Changed in the Waiting
An Advent Devotional
On Advent and Waiting
I hate waiting. And this is unfortunate because we humans spend a lot of time doing it.
We wait for our kids to get their shoes on and for the water to boil. We wait for our order to be delivered, impatiently tracking its progress each day or hour or minute of its journey. We wait for red lights to turn green, for fruit to get ripe, for spring to arrive, for labor to begin. So much of our human experience is spent waiting for things we know will eventually happen.
But there’s another kind of waiting that’s even worse. It’s the kind of waiting that doesn’t have a finish line or known outcome. This is the kind of waiting that is familiar to parents with estranged children, single adults who long to be married, or those who have suffered the injustice of wrongful conviction. This kind of waiting is heavy, sometimes suffocating. And, although the circumstances vary, it seems this kind of waiting is also built into the reality of human existence. We wait to feel at home in a new community after a big move, or at a new job after being laid off. We wait for a diagnosis, or to see if treatment will work. We wait for the fog of grief to clear, for what is wrong to be made right.
The first kind of waiting reveals our impatience and desire for control. But the second kind of waiting is accompanied by suffering and reveals the deepest longings of our souls. We long for healing, wholeness, justice, and belonging.
Time spent waiting can feel empty and purposeless, as if nothing can move forward until the waiting is over. But Advent honors our waiting with a name and a place in the progression of time. This is the season of waiting. Sometimes we may only think of Advent in terms of the first kind of waiting—we wait for December 25 to arrive, when we can finally sing “Joy to the World!” and open our gifts—but Advent is actually much more about the second kind of waiting. In Advent we not only prepare to celebrate the way Jesus came to earth two thousand years ago, but we also wait for Christ to come again. Our deepest desires are given voice as we watch and wait for King Jesus to make all things right, once and for all.
Advent is the first season of the Christian calendar, beginning the new year for the global church: We begin another cycle of time by orienting ourselves to the reality that we are a people in waiting. By definition, this means we are a people of expectation and hope—but also of longing and sadness. Perhaps most importantly, it means that we are not people who can make happen the things for which we wait. Although we may concede it reluctantly, waiting makes us admit we are not the ones controlling the story we find ourselves in. Even though we may initially resist this truth, it is actually really good news for us because what we need is so much greater than what we can make happen on our own.
When we submit to this reality, our time spent waiting can shape us—if we let it. If we assume that waiting is empty time to be filled with distractions to keep us occupied, we close ourselves off to its transformative possibilities. Change comes as we allow ourselves to sit in the darkness of our waiting and trust that there is more happening than what we can make happen.
The words of poet Marilyn Chandler McEntyre offer some welcome wisdom here.
We wait for our kids to get their shoes on and for the water to boil. We wait for our order to be delivered, impatiently tracking its progress each day or hour or minute of its journey. We wait for red lights to turn green, for fruit to get ripe, for spring to arrive, for labor to begin. So much of our human experience is spent waiting for things we know will eventually happen.
But there’s another kind of waiting that’s even worse. It’s the kind of waiting that doesn’t have a finish line or known outcome. This is the kind of waiting that is familiar to parents with estranged children, single adults who long to be married, or those who have suffered the injustice of wrongful conviction. This kind of waiting is heavy, sometimes suffocating. And, although the circumstances vary, it seems this kind of waiting is also built into the reality of human existence. We wait to feel at home in a new community after a big move, or at a new job after being laid off. We wait for a diagnosis, or to see if treatment will work. We wait for the fog of grief to clear, for what is wrong to be made right.
The first kind of waiting reveals our impatience and desire for control. But the second kind of waiting is accompanied by suffering and reveals the deepest longings of our souls. We long for healing, wholeness, justice, and belonging.
Time spent waiting can feel empty and purposeless, as if nothing can move forward until the waiting is over. But Advent honors our waiting with a name and a place in the progression of time. This is the season of waiting. Sometimes we may only think of Advent in terms of the first kind of waiting—we wait for December 25 to arrive, when we can finally sing “Joy to the World!” and open our gifts—but Advent is actually much more about the second kind of waiting. In Advent we not only prepare to celebrate the way Jesus came to earth two thousand years ago, but we also wait for Christ to come again. Our deepest desires are given voice as we watch and wait for King Jesus to make all things right, once and for all.
Advent is the first season of the Christian calendar, beginning the new year for the global church: We begin another cycle of time by orienting ourselves to the reality that we are a people in waiting. By definition, this means we are a people of expectation and hope—but also of longing and sadness. Perhaps most importantly, it means that we are not people who can make happen the things for which we wait. Although we may concede it reluctantly, waiting makes us admit we are not the ones controlling the story we find ourselves in. Even though we may initially resist this truth, it is actually really good news for us because what we need is so much greater than what we can make happen on our own.
When we submit to this reality, our time spent waiting can shape us—if we let it. If we assume that waiting is empty time to be filled with distractions to keep us occupied, we close ourselves off to its transformative possibilities. Change comes as we allow ourselves to sit in the darkness of our waiting and trust that there is more happening than what we can make happen.
The words of poet Marilyn Chandler McEntyre offer some welcome wisdom here.
