On God's Time

O Come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns with lowly exile here

Until the Son of God appear...

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

So Advent begins with a sense of longing, of waiting, of hoping and expecting. Advent seeks to create in us that same anticipating that the people of the first century were experiencing, a desperate and deep longing that God would show up and do something. The world was dark. Rome was supreme. Israel was no longer a free nation. And prophets and preachers had predicted centuries before that one day, some day, God was going to show up and make everything right. I'm guessing there was more than one person praying, "How about now, Lord? How about now? This would be a good time to turn things around."

So we don't so much celebrate Advent as we observe it. We live into it and through it. Advent is this time of waiting when we don't want to wait, of anticipating when we want to peek ahead in the story. It's not meant to be an easy time; it should be a somber, focusing time.

We sing Christmas carols far too quickly, and we put baby Jesus into the manger long before the day of his birth. We don't want to not anticipate; we want everything right now. Yesterday, after our worship service, one of our children was at the front of the chancel, looking over the edge into the large manger that is displayed there. "There's no baby," he said. I smiled. "That's because we're waiting for him to be born. He'll be here on Christmas, trust me." The child just looked at me strangely and then walked away. (I get that a lot, from children and adults.)

We're not good at waiting; we want instant gratification, right here and right now. We want God to show up and do something right here and right now. We want revival and renewal and better circumstances and more palatable politics right here and right now. Advent comes along and reminds us that God doesn't work like that. God doesn't work on our timetable. He works on his own.

Several years ago, when I was in Italy, I found myself touring lots of cathedrals. In every city we visited, there may have been many churches but there was always one historic cathedral. It was always THE cathedral of (insert the city name here). And these buildings are massive. Every time, we were told when the building was started and when it was ended, and most of the time, the people who started the building did not live to see its completion. I couldn't help but think how in this country we pop up buildings in a hurry, nothing is made to last, and we complain (and leave) if the church moves too slowly (we think) on anything. Those people understood anticipation. They understood waiting. They understood working on God's time and not our own.

God is not slow, as we think of slowness (2 Peter 3:9). God works with a longer view than we do. Advent is a reminder of that truth. We wait. We hope. We long for the appearing of the savior. He will come, and it will be glorious. But he will come on his own time, and not ours.

O come, O come, Emmanuel!