December 19, 2014

Wait for the Lord

Wait for the Lord. Patiently wait. Wait for the Lord.

It’s the congregational response for the sung psalm we are using in my parish for the season of Advent.

How do we wait in times like these? In an Advent where #blacklivesmatter and #handsupdontshoot are the trending hashtags, when the non-verdicts roll in and our young people explode in rage and despair, is waiting enough?

I am waiting. I still believe that there is more yet to be revealed, that God’s power is greater than the forces of evil, that our salvation is closer now than on the day we first believed.

But I am more conscious than usual about how I wait, where I wait.

This Advent (probably any Advent), waiting with the doors closed and soft music playing and lovely candles lit is not enough. Waiting that is passive is not enough. Waiting in places that muffle the voice of Jesus, crying, “I can’t breathe!,” is not enough.

If we are waiting for God to come and save the world, we need to wait in the world. We need to wait in the broken places, in the breach. We need to wait right where God is needed most in our communities, alongside those whose hope is most diminished. We need to wait there, not just until Christmas, but all year, celebrate our rituals there, share food with the others who are waiting too.

My parish exists in a community comprised of multiple marginalized groups, all vying for a share of very limited space. I mean space in every possible sense of the word: physical space, economic space, cultural space, spiritual space. Sometimes it feels like the only way to get any space at all is to elbow someone else out of the way. We all do some of that. For us, waiting in the breach means finding ways to be together when we’d rather have some time to ourselves, finding ways to worship and celebrate together across vast differences of culture and language, finding opportunities to make way voluntarily, to invite others into our cherished corners of the world even when we worry quite a bit about whether there will still be room for us. Waiting in the breach is a little cramped, a little sweaty, a little too close for comfort. But only there can we witness to the coming of the One who has room and love enough for us all.

There are many congregations and clergy who are doing impressive in-the-breach-waiting this Advent. Some are in the most obvious places, carrying banners and signs, praying in sight of riot police. Others are less obvious, but have nonetheless discerned at least one place in their community than demands faithful, active waiting.

Where is that place in your community? How might you and your congregation move your waiting closer to the breach? You may be called to travel, to join the voices of those closer to the action of the moment. But there are probably places close to home that are broken enough to stand some faithful waiting. There may even be ways of holding the brokenness up to God in your own sanctuary, with Advent candles lit.

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