Come, O Come

"José y Maria" | Everett Patterson Comics

I've been thinking through the nature of the Advent season. Maybe that's due to the fact that I'm living in a convent and am enjoying the fullness of the liturgical celebration in our Daily Office. Maybe it's just because I'm getting older and am finally coming to some understanding that this season means something more than I ever imagined. Maybe it's a bit of both.

I've been paying attention to the language surrounding Advent. If I could pick a theme word for the season it would be "Come." There seems to be at least one call for Christ to come to us in almost every service. We've barely hit the halfway mark of the season, and I'm already feeling the heavy weight of anticipation. Something tells me that may just be the point...

I'm finding myself in a time of life in which I am experiencing tension. Paradox seems to abound. On the one hand, I know that the world is not as it should be. There is violence and hatred and unrest on so many levels. In this lack of peace, I pray (or perhaps cry out) that Christ come, and soon! Yet on the other hand, I am forced to recognize that Christ has come. The liturgical seasons will keep ticking and we will hear the full story of Christ's coming and living and dying and rising to life again. There is some sort of reality that the Reign of God has already drawn near.

How do we hold this tension? How do we beg year after year for Christ to come, and yet hold on to the knowledge that the coming has already happened? How am I supposed to simultaneously sing the multitudes of Advent alleluias while also crying out for Jesus to come to us?

How do I hold hope and grief together?

Ah. Perhaps this is the coming I am asking for. A coming of Peace that transcends even the chaos of no rooms open to take in a poor traveling couple. A coming of Joy that goes beyond even the mess and pain of childbirth. A coming of Love that will shine forth despite all the hatred thrown its way. A coming of a Christ-child that will grow to overcome even death itself.

So many people are hurting this Advent. It feels so easy to cry out through our strangled sobs the plea that Christ heal... that Christ restore... that Christ just... come. Sometimes Advent doesn't feel like the warm, silent night that we so often associate with the season. Sometimes it just, to be frank, hurts like nothing else.

If that's where you are this Advent, please know you aren't alone. In fact, this is rather normal. You stand in a long, long line of saints and sinners who have longed for the coming of Christ. And like those who have gone before, you will also see the abundance of promised fulfillment.

It may take time, and by that I mean it may take longer than the prescribed amount of time in the liturgical calendar. If you don't feel the full glory of the Christ who has come, know that there is space for you to wait. For Christ has come, is coming, and will come again. No matter where you are in your process this Advent, no matter how the anticipation finds you, the reality of Christ's coming is the same. Christ waits with you, for Christ is Emmanuel.