Day 1 of 5: Waiting
“When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. But he did not consummate their marriage until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus."
-Matthew 1:24-25
That dash between 24 and 25 in the verse represents 9 months of waiting. 9 months between that initial promise from God and the ultimate fulfillment in the birth of Jesus.
9 months.
Of uncertainty.
Of unknowing.
Of trusting without being sure exactly what was going to happen. Mary received good news about this child who would become the Savior who would save humanity, bring in an era of justice, and eventually become the prince of peace. But after she received that promise, she entered into a space of waiting. That’s our story too.
We’ve heard good news about God’s restoration and redemption of our world, we believe in the possibility of change, and we for that one moment that vindicates or validates us believe things can be different. We’re waiting as well, aren’t we?
For justice.
For peace.
For joy.
For justice and safety for our LGBTQ siblings. For a collective imagination to dare to imagine a shared life on our planet without war. For that family member we hope will one day pull their life together. For that one part of us to be healed that still—if we’re honest—feels kind of impossible. And if we can truly be honest, to feel real joy for ourselves. We feel this promise, we see the possibility, and then we wait.
But during this in-between space of waiting, we need to remember that Mary’s waiting and Advent waiting is a very specific kind of waiting. Mary shows us that there’s a difference between waiting for something that is possible, and waiting for something that has been promised.
The Advent season leading into Christmas is kind of weird as an adult isn’t it? Sometimes I think we all live between the magic of Christmas as a child and the miracle of Christmas as an adult.
When we were kids, we lived in an exciting and naïve magical/mythical world where Santa was coming. Flying reindeer existed, and we could get completely enraptured in the Christmas spirit. We could feel the benevolent mystery of Christmas. But as adults, we’ve evolved beyond the magical/mythical stages of consciousness, we’ve come to know the unwelcome pain of betrayal, loss, and pain, and we wrestle with what the truth and beauty of Christmas actually is.
But I still remember being a kid and being so excited to wake up and open up gifts that I could hardly sleep. And my parents, knowing my middle brother and my uncontrollable excitement, told us we were not allowed to wake them up until 6:30!
So when we inevitably woke up earlier than the previously established time for opening up presents, my brother and I went out to the tree and laid on the ground with our presents until 6:30 finally arrived when we could open them up.
We were waiting. But it was the kind of waiting, that despite the uncertainty of exactly what was coming, was filled with anticipatory joy. You wait and prepare yourself for joy when you trust that there is someone who is going to come through.
One of our Advent tasks as adults is to stay open, despite all of the reasons we have not to. To risk the kind of vulnerability required to allow joy to enter deeper into our lives. To dare to believe that the world is pregnant with goodness, and to trust that God is truly for us.
Advent is about waiting long enough to watch the promises of God become possibilities of joy.
Practice:
Take 10 minutes to sit with and answer these two questions:
What am I waiting for?
If I dare to be truly honest, what do I really want right now?