So Time Is Only Kind of Real?

An exploration of Day 4

May 26, 2025

Hello, there. Hope you’re well. Here’s some lovely stuff to start your week off.

Celestial Bodies

Today we witness Yahweh speak into being the sun, moon, and stars. Part 5 of the Holy Ghost Stories creation series is live.

How Time Works

The obvious stars of this episode are the sun and moon, but you’ll find that I give attention also to a lesser-discussed product of Day 4: time.

Have you ever taken a moment to consider the concept of time? It’s, well, a little mind-bending. Einstein, of course, famously theorized that our experience of time changes relative to how we travel through space—which sort of explodes the idea that time is a fixed ‘reality.’

I love this exploration of the paradox of time from the folks at Kurzgesagt:

Some Thoughts on Time

All of this thinking about time leads me to considering eternity, of course. How will we experience chronological reality in the afterlife? We usually assign our time-based experience to heaven, imagining it as an endless succession of days and months. (“When we’ve been there 10,000 years, bright shining as the sun, we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise than when we’ve first begun.”)

But what if this isn’t quite it? Or not it at all?

Consider our current experience of the present. Here in time, “now” is a knife edge off of which we’re constantly slipping. Every bit of “present” is only the present for a millisecond, racing by at light speed on the conveyer belt of time. In the realm of time, the past is endless, the future is endless. But the present? It’s so infinitessimal it barely exists. It’s like “now” refuses to remain, to stay, to abide. Perhaps time is a good gift, just not without its downsides (much like the Mosaic covenant—Rom 8:3, Gal 3:24).

Here’s my question: what if Time is part of what changes in heaven? What if the afterlife isn’t a relentless onslaught of endless eternity, but instead one enormous pause? A mutual, unhurried inhabiting of the once-elusive present? What if when the King finally reigns in fullness, when the Lord of Abiding overthrows the tyranny of time, we will at last experience what it’s like to be here now.

That would be new, right?

Think about it. A delicious meal ends. (It’s usually a cruel decrescendo of pleasure, in fact; the first bite versus the last—no contest.) A perfect-feeling season with your kids or spouse passes. Great weather changes. Laughter fades. Intimacy falters as the weeks go by. The window between when a musician gets warmed up and when their voice or fingers tire—it’s relatively small. My favorite show’s sweet spot lasts only a certain number of episodes. An amazing kiss with your spouse gives way to intercourse. Intercourse gives way to afterglow. Afterglow gives way to sleep. There is no pause button—no sustain pedal for these vexingly fleeting moments of life.

But perhaps this is, in part, the goodness of heaven. Perhaps “eternity” is not an intimidating, inevitably exhausting pile of years to be gotten through like a stack of books on your night stand (good—great, even—but somehow oppressive in their multitude). Maybe instead “eternity” is one undying moment—endlessly enjoyable, infinitely expansive, forever interesting. Just as He is ‘I Am,’ we will then be ‘we are’—together in a forever now.

I’d love that.

There Goes the Sun

Here’s an incredible high-res image of our closest star from the European Space Agency:

Diamond Soup

In this episode, you’ll hear me describe the sun burning at an “unthinkable 27 million degrees Fahrenheit—enough to boil diamonds.” Just so we’re clear, that’s not a metaphor.