The fourth week of Lent
15/03/15 05:14
One of the natural phenomena of aging is the perception that time is speeding up. The example that is often given is that for a two-year-old, a year is half a lifetime. To a 62-year-old, the percentage of his experience in a single year is much smaller. I am not immune to this effect. There are all kinds of things that make it seem like time is passing at a very fast rate. I think that this sensation is exacerbated by the increasing rate of change in our world. It isn’t just that I have gathered more experiences and have memories of more days, it is also that the amount of time that it takes for a new technological advance or another change is decreasing. It is a bit like riding in a vehicle that is accelerating. The faster you go, the faster you are able to go.
Time, however, is more fascinating than that. The sensation of the passage of time is not constant. Because time is an arbitrary measure, a product of human ingenuity and observation, our sense of the passage of time varies by circumstance. In general the way we measure time is based on the observation of the movement of our planet in relationship to the sun. It takes 24 hours for our planet to make one rotation and 365 days for it to make one revolution around the sun. Except, of course, our measurements aren’t quite accurate. Since the Earth travels such a long distance with each revolution the perceived year is a bit longer than 365 days. And, because the motion of the earth is gradually slowing, a day is slightly longer now than it was millions of years ago and slightly longer than it will be millions of years from now. Most of us aren’t sensitive enough to notice those subtle changes.
Our perception of time is different depending on our activity. Waking from sleep, for example, we have a sense that the night passed quickly. An example I often give is that 15 minutes playing with a grandchild feels like a different amount of time than 15 minutes sitting in a waiting room. Our activities influence our awareness of time and our sensation of the rate of time’s passage.
The season of Lent has many layers of meaning piled upon each other. Long ago, in pre-Christian times, and even before the institution of the Passover as a reminder of the Exodus from Egypt, there were spring festivals, observances and festivities. The English word we use for the season, “Lent” comes from an Old English name for the season that means “lengthen.” People in the northern hemisphere noticed that the days get longer in the spring. There is more daylight and less darkness as the seasons change. Right now, in Rapid City, we’re gaining a little more than 3 minutes per day as the season changes. That’s enough for even a casual observer to notice. Of course we “mess” with the time by instituting daylight savings time, so one has to pay attention to see the change, but it is definitely there.
For a person of faith, there is more going on than the lengthening of days, however. A season that involves thinking about the mortality of humans every day takes on the double sense of being aware of the shortness of our time on earth, but also a certain sense of drudgery. By the fourth Sunday of Lent, the novelty of the season has worn out. There is always a part of me that wants to “fast forward” to Easter Celebrations. At the same time, I know that the anticipation is part of the season and that there is a richness in waiting. The novelty of Ash Wednesday is gone. It is easy to make a change for a day. The hard work of making permanent lifestyle changes takes more time and there are days along the way when our resolve falters.
The new spiritual disciplines I adopted for the season are starting to become a bit routine. I no longer have to rely on my phone for the additional services we added for the season. I know they are in my weekly routine and I expect them. Even so, four weeks isn’t enough to make it feel like something we’ve always done. I am aware of the newness of the change.
It is at this point in the season for me in most years that the reality of making permanent change begins to set it. The long haul really is long. The temptation to go back to my old ways is quite real. Like most of my peers, I am uncomfortable with certain types of change. I long for constancy. A life of service to others, however, is a life of constant change. The people I serve range from young adults who rarely bother to check their mail to members who know exactly what time the post office delivers their mail each day. There are people who respond to a message left on voice mail as soon as they hear it and others who never check their voice mail. There are folks for whom the best way to communicate is an e-mail and ones who respond best to Facebook. All of these communication technologies haven’t yet resulted in our communication being somehow more instant or genuine. We still long for face-to-face interaction with those for whom we care. To be a caregiver in this world means being able to adapt to change and “roll with the punches.”
So we sit and we watch and we learn to change, sometimes quickly, sometimes less so. The spring equinox comes this Friday and the new moon the next night. Our next full moon will be April 4, making the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring Equinox, April 5. That’s Easter and it is that date from which we counted backwards to measure the six weeks of Lent. It’s complex even for those of us who have been paying attention to it for many years.
