Are we there yet?
It is the classic question of any kid who travels and anyone who traveled as a kid. Eagerness and anticipation, longing and desperation, all combine into the perfect expression of the unbearability of the present moment. We find a richer expression of the same sentiment in Psalm 13:
How long, O Lord? Wilt thou forget me for ever?
How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?
2 How long must I bear pain in my soul,
and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
3 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
lighten my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death;
4 lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him”;
lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.
5 But I have trusted in thy steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation.
6 I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me.
How long, O Lord? is the prayer equivalent of, Are we there yet? The present circumstances are unbearable, and like restless children in the back seat, we pester the driver. Will that change anything besides the driver’s disposition? Will our waiting end sooner, or simply be punctuated by a rebuke?
But the Psalmist moves beyond his petulance and arrives at consolation. How? He recalls the past, what the Lord has already done for him. This makes the present bearable and fills it with meaning. We can bear waiting for things to get better now when we remember the goodness we received in the past.
Advent teaches us how to wait. Waiting with confidence is such a part of our faith that we dedicate a season to it every year. Advent is more-or-less four weeks of focused waiting for the great good that is the coming of the Lord at Christmas. Our days are filled with remembering the good God has given in the past, the benefits that came to those who waited, and how He provides the best to those who wait in confidence for Him.
To see what we need to see, look to the children, who wait in restless anticipation. We mark the passing of the weeks along the way to show how far we have come, and how far remains yet to go. The Advent wreath with its four colored candles is the kid’s odometer of Advent. Though we grownups might not fight to light the candles or blow them out, we also enjoy its beauty in tracking the time.
Advent teaches us that waiting is good. Kids’ Advent calendars dispense a treat for each day that passes toward the goal, reminding them that there is goodness even in the waiting, the waiting itself has it good points. In fact, those good things cease when we arrive at the destination. In case there be any doubt about our adult patience, there are grownup Advent calendars too, dispensing grownup treats.
We claim to be so much more mature about it than they are, and perhaps we are less frenzied in our anticipation of the good things of our Christmas celebrations. But are we that much calmer and more confident when we wait for what we need from the Lord? My guess is: no.
Advent teaches us what we are waiting for – and for Whom we are waiting. We are ever restless, dissatisfied with the present moment and eager to pester anyone we think should be making it better for us. How many people resort to petulance when circumstances are not what they want, when genuine difficulties define the time? How many people blame God, accuse Him of not acting, not caring, and being deaf to their just demands? These souls are more miserable than backseat drivers. Even we who know the living God can be miserable. Come! O come. How long the night? How long, O Lord?
The worship of the Church rescues us from this misery by walking us each year through the darkness to the light, much as Psalm 13 described. To calm our unease, Advent moves toward its consummation with reminders of all the invisible, unknown works by God in preparation for His great manifestation in the Nativity of Jesus Christ. In the great antiphon for four days before Christmas, we open our liturgical ‘Advent calendar’ and receive this gift: O Dawn of the East, Brightness of the Light Eternal, and Sun of Justice, come and enlighten them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.
We ourselves do not control the sun that gives us light and life. But we do have a light in the darkness: knowledge of the works of God who comes to save us. We must wait for Him, though; for Him to come, for Him to act. We have to remind one another that He is coming, coming to help us, coming to give us all we need. All is dark, save the light of four candles. The candles are beautiful, but – are we there yet?
Monsignor Smith
