I think it was Esther Meeks who said that we don’t use time as much as time does something to us. In our age of near-frenetic productivity and the regrettable influence of rise and grind guys, Meeks’ observation is as important as it is insightful. We obsess about making the most of our time. There is of course a hedonistic terror behind much of this, a desperate snatching at experiences and comfort since that’s all there is and then you die, but that isn’t my concern here. Returning to Meeks’ corrective, our culture is unblinking in its efforts to get the most out of our time. Amid this noisy bustle we deem ourselves masters of time, even fate, forgetting that time masters all of us.

Consider one of the riddles Gollum puts to Bilbo Baggins, in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit:

This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, and flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays kings, ruins towns,
And beats high mountains down.

This riddle even stumped the master hobbit, but my introduction should’ve positioned you to solve it. “This thing [that] all things devours,” is time.

My point for this meandering introduction—and as the title of this article indicates—is that we shouldn’t let the overweening confidence of our age concerning productivity obscure the fact that we’re remarkably finite—“only human,”as Kapic argues. Time is finite, but so are you. Let’s consider each of those truths in turn.

Time Is Finite

There are only so many hours in a day—24 to be precise, though far less if you’re getting enough sleep. Then there are just seven days in the week—six if you’re a good Sabbatarian. We only have so much time, with many demands and responsibilities. Time is finite.

I haven’t read anything more incisive on this matter than Donald Whitney, in Spiritual Disciplines—in a passage I’ve used on more occasions than I can remember. Whitney writes, “We speak of saving time, buying time, and making up time, and so on, but those are illusions, for time is always passing.” Therefore, “we should use our time wisely.” To drive this home, Whitney goes on, “time is infinitely more precious than money because money can’t buy time.” We’ve all heard about non-renewable resources, whose value is determined by their finitude. How much more valuable, then, is time?

Even if that wasn’t the thought behind Paul’s exhortation in Ephesians 5:15-16, the proverbial shoe seems to fit. The apostles writes, “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” Walking wisely throughout our waning days demands the discerning use of our time. For each of us only has so much of it.

As one of the voices in Cormac McCarthy’s Stella Marais puts it, “the more you harbour [time] the less of it you have. The liquor of being is leaking out onto the ground. You need to hurry. But the haste itself is consuming what you wish to preserve.” This should cause us no small amount of discomfort. Turning over Paul’s words and combining them with Whitney’s, it would be foolish to live as though time isn’t fleetingly precious, finite and priceless. Once wasted, it’s forever lost. So we shouldn’t spend it carelessly.

You Are Finite

Unpacking the above point further, however, we cannot forget that we too are finite. Here, Whitney offers some respite for the overwhelmed. He writes, “Even the best use of time cannot put pages back on the calendar.” Though this is in part rather sobering, it’s also wondrously liberating. All of us have limitations and we shouldn’t pretend otherwise. Doing so will only breed unrealistic expectations and ambitions, as we ultimately crush ourselves under the burden of believing we can do any and everything. You can’t. You won’t. So stop trying. “Sufficient for the day is its own trouble” (Matthew 6:34).

In light of this I recently exhorted the theological students I lecture to work hard, stewarding their time in light of its finitude. Simultaneously I called on them to remember that they too are finite. Each of us must operate within our own human limitations, our weaknesses. The denial of those limitations is what leads to personal breakdowns and burnout, a slavish work ethic and overbearing bosses. This isn’t a call to laziness. It is an invitation to reckon with your own limitations, something I imagine readers will have mixed experience with doing. Because time is finite we should steward it wisely. And because you and I are finite, we should steward ourselves carefully, graciously even.

I’ve heard Paul’s words in Ephesians wheeled out to impress on people that they must work hard, perhaps becoming more ruthless with their use of time. The worst iterations of this sound very similar to the insufferable rise and grind influencers on social media. Yes, we must make the most of our time. Only we shouldn’t confuse that with maximising productivity, earning and fitness, or whatever else. “Making the most of the time” shouldn’t be another burden in this overwhelming age. Surely rest is part of that; enjoying a good book or a walk with a friend are others; I’d even add that watching your favourite show after a long day has a place here.

Do what you can, faithfully. Work hard, with your limitations. Time is finite, but so are you.