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St. Augustine might be the original procrastinator. In Confessions, he famously wrestles with the desire to change — just not yet. “Make me chaste,” he pleads, “but not yet.” Again and again, he delays with a simple word: cras — tomorrow. Then tomorrow again. Cras et cras, delay after delay.
Augustine’s problem wasn’t laziness. It was fear. He feared what change would cost him. He clung to familiar habits, even while knowing they no longer satisfied him.
In that way, he’s surprisingly relatable. Most of us live with a quiet list of things we plan to start “once life calms down.” But modern life rarely cooperates. So we delay the conversation, the habit, the healing, the prayer.
Then summer arrives — and interrupts us. Schools quiet down. Workplaces shift. Evenings stretch out. For a moment, time softens. And with it, we might become more aware of what’s been simmering beneath the surface.
Often it’s not just tasks we’ve been avoiding — but invitations.
Augustine’s procrastination wasn’t a scheduling issue. It was spiritual resistance. He knew what he needed to do. He just wasn’t ready to say yes. But grace doesn’t push. It waits patiently for our consent.
That’s what makes summer such a valuable season. It’s not just a break. It’s a break in. A pause long enough to hear again the invitations we’ve postponed.
In the hush of a summer morning or the stillness of a long evening, we might ask: What have I been delaying because I was afraid? Or What habit of life is quietly asking to begin?
Psychologists speak of “implementation intentions” — small, specific shifts that move us from intention to action. Summer’s rhythm makes those shifts possible. A new morning walk. A weekly hour off screens. A return to journaling or Scripture. Even a first awkward prayer.
Summer can offer what Augustine longed for: space to choose grace.
“Late have I loved you,” he writes, aching for lost time. But grace, once received, redeems time. What matters is not how long we’ve delayed — but that we finally say yes.
So maybe summer isn’t a time to get everything done. Maybe it’s the right moment to begin one thing.
For all of us stuck in cras et cras, this quiet interruption might be the invitation we need — to begin not because we’re pressured, but because the season allows us to.
And that might be the most Augustinian choice of all: to stop waiting for the perfect moment, and say yes to the one we have.
