Romans 13:11-14 Matthew 24:36-44
When we come to the season of Advent we begin again. We begin the cycle of our worship year, and we begin with waiting.
Waiting accompanies beginnings in a natural way. We wait for the beginning of a new life through nine months of pregnancy. We wait for the beginning of a new school year. We wait for vacations, for promotions, for the release of a long-awaited movie or a new book from a favorite author. We wait for a response to our email. We wait for someone to return our phone call. We are always waiting.
We wait for doctor appointments and dentist appointments. We wait for the furniture we ordered to be delivered. We wait.
We wait for spring and then for summer. We wait for someone to notice us and offer us what we need. We just wait.
We wait for the interminable meeting to be over. We wait for the coffee to brew. We wait for five o’clock to come, for Friday to come. We wait for sleep to come. We wait.
We wait for that person to forgive us, finally. We wait; we are always waiting.
The early followers of Jesus were in a state of waiting for him to return and bring an end to the world as they knew it, and we know it. They waited with the kind of anxiety you and I are familiar with, the anxiety that accompanies our waiting for something important to happen – waiting for the kids to arrive; they are late and we don’t know what is keeping them. Waiting for the lab test results that will tell us: are we dying or not?
They were waiting for the Savior to return – our Savior, Jesus Christ. Waiting for the fullness of time, for the end of suffering and tears, for the lion and the lamb to lie down together, for peace on earth. That’s all.
And it wasn’t coming quickly enough. Jesus was late. He should have been here by now, they said to one another. We have been watching and waiting, like he told us to do. We have said our goodbyes to this world and we are ready for the next one.
They were ready, because they knew just how broken the world was. They walked down roads lined with crosses, the bodies of their friends and loved ones on display. They tried not to look.
They knew how broken everything was, just as we do. We read headlines that say, “7 Mass Shootings in the Last 7 Days.” War in Ukraine rages on. White supremacists and neo-Nazis have dinner together to plan their next moves.
We often try not to look.
So we wait for our Savior. We are peering out the window waiting for his car to pull into the driveway. We imagine his arrival. Jesus, finally; you’re here. We were so worried about you. Because we’ve been waiting.
There is a poem called “The Whole Earth’s a Waiting Room,” by Joseph T. Nolan, which draws an apt picture of our constant state of waiting, always waiting for something to happen; always waiting for something to change.
The whole earth’s a waiting room!
“The Savior will see you now”
is what we expect to hear at the end.
Maybe we should raise our expectations.
The Savior might see us now
if we know how to find him.
What if we did raise our expectations? That is, if we stopped waiting for Jesus to helicopter in and clean things up in one great sweep? And we began looking for the signs of him here and now?
C.S. Lewis wrote the wonderful stories about the land of Narnia, where the lion named Aslan is at the center of it all. Most of the time, though, Aslan is neither seen nor heard. But occasionally someone will say to another, “Aslan is on the move.”
“Aslan is on the move,” they will say to one another in a hushed and reverent tone. Something wonderful is coming because Aslan is on the move. When Aslan, the creator and redeemer of the land of Narnia, is on the move, marvelous things happen.
What if what we are waiting for is already here? As the poem says:
Maybe we should raise our expectations.
The Savior might see us now
if we know how to find him.
Could it be that Jesus, too, is waiting
for us to know he is around?
It is true, isn’t it? He left something of himself here, didn’t he? In all the ways he taught us – in his words and his actions – didn’t he leave something of himself? In the stories we tell of the times he fed the multitudes, seemingly out of nothing there was plenty! We tell the stories again and again and we say, just as he said: Go and do likewise. Didn’t Jesus leave something of himself in each one of us?
Didn’t he leave something of himself in the divine Spirit that permeates everything on earth? That kernel of goodness that is in everything God created – which is to say, everything – don’t we see something of our Savior in it?
We fill our time with waiting, always waiting. But didn’t Jesus say, “Stay awake; pay attention; keep watch.” Didn’t Paul say, “Now is the moment.” Can we see that our waiting must be watching for the sacred that is here right now; that we are living in sacred time?
It’s a matter of perspective. Stop. Pay attention and see the sacred that is around you and in you.
Stop your busyness, your stewing about all the things that didn’t go perfectly and all the people who didn’t do what they were supposed to do. Stop trying to make perfection. Look for the things of God because they are already perfect.
Feed someone. Hug someone. Smile at someone. Assume the best of someone, just as you would want them to do for you.
Listen to someone. Tell them you believe in them. Bless them. And, yes, you need to do it for yourself sometimes just as much as you need to do it for others.
Open your eyes to sacred time. Practice seeing that kernel of goodness that is in everything and everyone. And if you can’t see it in them, then pray for them. Pray for the goodness of their creator to shine through.
And when you are doing these things, you are living in sacred time.
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Photo by Andraz Lazic on Unsplash
