It’s about time

At a communal reconciliation service, Father Larry Zurek related a story he’d heard about the devil calling a brainstorming session, soliciting his underlings for good ideas for getting more souls into hell.

One devilish soul scratched his head and said, “Why don’t we tell them there is no God.” The devil said that wasn’t bad, but he figured that would not get too many. Another demon said: “I know. Let’s tell them there is no hell.” The devil liked that one, but still, it was short of the mark. Finally, a third fiend spoke up: “Let’s tell them they have plenty of time.” The devil threw his head back and laughed a scornful and hellish laugh. “That’s it, my boy,” he said. “That’s it.”

My mother had a sampler on the wall when I was growing up. It was called “God’s Minute.” Here’s how it went:

“I have only just a minute,
Only sixty seconds in it.
Forced upon me, can’t refuse it,
Didn’t seek it, didn’t choose it
But it’s up to me to use.
I must suffer if I lose it,
Give account if I abuse it.
Just a tiny little minute,
But eternity is in it.”

Time is very different from our other resources. We seem to be able to get a little more money, more food, more information. This, though, is the only right now we get. Ever.

We’re preoccupied with time. People are always taking time, or trying to find time, or losing all track of time. I suppose the most intriguing aspect of time for me is the enormous significance of single moments, little snippets of whatever time really is, that have such profound effect.

Take, for example, the moment the first light appeared in the first filament in the first light bulb. Or what about the moment it occurred to Albert Einstein that space and time are interdependent, that indeed time itself is relative.

What about the moment Jesus said: “It is finished.”

It seems to me that each of our lives could be filled with such moments, relative to our own circumstances, of course. If you’re anything like me, life is either something that was or something that’s going to be. Surely life, though, can be neither. Life is. This is our life, mine as I write this, yours as you read this. This is how we are spending our life now. We don’t accept that really. We have this intractable idea that life is something other than what life is right now.

St. Paul says in Ephesians 5: 15-17: “Keep careful watch over your conduct. Do not act like fools, but like thoughtful men. Make the most of the present opportunity, for these are evil days. Do not continue in ignorance, but try to discern the will of the Lord.”

The King James has verse 16 as “redeeming the time.” I like that a little better than the New American because it spells out what can be done with a moment. It can be redeemed. This is such a moment, isn’t it? Is this not a good one? When is a good one? Do we have plenty of time?

I find it a lot easier to look back in time and say, “My Jesus, have mercy on me,” than I do to look ahead and say, “My Jesus, change me.”

I know Scripture talks about everything having its season. Even Jesus spoke frequently about the coming of His hour. But Lot didn’t have much time to get out of town, and the Jews didn’t have much time to smear lamb’s blood on their doors. The tribes of Israel did not slow their march from Egypt as pharaoh’s army approached. Neither did Joshua hold back at Jericho, nor did Matthew tarry at the tax table. Jesus’ hour did come, though He sweat blood begging His Father to let it not be, not this way, not here, not now.

What if He backed down like I do all the time?

One thing I’m absolutely, positively sure of: This is the only moment I will ever have this moment. I can waste it or redeem it.

written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on January 4th, 1987

Feelings and temptation

The insight came to me with a freshness and a sense of peace and security. Surely this understanding about temptation was a gift. I do not know why I had not had this awareness before.

Certainly I could say the words – “Just because you’ve been tempted doesn’t mean that you have sinned.” People had explained this to me over and over. Just the same, I had grasped the idea only intellectually and not with faith. It was in the gift of faith that I was able, I suppose, to have an epiphany of understanding, a kind of manifestation of the truth underlying the concept. It’s like an “aha!” experience. We call dumbly poll-parrot that two plus two equals four. But when we understand what that means in a concrete situation, it makes more sense.

For example, if I have two dollars and you give me two more, two plus two equals four has much more meaning.

So it was when I came to understand about temptation.

You see, the thing I saw into was that the devil is a liar. Not only does he put a thought into my brain, he then follows that up with a subtle lie usually along the lines: “You sure are a bum for thinking such a thing. Look at you. You say you love God and you say you love neighbor. How can you love? Would a person who loves God be thinking what you’re thinking? You’re doomed, brother. God doesn’t want the likes of you around.”

It’s all a lie.

The plot thickens, of course, with feelings that come into play. A greedy thought sets up certain feelings. A lustful thought feels one way, a slothful thought feels another. Now I know that God gave us our feelings, and they do indeed make our lives very interesting. The thing I’ve discovered about feelings, though, is that they are unreliable. Feelings just exist. Just because feelings can be appropriate in a given situation doesn’t mean that they are. Feelings are not an unmistakable clue to the truth.

How often do we feel anger toward someone, for example, only to find out that we misunderstood? Or how can two people encounter the exact set of circumstances, one feeling serene and the other wired for sound? Feelings may add spice to life, but they certainly are no recipe for understanding.

In the case of temptation, the devil will put a lustful thought in my mind, and sure enough, I’ll start feeling, well, you know what those feelings are like. Then, though, the devil will begin his accusations, chiding his victims for not feeling disgust and revulsion, for after all, wouldn’t a truly faithful, believing, spiritual person feel horrified? The poor victim’s feelings are involuntary, but they do seem to confirm the devil’s lie.

And that’s the whole point, that’s what the big lie is: falseness represented as the truth. We can get tangled up in fiendish logic and lose sight of the fact that what has been happening is a plain old homespun run-of-the-mill temptation.

Let me lay it out simply. The devil puts a thought in our head. Quickly now, he lies, telling us we’re no good for thinking such a thought. Then, before we have too much time to think about that, he starts running on about our feelings. Then, so the devil’s plan goes, since we’re no good anyway for thinking such thoughts and feeling such feelings, we might as well act on or act out this initial thought, which was not our idea, but his.

To be sure, the devil knows exactly which thoughts to put in my mind because he knows my weaknesses, my stress points, my areas of confusion and doubt. But guess what, so does God.

God knows I have sinned, but Scripture and my faith confirm in my heart that, for those who will turn to Him, there is no condemnation. That does not mean there will be no battle. Spiritual warfare is very real, I should think. Just because I have gained some insight into the devil’s wiles is no guarantee that the father of lies won’t try again.

This gift of understanding, however, has been comforting to me, giving me strength for the struggle and encouragement toward the victory.

My nature is broken, inclined toward evil. Like St. Paul says, though, not that I live, but that Jesus lives in me. He is my hope, my strength, and my song. I have found that in the heat of temptation, in the pack of lies, in the confusion, in the tugging toward the wrong and the yearning for the good, if I simply say “Jesus” the devil can’t stand it, not for long. – T.R.

written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on November 2nd, 1986