Over 2000 years ago, people waited.
Their leaders had betrayed them.
They had experienced loss; they had screamed and sobbed and grieved.
They could not find their way.
And yet.
They still hoped. Someone would come to set things right. Someone would turn the old paths into new ways. Someone would turn the famine into feasting, the loneliness into belonging.
Today, we still wait. Like those who watched and hoped so long ago. Perhaps this year we will understand the waiting of Advent like never before:
Our leaders have let us down.
Our losses continue to pile upon us, squeezing out the breath of belief from our bodies.
Our way forward seems grim and unclear.
We wait for a vaccine.
We wait to hug those we miss.
We wait to remove our masks.
We wait for test results.
We wait for stimulus checks.
We wait to gather with friends, to clink glasses, to smile with more than our eyes.
We wait for so much that remains unfulfilled.
And yet.
We still hope. We hope that someone will come again to set the shattered bones of the world right. Someone will come again to whisper life into the lifeless. Someone will come again to gently bind up the wounds of the broken-hearted. Someone will come again to pour wine and lead the dance at the feast. Someone will make all things new.
He will not come in the ways we think he should.
He will not perform according to our small expectations.
His definition of beauty will not match our own.
But he will surprise us and move us and heal us and love us into what he knows we can be. He will remind us of what we know to be true. He will hold our hopes in his hand and will guide us to the best seat at the table.
And we will know, as they did so long ago…
That he has always been worth the wait.
