Hammered by Dr. Seuss

Where was it, in this world of quirky factoids (new word for me) and interesting anecdotes, I have read or heard that now that I'm over seventy years, I have spent three years of my life just waiting? Waiting in line at the grocery store; waiting in the doctor’s office; waiting in traffic; waiting for lunch to be ready; waiting for recess time at school; waiting! In his book, Oh, the Places You’ll Go, children’s author Theodor Geisel, or “Dr. Seuss,” describes a place called “the waiting place.” It sounds like a  place I have often and still do inhabit. He describes it as a useless place where people are just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go

or a bus to come, or a plane to go

or the mail to come, or the rain to go

or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow

or waiting around for a Yes or No

or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Standing outside the Radio City Music Hall Monday evening with Bettyann, Amy, Jason, Sarah and Brayden, I recognize that sometimes waiting feels useless and futile. On other occasions, I ask myself: what am I exactly waiting for? Waiting is an in-between space difficult to inhabit for me.  I recognize that my patience is tried; restlessness is a constant companion, or at times, listlessness that comes from the tedium of waiting. I've always admired the person in front or back of me, in the same line that has the ability to wait patiently.  Should I also dawn an expensive set of noise cancelling head phones, hook them up to my iPhone and listen to whatever? Or take the opportunity of breathing deeply, holding that breath ten seconds and releasing it slowly while getting in touch with my true feelings…………..hummmmmmmm?

Waiting has always been counterintuitive in my A-type personal world. And now, that high speed Internet, instant messaging, and fast food, has been added to my life, waiting for anything seems like an eternity. Moreover, in a world where so much beckons to me, waiting asks me to be still and this can feel meaningless. The English poet John Milton once wrote that those who serve, stand and wait. Wow! I'm new at discovering that waiting asks me to be disciplined, self-controlled, and emotionally mature as the world speeds by me. I'm learning slowly that in a way, waiting requires my unshakeable faith, hope, and love that seems to trump (no pun intended) all the action done for the sake of expediency. So, Bill, waiting is often a good, hard work.  Don't you take pride in doing good, hard work?

Then I also notice that waiting also comprises a large part of my Christian worldview. But it is not the useless waiting of “the waiting place” that Dr. Seuss writes about, nor is it simply waiting for certain things or events, a trip or a raise, or even fulfillment. I am awaiting the return of Jesus in glory.

Isn't this season of Advent a season of hope-filled, lament-filled, expectant waiting? I know that Advent looks forward in anticipation of Christ’s return, but also remembers all those who awaited his arrival into this world more than 2,000 years ago. Haven't I practiced Advent, for some years now, as a season of stillness, reflection, and honest longing in the dark? And as such, is the antithesis of all the busyness and chaos and boxed happiness in the Christmas shopping season?

I can remember, sixty years ago, when our family's mentality wasn't overwhelmed and didn't demand a fever pitch of activity. Nor can I remember any of my freinds personas, either. Sadly, it seems, any more, any waiting folks might do is more likely waiting for Christmas to be over. And rather than being filled with hope and joy I, being no saint, at times, have also been caught waiting in a state of anxiety, or cynicism, or harried indifference toward the miracle that is upon the world. I confess that in all my busyness, I've missed the gift of waiting with expectation and longing.

Not this year! I'm committing to excepting the invitation of Advent season which is to watch and wait for the coming of the King, to wait for the Christ who comes in new ways into the very messy stuff of my live—not just one season a year. I know I cannot hope to catch a glimpse of Him without the hard waiting for Him to show up.

Of course, there are those, like the gentleman I visited with the other day, who feels he has been waiting far too long for God to show up in the messy details of his life. Giving up on waiting seems to hold the promise of rest, as the work of waiting for God to act is wearisome. Just as there were those in the early days of the Christian movement who began to ask with lament “Where is the promise of his coming?” and those who mocked the divine silence as inactivity, it is not difficult to understand how those who wait for answers—for an end to suffering, for reconciliation, for transformation—are tempted towards cynical despair.

I ask: Is there hope in remembering that Advent invites my friend also to wait for the God who does show up? Can encouragement be found in the celebration of Christmas, for him, a celebration proclaiming that God has come and that God will come again in the waiting of today? Is there reason for my friend to watch and wait for a God who arrives in ways he could not expect? As a helpless baby born in the dregs of a stable? My answer is yes, a thousand times, yes! 

Thank You, heavenly Father for the church's recognition of Advent.  May You receive glory in the way I recognize it as well.  Waiting.  I except the invitation.  I pray for my friend and all those like him.  My Your Spirit help him to take the required courage to wait. For I know from personal experience the very act of waiting opens eyes, hands, and heart to receive  Your most precious Gift.
Amen