Waiting

The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord.

- Psalm 27:1, 14

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given.

-Isaiah 9:6

Fulfill now, O Lord, our desires and petitions as may be best for us.

- From a prayer of St. Chrysostom

Today is the first Sunday in Advent. Today Christians begin a season, not of Christmas celebration and festivities, but of contemplation, of preparation, of waiting.

Entering into Advent this year is interesting for me. On the one hand, the impending, unknowable arrival of my own baby has taken over nearly all my energy, time, and thoughts, leaving little for contemplating or preparing for His coming.

But on the other hand, as I've mentioned each year, Jesus' birth and incarnation is all about becoming human - God with us, God made man. There's only mystery there, and flesh. In this story that we celebrate each year the basic component is a young woman, far from home, riding on a donkey and sleeping on the ground while her bones and joints are stretching and separating, while her body is large and uncomfortable, while her bladder and spine are kicked, her internal organs jostled and moved, while she has weeks and weeks of contractions. She is waiting. And while there must have been a spiritual-awe component to her waiting, surely her thoughts and time and energy in these last days were also spent primarily just getting up and down from that donkey, just getting through the day, trying to get some sleep on the hard, cold ground.

How much of her wondering was about the mystery of the Messiah, and how much of it was about the life change facing her? Labor and delivery - where would she be? Who would help her? Would she live through it? Would the child? What would it be like? Could she give as much as would be required of her without breaking?

How much of her pondering was about the role she played, the long awaited and coveted position of bearing the Christ, and how much of it was motherhood itself? The way her life would change, without her permission, without her control, without any way to guess or plan or prepare except in the least important aspects?

And then it began. She labored, she delivered, God was born among us, the Word became flesh and made his dwelling with us. But was the love she felt for him primarily as a created being to her Creator? Or was it the love of an exhausted mother who has just offered up her life to give life to her son?

My mind is not participating much in Advent this season. My toddler son will not have the benefit of beginning family traditions or any number of things I would do if my focus was on awaiting Him. But in a very real sense my body and soul are participating in Advent more than they have ever done. In a way, my son and my family are as well. We are looking ahead with expectation, with hope, with fear, into the unknown. We are surrendering our hopes, our control, ourselves, to what is, to what will be. We are preparing. We are contemplating.

We are waiting.