The general view of physicists is that time started at a specific point about 13.8 billion years ago with the Big Bang. The Big Bang can be considered the “birth“ of the universe and the beginning of time as we know it. Matter, energy, space and time began abruptly with the Big Bang. Hence it can be said that time is a creature of God. Aristotle defined time as the measure of change. St. Augustine defined it as a measure of motion.
There can be no discussion of what was going on before the Big Bang, or, specifically, what was God doing before the Big Bang? There was no previous era. We are dealing with the mysterious idea of eternity.
Augustine reflected on time as a painful affair. Time was the devourer, seeking what it might devour. Time was ever working, never at rest, bringing age upon us all (Confessions, Book One). There is no conquest over time. No one can defeat time. Time will never relent. Time moves and everything comes to an end. There’s all the brightness and beauty that could not last. How innocently time eats the days – all those lost days.
The Scriptures tell us that the sovereignty of God is over the length of our lives. Job 14:5 states that “Man’s days are determined; God has decreed the number of our months and has set limits we cannot exceed.” Psalm 139:16 speaks of the “Book of Life” in which “are written all the days that were ordained for humans when none of those days as yet existed.” God is the giver of time and our term of life is fixed by Him. We are allotted a certain period of time in the world. We have an expiration date. Time belongs to God; it is not our own.
Old age is an end product deposited by time. It is the time of the body’s cruel betrayals that bring with them the indignities of old age. We disintegrate slowly. Those who have reached the evening of their lives have to adjust their lives to the limitations of aging. They reach what is called life’s “last lap,” or the “home stretch.”
There’s a haunting sense of passing time. There’s a fear of time. An old person is now well aware of how November grinds darkly on, how November leans toward December, and December slides into Winter. Children and grandchildren grow and flower, etching mortality even more sharply. The evening is drawing in. There’s a sense of time left. They find the words of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus very meaningful: “Stay with us, Lord. For it is nearly evening. The day is almost over” (Lk24:29).
When he was near ninety, the art critic, Bernard Berenson, said: “I would willingly stand at street corners, hat in hand, begging passers-by to drop their unused minutes in it.”
However, many old people are ready. They have had their fill of life and seek rest from the irritations and agitations of life. There is a “ripeness” for death. There’s a sense of relief that the struggle was over. It’s coming to an end, and that’s all right.
There is a Jewish Midrash that says: “When a fig is gathered at the proper time, it is good. The owner of the fig tree knows when the fruit is ripe for plucking and plucks it. The Holy One knows when the time of the righteous has come.”
Old age brings with it the awareness that so many people you loved are gone. There’s the sudden silence. The world without those loved ones is incomplete. There is no substitute for them. Many elderly people say: “It’s not hard to die when everyone you loved is dead.” Our faith tells us we will find one another again. Many of the elderly feel like one who is waiting and waited for. There is a prayer to the angel Raphael, guide of Tobias, which says “lead us toward those we are waiting to see again, those who are waiting for us, those we are looking for.
The daily dread of all old people is—when will it all stop? How many more chances will I have to welcome the Spring? When will it be my time to be shaken from the tree?
There is the loneliness of age. As we age, we have to “let go” of more and more; one thing after another falls away. One can have the feeling of having outstayed one’s welcome in the world. Many old people often feel superfluous and unwanted. Doubtless, one of the assets of old age is the ability to enjoy being alone. Solitude is frequently the lot of the elderly. So many men, particularly, are left an old man in an empty house. They grow old and grow sad. The old sigh for lost years; weep for the short tomorrows.
Despite it all, most of the elderly regard everyday as a gift, and have a deep gratitude for life; a gratitude for all of life’s blessings.
When I think of dying, I remember my mother bending over my bed, singing in her lovely, throaty voice, “Close your eyes and you’ll have a surprise. The Sandman is coming. He’s coming, he’s coming.” To hear that voice one second before death is what I hope for.
Let me end with an anecdote about Winston Churchill that can have a religious meaning. Churchill planned his own funeral. He directed that after the final religious benediction a bugler high up in the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral would play “Taps.” Churchill then directed that immediately after the playing of “Taps,” a second bugler, also in the dome would play “Reveille,” the call to get up in the morning.
