The Whisper of Eternity Wafts on the Gentle Breeze

There is within us all another part that craves the ancient, the mysterious, the “primitive,” the timeless and eternal. It is a side that presents a strange and deep yearning within our hearts, an ache for something beyond, the yearning of a yearning. This restlessness whispers of an ancientness, something from the deep, dark, distant past, from long lost antiquity. This is the side of us that is strangely moved by spires, and stained glass windows, and steeples of sleepless stonework that have been standing for hundreds, even thousands of years. It sneaks up on us unawares, coming out at odd moments in our dreams and when the enchantment of a midsummer night’s eve leaves us breathless and pensive, filled with the strangest of longings.

This is the side that compels people to want to travel to places like Ireland or England, or discover the luster of France or its city of Paris, to seek beauty, grace, and elegance. This is the side that hungers to connect with something beyond, to get in touch with one’s beginnings, to somehow unite with one’s earthy, ancient roots, to rediscover one’s ancestors and one’s past. This is the side that compels some to be drawn toward magic, divination, and the practice of herbs, for such things ring of ancient mystery and earthen sensibilities.

This side is an irrational or “arational” side that is somewhat whimsical and always longing, a sort of dull ache that never quite leaves. Certain things can awaken this side from its slumber. When we read a fairy tale—filled with the glories of Camelot, of the prince and the dragon, of the beautiful princess and the evil queen—we are transported there quite apart from all rational thought. It takes us to a place within that we desire, a place that erases the years of time, frees us, instantly rekindling the vigor of youth, the vigor and romance of eternity.

Our hearts long to resonate to a different rhythm, to free ourselves from the constraints of modern society with all of its tiresome ways, wearying us to no end until we are frazzled and senseless, always tired and driven until we no longer hear the faint inner whisper of something more. It is the call of the Summerlands where it is never winter and always spring, where you’ll always see the sun, where magic and enchantment are woven into the very fabric of the landscape. We long to be free.

But do allow me to continue for a moment longer: there really is a place like the Summerlands where it is never winter and where you will always see the sun. There really was a time before the beginning of time. The desires you feel in your heart resonate to a reality that is very real and far deeper than the throes of your conscious mind. C.S. Lewis poignantly remarked that it would be a terrible irony if the universe could spawn creatures whose mere longings were more complex and compelling than itself. Somehow, I don’t think this is the case.

There is also something deeper yet, something that has been woven into the fabric of the universe, something that is timeless and eternal, the very essence from which all things flow, the Ancient of Days, the Almighty, All-Powerful, Omnipotent, Eternal King, Father of Time and Author of Life itself. What is contained of Him in the little black book we read is a mere shadow of Him, a mere reflection seen as in a glass darkly. Sometimes those who read this little black book mistake, as it were, this black book for Him, reducing Him to a nice pious collection of ideas, a predictable little God with predictable little ideas for predictable little people to fall comfortably asleep with. Sometimes the Mystery of all Mysteries fails to be awakened within our depths. Sometimes we fail to see through the eyes of our timeless, childlike selves the wonder of His reality, sometimes we fail to feel the flush of His embrace.

Standing before His throne room would make us quickly fall on our faces in fear, would make our knees knock in awe and dread and utter horror, so loathsome and awful is He to behold. At the slightest whim He could utterly destroy us without lifting so much as His little finger. He is a terrible God, a God so filled with power and might that to imagine of doing anything other than revering Him would be unthinkably foolish. He is utterly perfect and unchangeable and we are mere loathsome specks of dust, filled with the worst and most indescribable hellishness and imperfections. Absolutely no one will stand before the throne without feeling his knees knocking, an awful dread falling upon him. The Ancient of Days transcends time and space and eternity itself, mighty, holy, robed in majesty and splendor, unlike anything we have ever imagined or dreamt of before in all our days under the sun.

But there is something else that those of us who have believed on His Son, the Lamb that was slain from the foundation of the world, will soon bear witness to. He will not destroy us. And weeping in stunned appreciation at the honor of living in such grace, we will find ourselves enveloped in the aura of His holiness, its presence radiating all around us and filling us with the most grateful appreciation. We will be saying, with the very utmost sincerity, “Thank you, thank you, thank you Lord God. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!” We will weep for sheer and utter joy and the feeling we have inside will go beyond any feeling we have ever experienced before, far beyond even the most intimate of human encounters. We will have absolutely no problem saying with the angels, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, Who is, and Who was, and Who is to come. Glory and majesty and power and honor to His Holy Name.” Indeed, our tongues will find minds of their own, loosed from their fetters and filled with praise for the Father of Lights, with Whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.

