But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.
December 7, 2017 | Written by Kathleen Thompson
Jesus is sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the Temple. Four of his disciples have pressed him to put a time frame on what he’d said about not one Temple stone being left upon another. Jesus then described the end of the age, and issues a dire warning. How often do we ache to pinpoint the when of a situation? When will this child ever be potty trained, a teenager get home from the prom, or my shattered kneecap healed...when, when, when?
Vladimir Nabokov says in his memoir, Speak, Memory, “I do not believe in time.” Like Jesus, he is being both literal and figurative. He is speaking of timelessness, a quality few of us possess. Betty Clapper did. She and I bonded from that first morning walk in Prattville. Her last spring she rallied from her hospital bed at home as if she had plenty of time left, as if she could set out for an animated walk with me and Tommy around Hunting Ridge. Her departure came all too soon on July 25, 2012. I still don’t know her age. Her boys didn’t include it in the obituary.
“Be alert,” Jesus warned his disciples. I could write a book on Betty’s alertness, of the ways she lived out the teachings of Jesus and thereby, as sister/mother/mentor, taught me.
Prayer: Father, help me to live in your spirit in the here and now, and to let the worry wheels of the past and the future stop their futile spinning. Amen.