective -- at least for a time.
It may return and conquer the present and destroy the person, but this is not
necessarily so. We are not inescapably victims of our past. We can make the
past remain nothing but past. The act
in which we do this has been called repentance. Genuine repentance is not the
feeling of sorrow about wrong actions, but it is the act of the whole person in
which he separates himself from elements of his being, discarding them into the
past as something that no longer has any power over the present.
Can a nation do the same thing? Can a nation or any other
social group have genuine repentance? Can it separate itself from curses of the
past? On this possibility rests the hope of a nation. The history of Israel and
the history of the church show that it is possible and they also show that it
is rare and extremely painful. Nobody knows whether it will happen to this nation. But we know that its future
depends on the way it will deal with its past, and whether it can discard into
the past elements which are a curse!
In each human life a struggle is going on about the past.
Blessings battle with curses. Often we do not recognize what are blessings and
what are curses. Today, in the light of the discovery of our unconscious
strivings, we are more inclined to see curses than blessings in our past. The
remembrance of our parents, which in the Old Testament is so inseparably
connected with their blessings, is now much more connected with the curse they
have unconsciously and against their will brought upon us. Many of those who
suffer under mental afflictions see their past, especially their childhood,
only as the source of curses. We know how often this is true. But we should not
forget that we would not be able to live and to face the future if there were
not blessings that support us and which come from the same source as the
curses. A pathetic struggle over their past is going on almost without
interruption in many men and women in our time. No medical healing can solve this conflict, because no medical
healing can change the past. Only a blessing that lies above the conflict of
blessing and curse can heal. It is the blessing that changes what seems to be
unchangeable -- the past. It cannot change the facts; what has happened has
happened and remains so in all eternity! But the meaning of the facts can be changed by the eternal, and the name of
this change is the experience of "forgiveness." If the meaning of the
past is changed by forgiveness, its influence on the future is also changed.
The character of curse is taken away from it. It becomes a blessing by the
transforming power of forgiveness.
There are not always blessings and curses in the past.
There is also emptiness in it. We remember experiences that, at the time, were
seemingly filled with an abundant content. Now we remember them, and their
abundance has vanished, their ecstasy is gone, their fullness has turned into a
void. Pleasures, successes, vanities have this character. We don’t feel them as
curses; we don’t feel them as blessings. They have been swallowed by the past. They
did not contribute to the eternal. Let us ask ourselves how little in our lives
escapes this judgment.
III
The mystery of the future and the mystery of the past are
united in the mystery of the present.
Our time, the time we have, is the time in which we have
"presence." But how can we have "presence"? Is not the
present moment gone when we think of it? Is not the present the evermoving
boundary line between past and future? But a moving boundary is not a place to
stand upon. If nothing were given to us except the "no more" of the
past and the "not yet" of the future, we would not have anything. We
could not speak of the time that is our time;
we would not have "presence."
The mystery is that we have
a present; and even more, that we have our
future also because we anticipate it in ‘the present; and that we have our past also, because we remember it in
the present. In the present our future and our past are ours. But there is no "present" if we think of the
never-ending flux of time. The riddle of the present is the deepest of all the
riddles of time. Again, there is no answer except from that which comprises all
time and lies beyond it -- the eternal. Whenever we say "now" or
"today," we stop the flux of time for us. We accept the present and
do not care that it is gone in the moment that we accept it. We live in it and
it is renewed for us in every new present." This is possible because every
moment of time reaches into the eternal. It is the eternal that stops the flux
of time for us. It is the eternal "now" which provides for us a
temporal "now." We live so long as "it is still today" --
in the words of the letter to the Hebrews. Not everybody, and nobody all the
time, is aware of this "eternal now" in the temporal "now."
But sometimes it breaks powerfully into our consciousness and gives us the
certainty of the eternal, of a dimension of time which cuts into time and gives
us our time.
People who are never aware of this dimension lose the
possibility of resting in the present. As the letter to the Hebrews describes
it, they never enter into the divine rest. They are held by the past and cannot
separate themselves from it, or they escape towards the future, unable to rest
in the present. They have not entered the eternal rest which stops the flux of time
and gives us the blessing of the present. Perhaps this is the most conspicuous
characteristic of our period, especially in the western world and particularly
in this country. It lacks the courage to accept "presence" because it
has lost the dimension of the eternal.
"I am the beginning and the end." This is said to
us who live in the bondage of time, who have to face the end, who cannot escape
the past, who need a present to stand upon. Each of the modes of time has its
peculiar mystery, each of them carries its peculiar anxiety. Each of them
drives us to an ultimate question. There is one
answer to these questions -- the eternal. There is one power that surpasses the all-consuming power of time -- the
eternal: He Who was and is and is to come, the beginning and the end. He gives
us forgiveness for what has passed. He gives us courage for what is to come. He
gives us rest in His eternal Presence.
