Advent. A season of waiting.
A season of hope.
And perhaps, a season of sorrow.
I have realized as I have drawn closer to Jesus over the years, that life's experiences are not always filled with transcendent joy and mirth. Yes, it has been filled with beauty and laughter and genuine thanksgiving, but it has also been messy and painful. I try to make sense of this in light of what I read in Scripture, and I think I have realized that this is actually the norm. When Jesus truly comes crashing into our lives, transforming our very nature, stripping away our pretense and our arrogance and the things we thought we knew and understood... there is pain. There is difficulty. There are tears. Jesus was described as a man acquainted with sorrow, and he invites us to share in that sorrow. For if God is in sorrow, perhaps it is in entering sorrow that we encounter God.For sorrow comes to us when our eyes are opened to the world. When, at last, the blinders of privilege and selfishness are removed - we are made able to see more completely the world in which we live. We are free to witness the suffering of millions as they hold out weak hands and beg for extra change to provide a momentary relief from the harshness of reality. We are able to see the malnourished bodies of the hungry, the strained faces of the diseased and overlooked, the trembling hands of the oppressed. We are given space to encounter the weight of broken systems that dehumanize our neighbors, overlook the plights of women and children trafficked across national borders, and overwork impoverished people to near death for very little pay (sometimes without their consent) so that we can enjoy the products we love. And we are able to watch the bodies of men fall lifelessly to the ground as their very breath is choked out of them.
And when you have known Jesus, truly known him... these things matter. They don't just matter. They keep you awake at night. They claw and rip and make their way into the very center of your chest until you can hardly breathe. Because we know - this is not how God intended it to be. With hands outstretched, tears pouring down our faces, and with heads so weary we can't even lift them to the heavens, we cry out:
"O, my God! Why? How can you let this go on?"
And to me, that has become the very essence of this season of Advent.
Waiting on God, imploring him to return, begging him to come back to this earth and make things right again. Hoping with all the strength we can muster that he will release the chains of oppression, break the yokes of sin, set free those held captive, bring everlasting festival-joy. Believing, even if it is of little faith, that he shall return and his name will be Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
We wait on Immanuel, our God-With-Us. We wait on the One who is familiar with sorrow and pain. We wait on the servant King to come and place our governments upon his shoulder that he may rule over his people with justice, peace, love, and grace. We wait on the humble Messiah born into poverty and scandal, to renew all things as he tenderly wipes away the tears from our eyes at last. We wait on the Holy One of God to open the doors to his house that we may feast on his abundance
and joy - our human family at last reunited without the walls of hostility that keep us apart from one another.
We wait, we mourn, we weep, we hold each other and find the strength to look to heaven -
And when our eyes find the shining star keeping watch over our broken land by night, we rejoice and know - the Hope of our world is coming again.
Yes, Lord Jesus! Come again!
