Time Frame

Until recently, having lived my entire life on the "left coast," one of the inherent things I've missed in life is a profound sense of "history" and "tradition" in the places I've previously called home. This may be in part to the relative newness of my dwelling places. The house in which I grew up was a "new build" on land that immediately before was occupied by dairy cows (yes, every time it rained for several years thereafter, the ground smelled ferociously like cows, but one benefit was we grew some amazing grass in those lawns!).

Every home my wife and I have owned together (the current house being our fourth) has never been more than 10 years old on the day we moved in (and 3 of the 4 have been only 4 years old or less). So for me, finding architectural heritage older than say50 years (which isn't all that old by most standards, especially in Europe) simply fascinates me.

A few evenings ago, my family and I were pleased to attend a theater production starring our friend's son. Held at a local high school campus which I had not previously visited, I was immediately struck by a sense of history and tradition in the place. From the moment I walked into the building, history was encompassed in trophy cases lining the walls like a museum with years and years of tradition displayed on the shelves. The architecture, the colors, the sounds, even the smell... it was like a scene from the movie Dead Poet's Society when Robin William's character encourages his students, while standing in front of a similar trophy case, to "hear the voices of those who've gone before. Listen... listen..." It was an almost surreal moment, striking me with reflective regard for time.

The elementary school I attended was brand new my first year and the junior high I attended was only three years old when I entered it. The high school from which I graduated was four years old when I arrived and I graduated in the seventh graduating class. When it comes to school heritage and tradition, I find my experiences brief. My older daughter's current high school is now only four years old (do you see a pattern developing here) and she is blessed with the pleasure of helping build a history and participate in creating school traditions.

Entering the auditorium the other night was like stepping into Riddel High from the movie Grease. Though very well maintained and clean, the event could have easily been set in 1960. What a wonderful thing it must be to hear the "voices" of decades of stage productions gone before. To "feel" the presence of countless numbers of nervous students getting ready to take the stage for the first curtain of their high school acting career. It was a really great moment... until I looked up high on the right wall of the auditorium.

In place of the old mid-twentieth century wall clock was a new glowing red LED digital clock. Almost haphazardly hung in place of the old analog standard, whose former numerical locations are still clearly evidenced on the neutral brick wall due to an apparent lack of attention to cosmetic detailing, the red lights of the new clock look down like vulturous eyes seeking their next victim.

Not nearly as innocent as the digital clock setting sentry on the nightstand beside one's bed, keeping faithful watch and gauging the night's slumber, this new vicar of vestigial time looms almost condemning, marking not only hours and minutes, but seconds as well! At first, it was not bothersome to me. But as I occasionally glanced its way, the rolling of the seconds seemed perilous and altogether unnecessary. Is their any occurrence within the confines of a high school auditorium necessitating such minute incremental chronological measurement? Ah well, perhaps the first hand holding of a boy and girl during a pep rally or the duration of a speech at the district debate competition, but surely not for a stage production of Beauty and the Beast!

We are so accustomed, in this digital age, to thinking of time in such a precise manner we have embraced it as "normal." However, it might more appropriately inform our understanding of time to appreciate the fact that our concept of measuring time is relatively young. The concept of measuring seconds did not appear until the early 1700's and for most of history prior to that, time was measured by the created order of things like seasons, moon phases or the rising and the setting of the sun. Why must we be so exacting about time? It may have something to do with our need for control. Philip D. Kenneson makes some interesting observations in this regard in his book entitled "Life on the Vine."

The new clock, in that very old auditorium, bothered me. Not merely from an aesthetic point of view (being completely out of context with the rest of the room's decor), but more from the perspective of function. Rather than friend, that clock, with its incessant silent ticking of the seconds became more foe than friend. While watching the first act, my mind began wandering to thoughts of finitude and frailty while counterpunched by the plot of the play as the Beast races against time hoping to woo the love the Beauty before the rose contained in the glass globe drops its final petal and the Beast's time of redemption expires forevermore.

At intermission, my wife asked how long I thought the second act might be. My response was less than committed... "Maybe 2o minutes, or it could be 40 or 45... I don't know, but does it really matter?" She, of course, had no idea of the philosophical debate going on in my head with the digital vulture from high on the auditorium wall.

For those who are counting, the second act lasted approximately 40 minutes and 16 seconds. I thoroughly enjoyed the artistry and talent of our friend's son in his leading role. As we stood in ovation, whistling praises for a final bow, I gave a scornful scowl to the new sentinel of time in that high school auditorium. Thinking to myself, "You will not be my master and I will not be your beast." Time, if understood correctly, will be a friend and that alone can be a thing of beauty.

"But do not forget this one thing, dear friends:
With the Lord a day is like a thousand years,
and a thousand years are like a day."
2 Pet. 3:8