Advent: The Waiting Game
The Gospel artist Anthny’s newest song “Mercy,” opens with a heartfelt plea, highlighting a broken, compromised heart: “Oh, Lord, search my heart. You can take a look around. If you find what you don’t like, go ahead and take it out. Oh, God!” He then asks an earnest, ever-pressing theological question: “Is everything alright?” Paired with divine promises, jubilation, and the priceless fruit of sanctification, Christians should be among the first to recognize that life is askew and wretched—primarily because of our own nature. One such lamentable item is our infantile impatience. We want what we want when we want it, and most of the time, we wanted it yesterday. This human tendency can make us feel like God is always, or often at least, pulling up the rear, a step behind, a day late and a dollar short. It’s okay to be honest about that. Believe me, God already knows.
In his recent collection Winter Fire: Christmas with G.K. Chesterton, Ryan Whitaker Smith writes, “Advent, as observed by Christians for millennia, is a time of expectant waiting, an observance of a time when Israel’s prophets were as silent as their God and their people yearned for a promised (and much delated) deliverer.” Though the underlying malady is as old as sin itself, we now live in an era that views waiting as uncool, as more inconvenient than ever before in history, where vast resources are devoted to engineering ways to avoid any delay in sharing news or sending or receiving assistance. Immediacy is king. Goods and services can be ordered with minimal interaction if desired. I can hop on Zoom with anyone, anywhere in the world, communicate via text or e-mail, or even fly to them in a matter of hours. Gone are the days of long registration lines for the first week of college—now it’s all handled online. Options like these are all many of us know or value today.
Advent is a four-week window of the Church calendar that represents an anticipatory longing for the one who was foretold to fulfill, not abolish the Law and the Prophets (Matt 5:27). Jesus, the Messiah in transit, would be born into a loving family with a complicated situation, growing up in a town that no one had confidence in. It was far from a Hallmark movie. Impatience leads to idolatry, something we’ve witnessed and perhaps even been guilty of ourselves in this recent electoral cycle. Across theological preferences, the Church must cultivate incarnational resilience—one that doesn’t merely champion the intention to do well, but holds itself accountable to doing well in accordance with Scripture.
Automation and innovation obviously have their place, but our tendency is often to ask whether something can be done, rather than whether it might pose a threat to our well-being. Easier and bigger are not always better, and instant is not always honoring. The apostle Paul warned us that just because something is permissive doesn’t mean it is beneficial or constructive (1 Cor 10:23). Psychiatrist Carl Jung said, “Hurry is not of the Devil; it is the Devil.” Since Jesus did not rush around like a distracted squirrel burying and unearthing nuts, we should follow his example. Waiting is instructive; it is a holy invitation to ground oneself in gratitude—and who couldn’t use a healthy dose of that?
Years ago, I underwent a 45-minute procedure to remove my faulty gallbladder and 10 months later a three-and-a-half-hour neck surgery, during which a skilled surgeon carefully navigated around my jugular vein and carotid artery. Each time, my wife was left to pace in the waiting room each time—hopeful, yet in the dark about what was to come. These days, I wait for her to release the death grip she has on the remote control, watching Jurassic Park for the 479th time or the latest episode of The Great British Bake-Off. I wait a lot, but it’s good for me. For youngsters reading this, let me give it to you straight: a day is coming when waiting will be the only program in town. Physical therapy will teach you that muscles, ligaments, and tendons march to the beat of their own drum, and before healing is possible, these body parts will require your artful, indeterminate waiting. At a certain age, simply preparing to run a few hours of errands will mean spending up to 35 minutes stretching, after carefully sliding—or perhaps launching—your body, with its stubborn aches and pops, out of bed.
Impatience is, to quote the MADtv character Bon Qui Qui, played by Anjelah Johnson-Reyes, “Ummmm, rude,” and the person we are most impatient with is God. From Jesus’ birth to his earthly ministry, crucifixion, resurrection, and return—on a day and at a time unknown to humanity—we are called to wait. Though we may not always enjoy being vulnerable with our hearts, each step of this journey helps us to practice walking by faith (2 Cor 5:7). On the last day of classes this fall trimester, I had my students watch a video of The Mississippi Mass Choir’s spellbinding 1996 performance of “Jesus Paid It All,” featuring soloist Rev. James Moore. Yes, we wait—but not as contradictory, cynical saints nor Post-it note utilitarians with perfectly penned to-do lists.
We wait, not with impatience or despair, but as humble servants in the ongoing work of reconciliation, trusting in the Spirit’s power to make beauty from ashes. As we consider the parts of the body that appear weaker or less honorable (1 Cor 12:22-26), we cherish them, understanding that in God’s economy, no part is without purpose. We wait, not as those seeking comfort, but as people who have learned to be at peace with our discomfort, knowing that in our waiting, God is at work. We wait, secure in the knowledge that if life is indeed a game, it is Christ alone whose victory has already been secured. This Advent, let us wait together, with patience, hope, and unwavering faith.