Kairos

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Unexpected activity on the homefront resulted in my arriving late for Mass,and I walked in while the celebrant was delivering his homily.

Bill, one of the hospitality misinters that morning, gave me an especially long, warm hug. I put my head on his shoulder and thanked him for his welcome. I love my little parish. No one feels judged there. All are welcome, even when they are late.

I stood and listened as the priest spoke about two expereinces of time, “chronos” and “karios.” I think reading Madeleine Le’Engle first introduced me to these two concepts. Chronos is the time most of us expereince every day, the time that we measure, plan, fill up, or fritter away. “Chronological” comes from “chronos” and we are familiar with what that means: events follow one another in a linear fashion.

“Kairos” is different. It is “Now,” always present. I think of it as God’s time. It is in the moment that we meet God, that we rest in the Divine. “In God, there is no time.” How often I have heard those words spoken, sometimes while on retreat, sometimes in periods of formation in a community of spritual seekers.

Once, someone asked me why we pray for the dead. “They are dead, gone. What good does it do to pray for them now?” The words that sprung to my lips were: “There is no time in God. Everything exists in one holy moment of NOW. In God’s eyes, there is no past or future. He holds each of us, our entire lives, in the Divine embrace. We exist always in God.”

Our life journeys appear linear to us, but, as one friend said, God looks at us and sees us as we were made to be. I like to ponder that and make space in my days to sit in silence, aware of being in the Presence of the Holy One, aware that all is held in existence by Patient Love. It helps me deal with the chronological expereince of my day, which is often packed with things to do and places to be.

After the homily, I slipped into a pew and joined with the others in praying our way through the liturgy. I received communion and expereinced the sense of kairos: God is truly present within me, within us all.

When Mass was over, I walked to the back of the church and looked at cards hanging on the “Giving Tree,” searching for one that spoke to my heart, for something I could give to a person in need this holiday: ladies pajamas, shoes, jackets and hats. Then I saw it, a card with the name “Geneva H.” printed large. A little Geneva wanted a life-like baby doll. I stared at the card.

My mother’s name was Geneva, as was my grandmother’s, and their last name began with an “H.” I have never met another Geneva, young or old. Never.

My mother died a little over two years ago, but she is part of who I am, and memories of her remain vivid. She loved children. Nothing made her happier than to hear she was to be a grandmother or great-grandmother again. She beamed as if each time was the first time.

“I don’t understand why my granddaughters don’t finish their education, get married, and have a family,” she’d say. “There is nothing better to do with your life.” Granddaughters studying for their PhD’s puzzled her. She was proud of them, of course, but hoped for them that they would one day find the right man, settle down and raise a family.

As I reached out and lifted the card from the tree branch, I expereinced a moment of karios. A moment of knowing that my mother, and her mother, and I, and this little Geneva were all held by God, the Maternal Spirit that wraps us all in Love as we move through time and in time and finally realize that what is essential has always been with us.

I can’t wait to go shopping for a baby doll. I will be faithful to sitting quietly for some part of each day, mindful of the gift of Christmas, the child born from a young woman’s womb, to teach us that what we long for is already given.
©2010 Mary van Balen