For now, we’ve passed the mid point of the season. Much is behind us. Much lies ahead. And we know that when Easter comes it will seem to us like the weeks have flown by very quickly.
Our prayers continue.
Time, however, is more fascinating than that. The sensation of the passage of time is not constant. Because time is an arbitrary measure, a product of human ingenuity and observation, our sense of the passage of time varies by circumstance. In general the way we measure time is based on the observation of the movement of our planet in relationship to the sun. It takes 24 hours for our planet to make one rotation and 365 days for it to make one revolution around the sun. Except, of course, our measurements aren’t quite accurate. Since the Earth travels such a long distance with each revolution the perceived year is a bit longer than 365 days. And, because the motion of the earth is gradually slowing, a day is slightly longer now than it was millions of years ago and slightly longer than it will be millions of years from now. Most of us aren’t sensitive enough to notice those subtle changes.
Our perception of time is different depending on our activity. Waking from sleep, for example, we have a sense that the night passed quickly. An example I often give is that 15 minutes playing with a grandchild feels like a different amount of time than 15 minutes sitting in a waiting room. Our activities influence our awareness of time and our sensation of the rate of time’s passage.
The season of Lent has many layers of meaning piled upon each other. Long ago, in pre-Christian times, and even before the institution of the Passover as a reminder of the Exodus from Egypt, there were spring festivals, observances and festivities. The English word we use for the season, “Lent” comes from an Old English name for the season that means “lengthen.” People in the northern hemisphere noticed that the days get longer in the spring. There is more daylight and less darkness as the seasons change. Right now, in Rapid City, we’re gaining a little more than 3 minutes per day as the season changes. That’s enough for even a casual observer to notice. Of course we “mess” with the time by instituting daylight savings time, so one has to pay attention to see the change, but it is definitely there.
For a person of faith, there is more going on than the lengthening of days, however. A season that involves thinking about the mortality of humans every day takes on the double sense of being aware of the shortness of our time on earth, but also a certain sense of drudgery. By the fourth Sunday of Lent, the novelty of the season has worn out. There is always a part of me that wants to “fast forward” to Easter Celebrations. At the same time, I know that the anticipation is part of the season and that there is a richness in waiting. The novelty of Ash Wednesday is gone. It is easy to make a change for a day. The hard work of making permanent lifestyle changes takes more time and there are days along the way when our resolve falters.
The new spiritual disciplines I adopted for the season are starting to become a bit routine. I no longer have to rely on my phone for the additional services we added for the season. I know they are in my weekly routine and I expect them. Even so, four weeks isn’t enough to make it feel like something we’ve always done. I am aware of the newness of the change.
It is at this point in the season for me in most years that the reality of making permanent change begins to set it. The long haul really is long. The temptation to go back to my old ways is quite real. Like most of my peers, I am uncomfortable with certain types of change. I long for constancy. A life of service to others, however, is a life of constant change. The people I serve range from young adults who rarely bother to check their mail to members who know exactly what time the post office delivers their mail each day. There are people who respond to a message left on voice mail as soon as they hear it and others who never check their voice mail. There are folks for whom the best way to communicate is an e-mail and ones who respond best to Facebook. All of these communication technologies haven’t yet resulted in our communication being somehow more instant or genuine. We still long for face-to-face interaction with those for whom we care. To be a caregiver in this world means being able to adapt to change and “roll with the punches.”
So we sit and we watch and we learn to change, sometimes quickly, sometimes less so. The spring equinox comes this Friday and the new moon the next night. Our next full moon will be April 4, making the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring Equinox, April 5. That’s Easter and it is that date from which we counted backwards to measure the six weeks of Lent. It’s complex even for those of us who have been paying attention to it for many years.
For now, we’ve passed the mid point of the season. Much is behind us. Much lies ahead. And we know that when Easter comes it will seem to us like the weeks have flown by very quickly.
Our prayers continue.