I do not think that the real problem is with time itself, but with the paucity of our imaginations.
God’s time-scale is, like God, unimaginably enormous; the mind falters in the face of it, poised on a ghastly chasm of emptiness. It is easier to write off time than to accept the vast vacuity of its expanses.
There have not yet been a million days since Pentecost and the founding of the Church. ‘We’re such a young Church’, a priest said to me recently when I was complaining about some grossly offensive attempt at Christian articulation, ‘a baby Church. You find the early sentences of young children funny and sweet, why can’t you be patient?’