When we start the clock determines everything.
Two Saturdays ago?
Or November 3, 2022?
June 14, 2007?
There are so many moments we could choose. Each one changes the nature of the story we tell.
In sports, the clock determines the scope of the game. Shoot arounds on the court before the clock starts don’t add to the score. And if the ball leaves your hand after the buzzer, you didn’t take a shot.
We establish an order and everything within that window counts. But only in finite games.
Life is an infinite game. Pretending you can start or stop the clock when you want is not anyone’s prerogative. But it is an extremely persuasive tool for those who want to control a situation.
Did Israelis on the border with Gaza experience a time of terror two weeks ago? Undoubtedly. But that isn’t the whole of the story. And wanting to grapple with the whole story isn’t villainous or traitorous.
We might prefer that to be the story. It makes picking sides in war easier. But it doesn’t make war any less hellish.
It is quite easy to commit sin without knowing it. Most of us do it all the time. It’s why we confess this very idea every Sunday. We confess for the stuff we did on purpose and the stuff we didn’t even know we did. Or the stuff we allow others to do on our behalf. We confess because we share in that guilt.
There is no end.
We can’t limit the infinite game. We don’t get to win at life. Or pretend that one event and then another will make us square. We don’t get to start the clock at two weeks ago and then pretend we also aren’t going to start it again later; when it is most convenient. Again.
There is no end to the infiinite game. To history. Relationship. Our great story.
It doesn’t start when bombs start dropping or when a specific group takes control of a nation. Or when a people feel victimized or horrified. But neither is there an end date. When we judge things to be done. Nothing more to record.
This sort of timelessness is easy to confuse for permanence. That the way things are now are as they have always been. Or we might as well treat them as such. This, too, is nonsense. It’s a way of respecting the time in the story but ignoring all of its substance.
Permanence is an extremist idea. Same as nihilism and centrism. A kind of my-way-or-the-highway masquerading as reasonable. Mostly because it chooses the highway.
Life is messy.
As messy as history. Politics. Faith. Community. Working with other people. Having ideals. All of it messy.
Controlling the clock is a way of pretending most of the mess doesn’t count.
It’s the same move we make when we put in countless hours of practice and a “natural” beats us on the court. We don’t think it’s fair, precisely because we want to change the nature of the game itself.
We tell ourselves that we work harder. So we deserve the victory.
Or we tell ourselves that they deserve the victory because we lack the talent.
We know the story of our lives is beyond the court. The clock counting down. We get that. But we still want to control the narrative. Tell our part of the story.
We must share the story.
Because life isn’t just mine or yours. And neither is this planet. It is ours. And we have no choice but to share it.
Our attempts to gain advantage, manipulate the game, put ourselves on top, or control the outcomes—it isn’t just cheating. It authorizes cruelty and destruction. Hatred and death. We don’t get to be those people who kill and pretend those lives we stole have no meaning.
We don’t get to play God. Not like that.
Embrace the mess of it. Push through. Do awesome things.
The clock was ticking long before you were born. And it will keep ticking when you’re gone. In the meantime, you are free to be an awesome and inspiring human being. One who cares and loves and shares and makes a positive impact on the lives of others.
That’s the one thing we can actually control.