In a 2020 interview with NPR, Lin Manuel Miranda described himself as

"[hearing] the ticking clock louder than most".

This stuck with me; obviously, since we’re discussing it now. The reason being that I can relate. Warning, we about to get a tad morose and a hint cliché. Death, after all, is not a novel subject of philosophic speculation.

The point Lin was making is that time is so infuriating constant. Impassionate ticking our lives away.  Yet when one sees all that needs to be done in the world or even the scope of desired personal accomplishment, there isn't nearly enough time.

No matter how we use the time given, the sand will keep on falling, the clock will keep on ticking, the moon will keep on rising.

Everyone is cognizant of this to some degree. Some choose to ignore it, preferring instead to drown the tick in distraction or muffle the tock in media. 

To some it’s a paralytic; the fear of dying encumbering their living. 

And still, for others, it’s the driving beat of innovation. The spark of pursuit and the catalyst for growth. To those individuals, the grains of sand falling from the hourglass are not a countdown to doom but rather an ore for the refining fires.

Sand actively becoming glass.

Ambition Purpose Determination

All good stuff, sure.

However the book of Ecclesiastes, I did warn you its morose, gives a sobering reminder that not all aims are equal.  With the declaration "All are from the dust, and to dust all return." Solomon forces us to consider our work thru eternal lenses.

Furthermore, as evidenced by the "rich young ruler" in Mark 10, even the most successful pursuits, rooted in self-promotion and accumulation fall short in the end. 

Nothing acquired in this life has permanence beyond the grave.  Not even our "good name" or, put another way, righteousness.  For the follower of Jesus, that comes from Him and Him alone.  The true reformation of our dusty sand into shimmering glass is a result of God working in and thru us to accomplish his eternal aims. Not thru our exertions of personal ambition, as noble as they may be.

And while some truly magnificent works of art and industry can come from glass, broken glass has its own significance. In the hands of a master craftsman broken glass can form beautiful mosaics. 

Yet, in the hands of the violent and reckless, broken glass is an instrument for misery and pain.

The band Penny and Sparrow put it eloquently in their song "Heroes and Monsters".

"The moons going to rise no matter what…

There's a house on fire and I'm running in.

     With an empty box of matches, I'm the one who burned it down…

    The way the parts of me, they always disagree.

     It's a wonder that this body doesn't break"

We, humans, are simultaneously capable of both blessing and curse. Whether to our culture, relationships, environment, or self.  These lines so perfectly capture the experience of desperately trying to extinguish a raging fire sparked by your own careless words or actions. James 3:10

The "Splintered" Glass serves as a reminder that, though we are continually being refined, there is a tension between our destructive broken flesh and our redeemed calling. 

Our nature is bent towards self-aggrandizing, but ultimately fruitless pursuits.  As we seek to use our time and talents for the "greater good" it’s vital to guard against the temptation of pride.  We are broken people in a broken world and pursue broken visions. 

Yet there is hope in the fact that the Master Craftsman has chosen to use these broken pieces to create His Church.

2 Corinthians 12:9-10, Matthew 5:3

As a final note, I was a very curious kid. At one point, let’s call it 3 and a half, I reached up to inspect a lamp on the side table.  With all the grace of a toddler, I succeeded in knocking it off and shattering glass all across the tile floor. My mom promptly warned me to stay put so she could help me get to safety.

  Now to this day, "waiting for help" has not been a strong suit of mine.  To the quite justified frustration of my wife, I will often ask for help on a task,  only to seconds later attempt it alone. This has about as much success as a toddler attempting to navigate a glass-strewn floor.

I have that scar on my foot to this day, and in my more conscientious moments, it serves as a reminder of my own limitations. A "thorn in my side", if you will, "to keep me from becoming conceited". 2 Corinthians 12:7 (As he compares himself to the Apostle Paul…) 

Like my 3-year-old self,

when I grow too comfortable in my own capacities or blinded to my dependencies, disaster is usually close at hand.