time

by Zach Kincaid

It took time to create time,
to begin at the beginning,
to speak out the sun, moon, and stars –
setting up alternate spindles of day and night,
to cut out the skies and fold them into the heavens,
to sow the ground with the magic of growth,
the mystery of days and days
never seen by the image-bearers;
it took time to create time,
to unstitch emptiness
and weave together song –
of water and fish and tides,
of dirt and plants and rocks,
of roaming beast and flying birds –
all with the echo of heaven’s praise,
belting out a testimony
(that would become a longing) –
all ushers of a new kingdom,
where the Creator communes with handmade creatures,
not from heaven’s stuff, but the celestial re-crafted,
grounded by gravity and suspended by reason;
it took time to breathe life into dirt,
to create Adam and Eve,
and instill relationship with them,
with the God who sits outside time,
yet starts each beginning,
with the turn of every day.

But
it took no time to rebel,
to invite impatience in for a meal,
to become the cynic,
to make mirrors
that inflect the inward god,
to finagle and lie and hash out
a plan to fix the broken clock
that brought definition to “end”,
death to stop it, pushing God outside it
in order to prop up false stories
of aloneness and fear.
Who are we? Where are we?
Does anyone care?

And then
it took time to break open the skies,
composure to set everything in motion,
in companion to the spinning top of freewill,
but in perfect orchestration,
time moved from before to anno Domini on queue
and…
the Spirit
moves,
stars
drop,
angels
sing,
shepherds
see,
Joseph
believes…
and unto us,
in a small throw-away town,
in a moment,
grounded by gravity,
a child is born,
a Savior,
God from God,
Christ the Lord.