The Tyranny of Time & The Song of the Overcomer :: By Pete Garcia
“Then God said, ‘Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and seasons, and for days and years’” (Genesis 1:14).
Tyrannis Temporis
Since the dawn of time, there has been a long line of empires, each defiantly believing they would last forever. Without fail, each one could only come to their divinely appointed ending and no further.
They built their towers to the heavens, only to watch them collapse under the weight of arrogance. Their monuments and statues, once symbols of power and prestige, lie buried under many layers as nature reclaims the land where they once stood.
The mighty rulers of old, who once commanded kingdoms, now exist only in fading memory, their thrones long since crumbled, and their crowns, the most precious adornments which bequeathed the wearer that right to rule, now lost in forgotten ages.
As with the fabled Ozymandias, the so-called king of kings, whose shattered visage lies in the desolation of the desert, poetically serves as a testament to the futility of human grandeur. His pedestal once boasted of a might that none could challenge, yet all that remains is ruin, a solemn reminder that even the greatest fall before the relentless tide of time. (Shelley, “Ozymandias,” 1818)
These self-proclaimed godmen and their kingdoms were powerless against time’s brutal march and the inevitability of divine providence. What should frighten us is how easily we look back upon them with both pity and fascination, hypocritically allowing our hindsight to cast a critical gaze upon their hubris and folly while ignoring our own.
As is human nature, each successive generation grants itself wide latitude. We willfully ignore the ghosts of our past while burying the shame and regret of our national sins. But even these cannot stay hidden for long because they continue to haunt our present and our futures as if time itself ignores its own rules by not hiding these things that bear witness to our frailties.
On a micro-scale, our lives echo the same contradistinction as with empires—birth and death, love and loss, triumph and tragedy. At best, life is meaningful yet fleeting; at worst, it is a whisper in the void, forgotten as though it never was.
Reflecting on the days gone by should remind us of our mortality even as we strive to find meaning in whatever circumstance we find ourselves. We are told we must chase the “good stuff”—a mother’s kiss, a father’s approval, a lover’s embrace—yet life stingily holds on to these as we drown in the mundane or horrific. In either case, both the good and bad are inevitably swept away by time’s relentless, uncaring tide.
Life is not only fleeting and unforgiving but merciless in its indifference. Even in the best of circumstances, a man’s existence is often reduced to nothing more than the brief dash between two dates on a gravestone, his name fading from memory just as it fades from the marble headstone upon which it is carved.
By the second generation, our deceased go from a living memory to one that fades as the dying light of day. What remains of us but the sigh of our passing? The lament of generations chasing after wisdom, wealth, or fulfillment, only to find them as fleeting as moonlight slipping through grasping fingers.
And yet, we search. We hunger for wisdom, for pleasure, for purpose—yearning for assurance that our existence is not merely to be, but to be for something of both permanence and relevance. Our immortal souls cry out for significance in a temporary world that cannot give it. We are all longing for something permanent, something real, something eternal. We build grand monuments. We raise cities to the sky. We amass great fortunes. We do all these things in the hope that they will anchor us against the relentless and unforgiving tide of time. Yet none of these can either stem its ferocious onslaught or fill the God-shaped hole within us.
Apart from God, all human endeavors are swallowed by time. The great libraries that once housed the wisdom of the ancients have turned to ash. The wealth of kings have been plundered; their golden coins scattered, crowns robbed of their jewels, and melted down into other things. Our mighty works are reclaimed by nature, and even the stars above will one day burn out if they have not already. As Solomon lamented, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 1:2).
But meaning is not found in these things, for creation itself is held together not by cosmic fate, nor our toil, nor by our wisdom, but solely by the will of its Creator. The heavens and the earth exist because He spoke them into being and sustains them by His providential will. Even creation groans, longing for deliverance from its bondage, awaiting the day when it will be restored to its original purpose (Romans 8:22-23).
And man—the pinnacle of God’s creation—groans as well. Not merely because of our mortality, but because eternity has been written upon our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Unlike any other creature on planet Earth, we sense that we were made for more than this brief, fragile existence. We feel the paradox of knowing we were meant for eternity yet being trapped within time. If left unresolved, this longing can drive us to despair, or worse, madness.
The human soul, meant for immortality, strains against the confines of its mortal shell, yearning for something lasting even as time erases all we hold dear. It is a cruel contradiction—one that, if not answered, can break the heart into a thousand tiny pieces.
But all is not vanity.
Canticum Victoris
“For whatever is born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith. 5 Who is he who overcomes the world, but he who believes that Jesus is the Son of God? This is He who came by water and blood—Jesus Christ; not only by water, but by water and blood. And it is the Spirit who bears witness, because the Spirit is truth” (1 John 5:4-6).
The great colossus of empire—the feet of iron and clay—will not stand forever. The Rock, uncut by human hands, will one day soon strike it, and the kingdoms of men will be as chaff before a holy and wrathful wind. The world’s power structures, its mighty rulers, will dissolve into nothingness. And then, behold—the Rock grows into a mountain, filling the earth (Dan 2:34-35). The King of kings returns, His robe dipped in blood, His name written upon His thigh. The heavens split open, and the earth trembles beneath the weight of His divine majesty (Revelation 19:11-16).
No longer will the righteous weep. No longer will widows mourn or orphans cry out for those who will never return. The One who sits upon the throne will declare, “Behold, I make all things new!” (Revelation 21:5). Amen, the curse is lifted; death’s sting is removed (1 Corinthians 15:55-57).
The broken will be made whole. The weary will find rest. The scattered will be gathered, never to be parted again.
“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. The sea of turmoil was no more. And I saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, descending from God, radiant as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people. God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more. Neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away’” (Revelation 21:1-4).
Time shall be no more. The weary march of ages has reached its end. No longer shall the sun rise and set upon sorrow, nor the moon wax and wane over graves. And just as time presses forward and yields to none, the King who created time is coming, and nothing or no one can arrest nor change His divinely appointed arrival.
The King is coming, and His kingdom will follow.
“Then the seventh angel sounded: And there were loud voices in heaven, saying, ‘The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever!’” (Revelation 11:15)
And the song of the redeemed shall fill the halls of heavens and throughout the earth, a hymn of victory echoing throughout all eternity:
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!” (Revelation 5:12)
One day very soon, darkness will be banished, and the night will become no more. The mournful dirge of death and the grave will give way to an everlasting life filled with peace and triumph, as death is swallowed up in victory (1 Cor 15:55-57), and the weeping of the broken will give way to hearty laughter and shouts of praiseful joy.
The lament of the fallen will be transformed into the anthem of the risen.
And we shall reign with Him in a world without end.
Amen & Maranatha!
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