Expecting Advent

Today I write about waiting. I set out to wonder about how the liturgical calendar trains Christians in the art of waiting. I got plenty of material out of the first season of the church calendar, and it now seems that I am offering a very, very early Advent post (and possibly an early indication that I am very, very bad at waiting.)

Much of our lives are a waiting, and this has been especially true of my first two months in this new country. Waiting for the language to kick in. Waiting for kindred spirits to show up. Waiting for the heating to work in my room. (And surely ever other waiting would be easier if only I weren't so cold!) Waiting for things to make sense. Waiting to understand why I am here. Waiting for the end of the car alarm that first sounded a few hours before I went to bed, and was still chirping when I woke up and began writing the next morning. (I say chirping because I tried to delude myself into thinking it was a cricket, which somehow would have been marginally less annoying.)

To think about waiting through the lens of the liturgical calender, I start with Advent. It is not only the first season but also my favorite, and my favorite way of waiting. I am a child again in Advent, transfixed by candles and the promise of gifts. Advent is the slow savoring of a warm beverage. Waiting for Jesus to show up around us can be a painful wait, but for me it is like the pain of a suspended note, or of a sad song. Maybe my mind is simply clouded by the Christmas sparkle of commercialism, but the disonnance of Advent always seems so close to beauty. In Advent we wait for a miracle, already knowing how and when the miracle will come. The virtues to cultivate in Advent are hope, joy, peace, and awe.

But what in life is like Advent? Maybe its like after you've bought a plane ticket and spend the weeks looking forward to a reunion, or your lunch break marking the pages of a guidebook. Advent is looking forward to a joyful celebration that operates on a clear timeframe. But life is different than the liturgical calendar in that there is no calender. No one knows how the seasons of life will come and go, nor are we able to change their course. Around Advent season I also wait eagerly for the first proper snowfall. This is maybe a bit closer to real-life waiting, because you don't know quite when to expect snow, until it just shows up.

Christmas and snow and plane tickets. I can wait respectably for any of these three. But when it comes to waiting for good things to unfold in my own life, I am neither so hopeful nor so joyful. When things take longer to happen than I want, my first instinct is to doubt that they ever will. My waiting is mostly anxious, frenzied, despairing... frustrated, petrified, pissed off.

If Advent is the season of expectant waiting, what is the name for the season of waiting for hope? How do I wait for something that I can't mark on my calendar? Is it possible to wait faithfully when you can't imagine how the things you're praying for will come into being?

If I believed that God would deliver on God's promises with the same inevitability that I believe snow will fall in winter... I would probably still hate waiting. But there would be less fear in waiting, and with freedom from fear comes the possibility of love.