As we sit here, waiting, we wonder what we're waiting for.
The day draws nearer, and we anticipate, but the question remains.
Advent is the waiting time. What, really, are we waiting for?
It's the miracle. We sit here in the hopeful expectancy, waiting for the miracle day to become full, the Miracle to be born, to become part of this dusty, grimy, beautiful world of ours.
The Baby, born two thousand years ago of a girl perhaps my own age, a scared teenage girl, and God. The Baby who was, is and always will be the greatest gift.
O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
(from O come, O come, Emmanuel)
O come, o come, indeed. We are waiting. Waiting for the remembrance of the Word becoming flesh and making His dwelling among us.
There is beauty in the the waiting. We don't like to wait. We get impatient. But there is beauty in finding the peace to wait. He waited.
And then He came.
Came to us who were waiting. And showed up in all the grime of our earth. How in the world do we fail to see Him? We look right past the very thing we are waiting for! And yet He knew, and He still came. Still showed up, bloody and new into the stable. Still took the sorrow of our sins upon him. Still walked our dusty roads, among us the sin-filled people. Still died, covered in the blood that washed us clean.
The waiting of this season is almost over. Look hard for Him. You will see Him in the most broken places. The dirty places. The messed up ones. He will come. he always does. Only look.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John bore witness about him, and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks before me, because he was before me.’”) For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.
We have seen His Glory.