Transcendence
11/06/25 02:25
Fifty years ago, I started working at Mimanagish, a summer camp in Montana, following my first year of graduate theological education. The previous school year had been intense. I had been successful in my undergraduate studies. I was confident in my academic abilities, but the challenges of graduate school were significantly different than those I had encountered in my earlier educational career. It is no longer that way, but back then, theological education involved living in community and pursuing academic studies. Our seminary required students to reside on campus. Our first three classes were intensives. Instead of taking multiple classes simultaneously, we began with classes we pursued full-time, taking one at a time. The classes involved significant reading, structured conversations inviting us to pursue deep meanings, and visits to churches, agencies, and retreat centers outside the seminary. Those of us who entered the seminary in the fall of 1974 formed a cohort of colleagues. We quickly got to know each other well and bonded over our learning experiences. In addition to gaining our degrees, we formed lifelong friendships.
Among the colleagues we met in those first intensives is Rev. Dr. Tony Floyd, who served congregations in Australia before being appointed Uniting Church National Director of Multicultural and Cross-cultural Ministry. His ministry involved developing and strengthening connections with migrant and Indigenous Australians. The seminary required us to live in seminary housing, so we also got to know Tony’s family. His wife and two children were part of meals shared, conversations pursued into the evening hours, and outings. They traveled to Montana with us twice during our seminary careers. Because we served our careers on two continents, we have only seen each other face to face infrequently over the decades. However, we have remained steadfast friends and colleagues.
Tony returned to the United States and visited us in each home we lived in since completing our seminary educations. In 1995, he and his wife Shirley helped us move from Idaho to South Dakota during one of his long service leaves. In 2006, we took our family to Australia and traveled with Tony and his family.
When we get together, whether in person, by telephone, or in an Internet video conference, we can pick up the conversation as if we had not been separated. The trust that we have developed and nurtured over the decades means that we immediately feel free to say what is most important to us. We have been present for each other through times of grief and loss, celebration, and change and adjustment.
Our relationship with Tony and his family has taught me a great deal about transcendence. Christian community takes place over great distances and long periods. We are connected with deep bonds, not limited to any single time or place. Our abiding faith in resurrection enables us to feel a deep connection with those who served before we were born, with those we have known who have died, and with those who will come after us. We are all part of a community that transcends time and location.
In Greek, the language of the Christian scriptures, there are two essential concepts of time. Chronos refers to chronological time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years. It flows in a consistent direction and has a specific order of events. Kairos signifies the “right time” or the “appointed season” where God is revealed. The Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) all report an experience in which the disciples witnessed Jesus conversing with Elijah and Moses, biblical prophets who lived and died before their time. The descriptions point to an experience beyond words and an experience in which the chronological sequence of time seemed out of order. This is just one example of Kairos time.
Writing about Kairos is a challenge because our experiences are rooted in chronology. We look back at our lives and experience a narrative in which events occurred in a specific order. We want to tell the story with a beginning, middle, and end. When theologians write of Kairos, their narratives cannot follow the same logical outline. The order of events and experiences is not always the same. We try to create order. As students, we were all required to write a systematic theology that put our faith into a logical pattern. Some students were better at this task than others. I struggled with the challenge and have never been satisfied with my results. My faith defies a consistent outline. Holding my mother’s hand as she lay dying is as present in my life today as it was fifteen years ago. Many conversations in my life are ongoing. We may take a break, but the conversation continues. I can pick up my phone or turn on a video conferencing application on my computer and instantly pick up conversations with friends. This doesn’t mean that chronological time is suspended. We are all growing older. The number of days left in our lives is finite. The clocks in Tony’s home are 17 hours ahead of the clocks in my home. We cannot ignore those realities.
It is equally valid that we cannot ignore Kairos. Ross Snyder, the teacher who led our first intensive as theology students, has become a part of who we are. Part of what Tony and I have in common is that some of the same teachers have shaped us. We use common phrases and bits of coded language that we learned from Ross. When Tony and I talk, Ross is a part of every conversation, even though Ross died decades ago. Because we have read and discussed the same books, some authors are present in our discussions. When we speak of the prophetic imagination, Walter Brueggemann enters our dialogue. We have lived our lives immersed in the same sacred texts that connect us not only with each other but also with faithful people of generations past and generations yet to come.
