This Advent feels different somehow – like there is some new fragment of truth dangling just beyond my reach. I find myself straining as if to hear some whisper in the winter cold. I stare at the trees behind our house with their barren arms extended. They are reaching for something, too, I think. Although I have all my Advent resources in a neat little pile – new booklets from wise and holy people to enrich my prayer – there is something more for which I am longing – some inexplicable reality that feels close but just beyond my reach. It isn’t just Christmas. Christmas will come no matter what. I am longing and all I know is that the longing must be a gift. It must be for my blessing.
As I reread some old Advent blogs, I noticed a thematic trend – a theological premise, really. Advent makes all waiting holy. I want to walk that one back a bit. All waiting isn’t the same. Waiting for a cup of coffee is qualitatively not the same as waiting for bottled water after a hurricane. Waiting for the next available operator is not the same as waiting for a son or daughter to finish a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Waiting for a tax refund is not the same as waiting for biopsy results. It’s just not. I’m not sure why making this distinction feels so important. I guess the degree to which I find myself longing this Advent feels very different – as if the Advents past were practice for a varsity game.
It is in our deepest longings that our need for God becomes evident. When we are sated – spiritually, physically, emotionally – the sacred void in us that can only be filled by God seems, well, a little less empty. The times of interior plenty are a gift to be sure, but, when we ache for something beyond ourselves – some new knowing, a clear, purposeful direction, a way to move forward – then, we give God the chance to be God. Sometimes, with all my plans and dreams, I forget that each day should be lived as if it were my last. I forget that prayer isn’t to move God’s heart but as C.S. Lewis suggested, to reorder my own. I forget that fear and worry are the spiritual equivalent of a flat tire! I’ve decided to welcome this longing. Instead of seeking relief in “practical” solutions, I am embracing the dis-ease. Yes, something’s coming…and in this holy season I have permission to just be and make ready my soul.
With all we are, we wait for God, the Lord, our help, our shield.
Our hearts find joy in the Lord; we trust God’s holy name.
Love us Lord! We wait for you.[1]
Peace and love to you all…
Vicki
[1] The International Committee on English in the Liturgy, The Psalter (Chicago, IL: Liturgy Training Publications, 1995) Psalm 33:20-22.
God is Always More 