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I commute to work by train every workday, 35
minutes each way. When I first started this
routine three years ago, a friend asked me: “Why
do you want to spend so much time commuting
to work?”
“Everything I do on the train I would do anyway,” I responded, “so it’s not lost time. In the morning the train is my sanctuary: I pray, meditate, read inspirational writings, and sometimes journal. And in the evening I usually read the newspaper or a book. It’s my time to myself, and I value this time.”
But recently I’ve noticed a shift in my commuting habits. Increasingly, I take work on the train, even in the morning. Rather than the train being my sanctuary, it’s becoming an extension of my office, another place where my many commitments consume me.
Time. What is it? St. Augustine famously asked. He said he thought he knew what it was until he tried to define it. Unlike Augustine, most of us worry less about defining time than about being confined by time and by too-busy schedules. Whatever time is, there never seems to be enough of it.
Time. It has often been noted that there are two kinds of it, chronos time and kairos time. The first has to do with clock time, the second with lived time. Chronos is about quantity of time, while kairos has to do with its quality.
I told one congregation I pastored, “You people are so generous in every way—except with your time.” Their financial generosity amazed me, but so many of them put boundaries around their schedules to protect themselves and their families. Church time was discretionary time—something to give if there was anything left after work, family, vacations, and play time.
A moment of truth in congregational life comes when committees attempt to schedule meetings. Out come the little black books, the daytimers, and the PDAs. And a contest ensues to see who has the busiest schedule, who will win the “I’m too hard to schedule” game. On one church committee on which I served, one person would trump us all with, “It will be months before I have an open evening, so if you need to meet, you’ll have to go ahead without me.”
Sometimes I long for the kind of schedule commended by Maimonides, the medieval Jewish philosopher. He said that people should spend no more than three hours per day on their work, and then devote nine hours to the study of Scripture and the contemplation of God. Nice work, if it will pay all the bills! Not even pastors, charged with weekly sermon preparation, have the luxury of nine hours of study and contemplation each day.
Time. It has often been noted that there are two kinds of it, chronos time and kairos time. The first has to do with clock time, the second with lived time. Chronos is about quantity of time, while kairos has to do with its quality. Each of us has the same amount of clock time each day, but we live it differently. Kairos time isn’t about doing more, though; it is about being more—living more fully and being more fully present to ourselves, others, God, and nature.
As part of an annual gift discernment process, some congregations I know ask members to do an inventory of their time, talents, and treasures (money); they’re also encouraged to discuss the inventory with their small group with a view to discerning what they’re willing to commit of their time, talents, and treasures to the church in the coming year.
We know money is hard to talk about in group settings. But in my experience it seems almost as difficult for Christians to challenge each other’s stewardship of time. And congregational leaders are not always good models, either, of balance between work and family, church and play, contemplation and action. We, too, need accountability partners for the use of our time—someone who will ask how the stewardship of our time is helping us to grow in love of God and neighbor.
Time. The way we use it is the way we live out a life of discipleship. Or not.
Richard A. Kauffman