Christians, we don’t serve a predictable little God. If we could just but know how awesome and terrible God is, how unspeakably powerful and mighty He is, if we could just catch a fleeting glimpse of His glory and presence, we would find that deeper walk, that higher way, that possession of a hope, of a yearning for that place where time and eternity will forever cease. This will fulfill the side of us that is drawn out in the fairy tale, fable, fantasy, myth, legend, lore, and fiction of all types, for this is the side from which these stories have been fashioned. These stories touch something deep within our hearts, calling out the children we have never ceased being, however buried under all the strain and pressures this eternal child within us may be. This will fulfill the side that wishes to travel the world, to find and connect with our roots, the side that admires the spires, and the steeples, and the stately cathedrals with their breathtaking stained glass tapestries, the side that admires beauty, grace, and elegance, that admires poetry in motion. And in time, this will fulfill the prophecy spoken from before the foundation of time, time itself will have reached its fulfillment and will be no more, and we ourselves will be forever fulfilled in this place where our strange yearnings have, like everything else here, reached their fulfillment.

In the meantime, perhaps we ought to focus less on incorporating the latest advances in contemporary society, where people are weary and worn out from all the technological inventions and the crush of time, and focus instead on seeking the eternal. Then we can offer the promise of beauty and warmth and timelessness and comfort and rest for the weary soul so yearning for the cure. A place where one can come and leave behind the time that always crushes, the time that so wrinkles the face, the time that so weights the soul down with cares far beyond one’s years, the time that eventually secures one’s mortal death and the time that will eventually crumble even the stately spires to dust. Perhaps we should get back in touch with our roots, in touch with the stained glass windows, and the spires, and the steeples, and the stories that evoke within us wonder and awe.

Where is our sense of wonder, Church? Where is our sense of awe? Should it surprise us that we lose so many to paganism, which promises of enchantment whispering in the winds and mystery and ancient secrets long since forgotten? Have we forgotten that God set eternity in the hearts of all mankind? Have we forgotten what it is to yearn for something pure and something good? Have we forgotten the timelessness of chasing butterflies through the meadows and fields, of holding hands under the golden moon? Have we forgotten what the finest things in life are? Have we become so caught up in the advances of our time that we have forgotten the timeless, and the eternal, and the mystery of life?

Where is our sense of reverence? Where is our sense of the holy? Where is our sense of awe? Where is our sense of joy? Where did we last hang our holy imaginations? Where is our sense of the timeless and eternal? Where is our sense of peace?

Eternity has been set in all of our hearts. Isn’t it time we fanned the flames a little, loosening the stifling restraints of always trying harder and doing more? Isn’t it time we snuggled up in our Father’s arms, relaxing as the sound of His heartbeat stills all our cares and fears until we melt away into the land of the timeless meadows, chasing butterflies and laughing and playing hide-and-go-seek and holding hands under the golden moon? Then, and only then, will we be able to take the world by the hand and say, “Won’t you come play with me, in this most delightful place? Won’t you come with me? We could have such a time there, you and me.” And the world will see that we have found that place where time stands still, where the sun never fails to shine, where it is always spring and never winter, and where the lilacs and the lilies bloom all year round.

The LORD possessed me in the beginning of His way, before His works of old. I was set up from everlasting, from the beginning, or ever the earth was. When there were no depths, I was brought forth; when there were no fountains abounding with water. Before the mountains were settled, before the hills was I brought forth: While as yet He had not made the earth, nor the fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the world. When He prepared the heavens, I was there: when He set a compass upon the face of the depth: When He established the clouds above: when He strengthened the fountains of the deep: When He gave to the sea His decree, that the waters should not pass His commandment: when He appointed the foundations of the earth: Then I was by Him, as one brought up with Him: and I was daily His delight, rejoicing always before Him; Rejoicing in the habitable part of His earth; and my delights were with the sons of men.