Waiting. At times there seems to be nothing worse than waiting. We wait for the results of medical tests. This can be the most excruciating kind of waiting. Our lives seem "on hold" as we wait and wait and wait for some news.
We wait for the elevator, in the checkout line at the supermarket, at the red light that just will not turn green fast enough. We wait for the birth of a child, or grandchild. Nine months can seem an eternity. We wait for an important phone call that never seems to come.
Sometimes we must wait patiently for the many stresses and hassles and headaches of our busy lives to be over and done. Then, we think, we can get back some sense of balance and harmony, regain a small dose of tranquility amidst the crush of appointments and commitments, the flurry of activities that we busy ourselves with so as to ease the dis-ease of waiting.
Painful as it is, waiting is the soil in which hope is born. Waiting is that wide open space of longing, of anticipation, of expectancy. It is when we long and anticipate and expect that hope may be born in us. Poet Emily Dickenson writes:
Hope is the thing with feathers,
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune without the words,
and never stops at all.
Hope: A light, wordless longing that endures at the heart of each of us. But hope must be stirred up, quickened. Without hope we cannot take the next step, or turn the next page, let alone fly freely! Advent is the moment when we are invited to call upon the deepest reserves of hope not only in ourselves, but in others as well.
The disciple of Jesus Christ lives in hope. We hope in his word, in his promise of new and enduring life. We stake our lives on the hope that the power of love will prevail over all evil. The disciple of Jesus Christ lives this hope day in and day out, week by week, season by season. But the liturgical season of Advent is the unique opportunity for us to look more deeply into the reason for our hope, to consider the kind of hope to which we are called. Advent is the season to see in our waiting, wonder, and expectation the soil in which the deepest kind of hope is born.
The readings of the Sundays of Advent draw our eye and ear to the future. The focus is on what is yet to be. We hear of God's coming in surprising ways. God has come and is coming in fragile human flesh. In humdrum events and in ordinary persons, the very light, life and love of God come shining through. But God comes to those who have been schooled in the ways of waiting. Can we see in our many "waitings" --- for test results and in long check out lines --- the opportunity to deepen our highest hope?
In the Gospel for the Third Sunday (John 1: 6-8; 19-28) we hear the priests, Levites and Pharisees bullet Jesus with questions. They ask questions of him and wait --- as if with their arms folded --- for his answers. Because their minds are already made up, they are not open to what Jesus offers in response. Their minds are closed, perhaps because of jealousy and resentment. Someone new has come on the scene and has voiced something different from what they expect to hear. They are not open to what he has to say.
The priests, Levites and Pharisees try to hem him in, poke at him, chase after the answer that they want, an answer that will bolster their position against him. They do not pose their questions. Rather they shoot questions at him, pushing him to the edge, pinning his back against the wall, unable to hear answers that might question the very questions they are raising!
What a sharp contrast to this is found in the Gospel for the Fourth Sunday of Advent (Luke 1: 26-38). Mary is all ears. She pauses. She ponders. She listens to what is being said. And she waits before responding to the word that it is being brought to her: "Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son."
If we listen carefully to the Gospel account of the Annunciation, we are suspended in expectancy, caught up in wonder, in waiting. We wait for her answer to the angel. Will she say yes, or no?
The great Cistercian writer of the Middle Ages, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, captures this spirit of waiting in his Homily in Praise of the Virgin Mother for the Fourth Sunday of Advent. He tells us that during the Annunciation the whole world awaits Mary's reply. The world holds its breath waiting for her "yes."
Adam, Abraham, all men and women of the great promise wait in that eternal moment when the salvation of the world seems "on hold." Voices from the past roll down the ages: "Reply in haste to the angel." They plead with her to answer "yes." And they wait for her word, her brief reply, for which the whole world was waiting.
Still we wait. For God's constant coming in our lives. This Advent, as we make way for the light, life, and love of God coming among us, we wait alongside the woman of wonder and expectancy who, together will all the angels and saints, still waits for our full and final yes to the gift of Love Incarnate. "Reply in haste." |