The new church year begins today as we enter in to the season of Advent. It is a time of waiting and preparation for Jesus coming among us, both at Christmas and at the end of time. Over the four Sundays leading up to Christmas, we will hear the words of prophets and angels and ordinary people as we join them in waiting and watching for Christ.
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| Photo by Jamshed Khedri on Unsplash |
Part of our vacation these past two weeks was spent at a cabin in the woods. We had so much fun hiking and exploring in both sunshine and snow. We had read in the park’s reviews online that there was a playground somewhere on site, and we were determined to find it. As we followed the trail, I found myself hurrying Wade along, increasingly exasperated by his delays. “Come on, buddy! Let’s go! Don’t you want to find the playground? I think we’re almost there!” I was so focused on the destination that I was missing the journey.
We didn’t need to rush. There was no schedule to keep, no reason to hurry past all the interesting sticks and leaves and rocks. The playground would still be there, and even if we didn’t make it that far, all we really wanted was to be outside, and to be together – and we were.
It’s so easy to get caught up in reaching the destination; to see only deadlines; to be looking ahead to the next thing, and the next after that; to fill our waiting with frantic busy-ness. I’m not sure if it’s possible, though, to take this posture and not come out limping and exhausted before ever reaching the goal.
As we’ve discovered this year, waiting becomes much more difficult when the timeline is unclear. We have placed all our hope in the destination – a vaccine, things back to normal – but we’re finding the timeline stretched out indefinitely. To borrow the Gospel writer’s words, “But about that day or hour no one knows.”
There was a beautiful essay in the New York Times back in September by Blair Braverman entitled “What My Sled Dogs Taught Me About Preparing For The Unknown.” She writes about distance mushing, and the importance of stopping to rest, even at the beginning when the dogs are full of energy and ready to go, and then she relates that story to what we need for life in the pandemic. She writes, “…if you don’t know how far you’re going, you need to act like you’re going forever. Planning for forever is essentially impossible, which can actually be freeing: It brings you back into the present.”
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus describes signs and portents of the end of time, and then in the same breath reminds his disciples that no one knows the day or the hour. They are told to keep awake, but what happens when the destination is unknown? What does waiting look like in a hostile environment? What are the things they need for the journey?
As we heard in the second reading, God’s people have been enriched in Christ. The disciples – and us – have the promise of God’s presence in the word and meal and in community, not just at some future destination, but now.
As we journey through Advent and look ahead to Christmas, and beyond, that’s the good news: we don’t need to rush to the manger in order to find Jesus. The paradox of Advent, and indeed of the entire Christian life, is that the God for whom we wait is already here.
As we venture, God journeys with us – through the unexpected, the painful, the surprising; through detours and pauses and rests – and we are never alone. In the midst of signs, uncertainty, fear, and wondering, we embrace each new day, strengthened by God’s presence and by the gift of community.
We are waiting for so many things this year – waiting to embrace family members and see friends, waiting to worship together in person, waiting for this pandemic to pass, waiting for relief and justice and renewal. In the midst of this year, I wonder how the journey of Advent and not just the destination of Christmas might resonate with us in a new way.
Wherever the journey takes us, we give thanks for a God who walks right beside us, promising to restore us and bring wholeness and life.
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