Waiting

The woods behind my house are gray and brown, dry and frail. Empty of observable life. They are between. Between the vibrant pulsing green of summer, the burning hues of fall, and the icy white splendor of winter—void. Waiting for the passage of time to yield identity, to confer meaning to what already is, but is not seen—a living, functioning forest simply waiting for the next day, and the next, and the next. 

During Advent we wait. We are between. Barren nights remind us of the long wait for life to breathe among us. Brittle mornings stir imaginings of what it would still be like if our King had not yet slipped out of royal robes and emerged in fragile flesh like our own.

So, we wait for what we already have. We wait for Who we have already welcomed. We wait earnestly, eagerly, as our hearts cry, “Come, Lord Jesus, Come!”

And then we celebrate! We revel in the truth of Immanuel, God with us, God in flesh, our Savior among us. The very notion is too much to comprehend, this master plan of God, wrapped in mystery, but at the same time outlined in great detail in the words of the prophets who came before. Isn’t this the magnificent dichotomy of God? He reveals Himself throughout His word, but the essence of His nature, the beauty of the Trinity, will always be cloaked in holy mystery. If that were not the case, and we could understand every detail of the nature of God, would we truly believe Him to be God?

So, we sing of the virgin birth, the guiding star, the Promise fulfilled, the Gift delivered. Salvation has arrived and the world is forever changed—we are forever changed.

Soon the seasons will shift. Snow will grace those empty branches and glitter upon the dead ground. Warm air will melt the snow and invite new shoots of life to emerge. Sunlight will usher blooms and draw us out of our dens and into the newness. But even in this greenness and warmth, we will wait. Advent settles again—still. We wait for Immanuel to return. Not wrapped in a dusty white blanket but riding triumphantly on a white horse. Not meek and mild, held captive in dependent flesh, but cloaked in majesty. He will return a powerful, royal, glowing presence—victorious!

We are an Advent people. We wait for what we already have. We wait for Who we have already welcomed. We wait earnestly, eagerly, expectantly as our hearts cry, “Come, Lord Jesus, Come!”