St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL
Luke 12:13–21
Colossians 3:1–11
This sermon was preached during the summer of 2025, when worship at St. John’s was held in the parish hall, Alfriend Hall, while the sanctuary ceiling was being cleaned.
How often do you feel like
the clock is out to get you?
Whether it’s a deadline,
a diagnosis,
a class schedule,
or that restless moment at 3 a.m.
when you check your phone and realize
you have to do it all again tomorrow . . .
for most of us it often feels like
time isn’t just ticking,
it’s tightening.
So today,
I brought this:
a digital clock.
Blue.
Big glowing numbers.
The kind you might see
hanging in the back of a restaurant,
reminding everyone that time is watching.
In fact, it looks a lot like the clock
in a show called The Bear
you may have seen on FX or Hulu.
The Bear is a fast-paced drama
about a struggling restaurant in Chicago
and the broken, brilliant people
trying to keep it alive.
And in that show,
clocks are everywhere.
One exactly like this
hangs in the kitchen above a sign
that reads, “Every Second Counts.”
It’s the mantra of the show,
just as it’s the unspoken mantra
for many of us.
Every chef’s move is timed.
Every action is scrutinized.
The seconds are not just passing;
they are judging.
And to add to the drama of it all,
in the most recent season of The Bear,
a second clock appears:
a digital countdown
ticking toward the moment
when the restaurant will run out of money altogether
if they don’t find a way to turn a profit.
Time is not just a tool in The Bear.
It’s a character.
It is the pressure in their bones,
the anxiety in every breath.
* * *
The Bear may be fiction,
but its clocks feel familiar
because for many of us,
time has become a tyrant.
Every second must be optimized.
Every moment monetized.
If you are not producing or progressing,
you are falling behind.
I don’t know about you,
but not a week goes by
when I do not feel the crushing anxiety
of never having enough time . . .
time to answer every email,
return every call,
respond to every text,
make space for every meeting;
time to plan and prepare,
time to follow up or follow through,
time to mentor, encourage, or thank someone;
time to read,
time to think,
time to exercise,
time to pray.
And if that’s how your priest feels
from within the safe confines of this holy, happy place,
I can only imagine what it’s like for all of you
“out there.”
* * *
So thank God scripture gives us
another way to understand time.
In fact, in the original Greek,
the Bible speaks
of two kinds of time:
chronos and kairos.
Chronos is the kind of time we’re all used to.
It’s the time we track:
hours, days, deadlines;
the ticking clock;
the looming due date.
It’s the countdown to Christmas,
or your birthday,
or the number of days left ‘til retirement,
or the start of football season.
Kairos, on the other hand,
is the kind of time God keeps.
It’s the “right” time;
the “appointed” time;
the “opportune” time.
It’s what the Bible means
in the book of Esther when it says,
“for just such a time as this.”
Kairos is not what you plan,
but what breaks in and saves you.
A surprise call.
The tears that finally come.
An old wound that begins to heal.
The joke that cracks you open.
The song you didn’t know you needed.
The apology that sets you free.
The door that opens without knocking.
The long wait that suddenly ends.
The hospice room where you finally let go.
The forgiveness you never saw coming.
Chronos pressures you to plan.
Kairos teaches you to trust.
And that is what Jesus is offering us today.
* * *
Right when we think
time is ours to master,
Jesus tells a story
that stops the clock cold.
A man.
A harvest.
A windfall.
The man says,
“Ah, I’ve got my grain!
I’ve got my barns!
Now finally I can rest!”
But God responds,
“You fool!
This very night
your life is being demanded of you!”
Now, to be clear,
the Greek word there for “demanded”
does not imply punishment.
It’s more like a loan being called in.
You have had your life.
Now it is time to hand it back.
The lesson is this:
You can fight and strive all you want
as though “every second counts,”
but there is no salvation in surplus,
no peace in bigger barns,
no security in control.
As our own beloved Fr. Bill once said,
“There’s no U-Haul behind the hearse.”
* * *
But here is the good news:
The One who spoke time into motion
did not leave us to be crushed by it.
God entered chronos—our time—as an infant,
waited through our dusty hours and days,
endured sleepless nights,
and hung on a cross
until time itself split wide open.
And in the resurrection,
God’s kairos broke in
and shattered the lie
that death gets the final word.
That’s what the Apostle Paul means today
When he says to the Colossians:
“Your life is hidden with Christ in God.”
That’s a strange statement,
but it’s more than just a metaphor.
It’s a promise.
Your truest life
is not something you build,
or earn,
or schedule,
or manage.
It’s something God has already secured,
tucked right there in the heart of Jesus.
So no,
you do not get to escape time.
You do not get to transcend your limits.
But you do get to live differently:
Not driven,
but held.
Not frantic,
but free.
* * *
“But Fr. Lonnie,” I know you’re asking,
“what about those louder clocks,
when time slips through your fingers,
not for lack of planning,
but because life unravels beyond your control?”
Because some of you are not just busy.
Some of you are waiting.
Grieving.
Enduring.
Hoping.
Hurting.
Healing.
There are seasons in life
when time does not feel measured,
but meager.
Moments when you are waiting for news,
longing for healing,
watching someone slip away.
Moments when the seconds stretch on,
not in order,
but in ache.
“How much longer can I stick with
this dead-end job?”
“How much longer can I go
without finding a job?”
“How many more treatments
must I endure?”
“How many more days
before the dementia takes the last thread?”
“How many more times
can I smile so no one sees I’m breaking?”
Honestly, this sermon does not pretend to fix that.
But it does dare to say this:
Even in the unanswered moment—
especially in the unanswered moment—
you are held.
Its in these times that
the love of God does not tick away.
It settles in.
* * *
And so, whether you’re
juggling the busyness of everyday life
or enduring the uncertainties of waiting and loss,
the grace for us all today is this:
You do not have to race the clock.
You don’t have to build bigger barns.
You don’t have to chase the wind.
You have a God who holds time in his hands,
and who holds you,
not just gently,
but securely.
And this God does not measure your worth in productivity,
nor your holiness in efficiency.
This God gives you a name,
a home,
a promise:
that in Christ,
you are already enough.
So when the ticking gets loud,
and the seconds feel heavy,
I hope you will look at
your clock,
your watch,
your phone,
you calendar—
whatever you use—
and let it be your reminder:
A reminder that
every second counts . . .
but not for the sake of
hustle,
or control,
or earning love.
Every second counts
because every second is a chance
to be met by grace,
to breathe in peace,
to remember who you are
and whose you are,
and to rest in God’s timing.
Because this moment right now
is not just enough.
It is holy.
And when the ticking stops,
whether for a moment or for good—
even when the loan of your life is called back in—
you will not fall into silence.
You will fall into God.
And in the kairos of God,
what you’ve always feared
would be the end of everything,
will actually be the fullness of everything
for which you were always made.
Amen.