If you are a regular reader of my journal posts, you have already experienced a bit of Kairos energy. I repeat myself, I tell the same stories over and over. I imagine the future and then imagine it differently. I have topics to which I return repeatedly, but some entries come out of the blue. I don't know where to begin when I try to organize my journals. Twenty years of essays is a disorganized jumble. Although my archives are organized by date, they don’t flow in the order I wrote them.
I have dear friends who want to unpack meanings and solve mysteries. I prefer to allow the mystery to remain. They are capable of telling a story in chronological order. Whenever I try, I find I have failed to tell the whole story.
Among the colleagues we met in those first intensives is Rev. Dr. Tony Floyd, who served congregations in Australia before being appointed Uniting Church National Director of Multicultural and Cross-cultural Ministry. His ministry involved developing and strengthening connections with migrant and Indigenous Australians. The seminary required us to live in seminary housing, so we also got to know Tony’s family. His wife and two children were part of meals shared, conversations pursued into the evening hours, and outings. They traveled to Montana with us twice during our seminary careers. Because we served our careers on two continents, we have only seen each other face to face infrequently over the decades. However, we have remained steadfast friends and colleagues.
Tony returned to the United States and visited us in each home we lived in since completing our seminary educations. In 1995, he and his wife Shirley helped us move from Idaho to South Dakota during one of his long service leaves. In 2006, we took our family to Australia and traveled with Tony and his family.
When we get together, whether in person, by telephone, or in an Internet video conference, we can pick up the conversation as if we had not been separated. The trust that we have developed and nurtured over the decades means that we immediately feel free to say what is most important to us. We have been present for each other through times of grief and loss, celebration, and change and adjustment.
Our relationship with Tony and his family has taught me a great deal about transcendence. Christian community takes place over great distances and long periods. We are connected with deep bonds, not limited to any single time or place. Our abiding faith in resurrection enables us to feel a deep connection with those who served before we were born, with those we have known who have died, and with those who will come after us. We are all part of a community that transcends time and location.
In Greek, the language of the Christian scriptures, there are two essential concepts of time. Chronos refers to chronological time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years. It flows in a consistent direction and has a specific order of events. Kairos signifies the “right time” or the “appointed season” where God is revealed. The Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) all report an experience in which the disciples witnessed Jesus conversing with Elijah and Moses, biblical prophets who lived and died before their time. The descriptions point to an experience beyond words and an experience in which the chronological sequence of time seemed out of order. This is just one example of Kairos time.
Writing about Kairos is a challenge because our experiences are rooted in chronology. We look back at our lives and experience a narrative in which events occurred in a specific order. We want to tell the story with a beginning, middle, and end. When theologians write of Kairos, their narratives cannot follow the same logical outline. The order of events and experiences is not always the same. We try to create order. As students, we were all required to write a systematic theology that put our faith into a logical pattern. Some students were better at this task than others. I struggled with the challenge and have never been satisfied with my results. My faith defies a consistent outline. Holding my mother’s hand as she lay dying is as present in my life today as it was fifteen years ago. Many conversations in my life are ongoing. We may take a break, but the conversation continues. I can pick up my phone or turn on a video conferencing application on my computer and instantly pick up conversations with friends. This doesn’t mean that chronological time is suspended. We are all growing older. The number of days left in our lives is finite. The clocks in Tony’s home are 17 hours ahead of the clocks in my home. We cannot ignore those realities.
It is equally valid that we cannot ignore Kairos. Ross Snyder, the teacher who led our first intensive as theology students, has become a part of who we are. Part of what Tony and I have in common is that some of the same teachers have shaped us. We use common phrases and bits of coded language that we learned from Ross. When Tony and I talk, Ross is a part of every conversation, even though Ross died decades ago. Because we have read and discussed the same books, some authors are present in our discussions. When we speak of the prophetic imagination, Walter Brueggemann enters our dialogue. We have lived our lives immersed in the same sacred texts that connect us not only with each other but also with faithful people of generations past and generations yet to come.
If you are a regular reader of my journal posts, you have already experienced a bit of Kairos energy. I repeat myself, I tell the same stories over and over. I imagine the future and then imagine it differently. I have topics to which I return repeatedly, but some entries come out of the blue. I don't know where to begin when I try to organize my journals. Twenty years of essays is a disorganized jumble. Although my archives are organized by date, they don’t flow in the order I wrote them.
I have dear friends who want to unpack meanings and solve mysteries. I prefer to allow the mystery to remain. They are capable of telling a story in chronological order. Whenever I try, I find I have failed to tell the whole story.