What to Do in the Darkness
Go slowly
Consent to it
But don’t wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking in it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn
Go slowly
Consent to it
But don’t wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking in it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn
When we do these things, we find that waiting is not empty time at all. It is full of God’s presence, full of our own deepest desires, and full of opportunity to be changed in the waiting. In this space, the fruit of the Spirit may take root and blossom in us. When we stop trying to fill every moment with our own activity and agenda, we grow in awareness and receptivity of God’s agenda and God’s activity.
And what is this good work of God’s activity and God’s agenda? Amazingly, I find that the virtues of the kingdom l am waiting for take shape in me. We take on the characteristics of what we love, and the things we love are those for which we are willing to wait. As we name our deepest longings in our waiting, we are shaped more into the kingdom and the King we are waiting for. The virtues of hope, love, joy, and peace are the hallmarks of God's work in all of history and in our very hearts, Advent is marked by these virtues, and in practicing the waiting of Advent, we become marked by them as well. So, although I still hate waiting, I am coming to trust that the Spirit uses time spent waiting to do something good in me.
Even still, we must acknowledge that everyone enters Advent differently. In the decade or more that I've been keeping time with the Christian calendar, I’ve learned a beautiful and surprising truth. For some of us, the seasons (Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Eastertide, and Ordinary Time) help us engage with a reality that would otherwise be easy to ignore. But for others, a particular season names our current experience—perhaps one that has been going on for a long time already.
For some, the invitation to voice our deepest longings while we wait may feel like a jarring disorientation. If this is you, know that being uncomfortable doesn’t mean you're doing it wrong; instead, it probably means you’re doing it exactly right. Others are well practiced in voicing their longings because they've already been living in a state of waiting for a while. If this is you, I pray this journey through Advent gives you permission to name where you are and that it is sacred.
Whether you have been here for a while or are just arriving, my prayer is that you receive what you need this Advent.
-
The writings offered in these pages are taken from experiences of waiting throughout Scripture, including Lectionary readings for each Sunday of Advent. Reflect throughout each week on what you read, using the questions at the end of each day as a way to journal individually or prompt discussion with family members, housemates, or small group members.
Traditionally the four weeks of Advent are marked by the themes of hope, love, joy, and peace—the promises we hold onto as we wait. But these are not just things to observe from afar; they are the very gifts the Spirit seeks to grow in us as we wait. With this in mind, I offer an invitation to engage with four week-long practices as a way to receive and nurture these gifts. But it’s important to remember that these are indeed practices, not performances. The goal is to become more aware of God's presence and activity in our lives, not ace an assignment. I invite you into a posture of curiosity and receptivity as you engage with the readings, practices, and questions for each week. It’s okay if it’s unfamiliar or challenging, or if some days click better than others. We trust that the Spirit knows what the Spirit is about, even if we do not.
May we indeed be changed in our waiting.
—Michaele LaVigne
And what is this good work of God’s activity and God’s agenda? Amazingly, I find that the virtues of the kingdom l am waiting for take shape in me. We take on the characteristics of what we love, and the things we love are those for which we are willing to wait. As we name our deepest longings in our waiting, we are shaped more into the kingdom and the King we are waiting for. The virtues of hope, love, joy, and peace are the hallmarks of God's work in all of history and in our very hearts, Advent is marked by these virtues, and in practicing the waiting of Advent, we become marked by them as well. So, although I still hate waiting, I am coming to trust that the Spirit uses time spent waiting to do something good in me.
Even still, we must acknowledge that everyone enters Advent differently. In the decade or more that I've been keeping time with the Christian calendar, I’ve learned a beautiful and surprising truth. For some of us, the seasons (Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Eastertide, and Ordinary Time) help us engage with a reality that would otherwise be easy to ignore. But for others, a particular season names our current experience—perhaps one that has been going on for a long time already.
For some, the invitation to voice our deepest longings while we wait may feel like a jarring disorientation. If this is you, know that being uncomfortable doesn’t mean you're doing it wrong; instead, it probably means you’re doing it exactly right. Others are well practiced in voicing their longings because they've already been living in a state of waiting for a while. If this is you, I pray this journey through Advent gives you permission to name where you are and that it is sacred.
Whether you have been here for a while or are just arriving, my prayer is that you receive what you need this Advent.
-
The writings offered in these pages are taken from experiences of waiting throughout Scripture, including Lectionary readings for each Sunday of Advent. Reflect throughout each week on what you read, using the questions at the end of each day as a way to journal individually or prompt discussion with family members, housemates, or small group members.
Traditionally the four weeks of Advent are marked by the themes of hope, love, joy, and peace—the promises we hold onto as we wait. But these are not just things to observe from afar; they are the very gifts the Spirit seeks to grow in us as we wait. With this in mind, I offer an invitation to engage with four week-long practices as a way to receive and nurture these gifts. But it’s important to remember that these are indeed practices, not performances. The goal is to become more aware of God's presence and activity in our lives, not ace an assignment. I invite you into a posture of curiosity and receptivity as you engage with the readings, practices, and questions for each week. It’s okay if it’s unfamiliar or challenging, or if some days click better than others. We trust that the Spirit knows what the Spirit is about, even if we do not.
May we indeed be changed in our waiting.
—Michaele LaVigne