Advent and I have had a rather up-and-down relationship. As
a child, I didn’t appreciate the meaning and rich tradition behind a season
devoted to waiting and anticipating, and to me it was a weird church thing that my family participated in, but my friends’ families didn’t. As an adult, I’ve come to more fully
appreciate taking time to observe and be present in seasons of preparation,
whether that’s getting ready for a specific date on the calendar or enduring
valuing seasons of waiting that lead into new chapters in my life. This week
I’ve had a little bit of time to think and read about Advent, and I’ve been
struck anew by the rich anticipation and mystery of this season.
As a kid, those four weeks leading up to Christmas seem to
last forever. Amid the cookie baking and the shopping and the decorating and
the wrapping, the days between the lighting of each new candle seem to drag on
and on. But how much more did it drag on for Israel, anxiously awaiting not
presents under the tree, but for the Messiah? The waiting had been going on not
for weeks, but for centuries. They had endured many trials such as captivity
and control by enemy nations, all the while desperately clinging to the promise
that God would make good on His word and send a Savior.
They didn’t even know exactly
what they were waiting for: a Messiah, yes, but how would He arrive? When would
He arrive? What would be His solution to the pain and problems they faced? It
was all a mystery: a beautiful, glorious mystery that forced them to release
control and trust that God would do what He had promised, in His way and in His
time.
Then finally – after so many years, and countless hardships
– He came. But no one could have imagined or predicted how God would choose to
fulfill that promise of long ago.
An unwed teenage mother.
A dirty stable in an insignificant
little town.
A group of lowly
shepherds.
A tiny, helpless
baby.
Not exactly the powerful military savior they were
expecting. As He seems to love to do, the Father shattered all expectations of
what this Savior would look like and what He would come to do. Rather than staging
a military assault, Jesus showed and preached love to our neighbors. Rather
than enforcing the old law, Jesus brought grace. Rather than wielding the power
He absolutely possessed or claiming the fame and recognition He so rightly
deserved, Jesus came in the most helpless, dependent form we could fathom: a
baby.
How often do I expect the Lord to show up or move in a
certain form or fashion, then get frustrated when He, in his infinite wisdom,
chooses to do things differently? How often do I get impatient in the seasons
of waiting, when things just aren’t moving fast enough for me, when He is a God
who works completely outside of my world bound by time? How often do I demand
to know the details and beg to see the next steps when He is asking me to instead
embrace the mystery and learn to trust Him more?
Anticipation.
Uncertainty.
Mystery.
Waiting.
Hope.
Fulfilled
promises.
I’m learning (slowly) to be fully present in the waiting. To
release control. To embrace the mystery. To appreciate Advent, and not just Christmas. To more deeply worship
the Savior who chose to save the world not through power, but through the humility of a helpless baby.
O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel
