Advent Begins With Waiting

Advent is not Christmas yet. Advent is the long, dark hallway with the door at the end and the flicker of light underneath it. Advent is the discipline of waiting, well, in the company of those who waited before us — Israel under the silence of the prophets, Mary in the months between annunciation and birth, the magi tracing a star across deserts.

We are people of impatience. The cultural rhythm tells us that any waiting is a malfunction to be solved by faster shipping or instant delivery. But the soul does not move at the speed of the next-day truck. The soul has its own seasons, its own ripening, and the Lord has not abandoned us to the calendar of efficiency.

This Advent, let the waiting itself be holy. Don't rush to feel ready. Let your incompleteness be a kind of prayer. The One we wait for has already promised to come. Our task is to keep the lamps trimmed and the heart turned toward the door.

The pattern is older than we are. The grace is older than the pattern. We come to it not as students at the head of the class but as children at the foot of a long table, where the meal has been ready for a while and the chair has always been waiting for us. Sit. Receive what has already been given. The day will be longer than you think, and the bread will be enough.