A Joy That Cannot Be Rushed

This morning I glanced over an article in the Atlantic entitled, “What if Our Ancestors Didn’t Feel Anything Like We Do?” It was about a team of historians who are researching how our ancestors might have experienced love, anger, fear, and sorrow. Not necessarily that they weren’t psychologically equal to us, but asking whether they had the words to label emotions and sensations like we do today.

For example, at the doctor, you might describe something as a “shooting pain.” Would a society before (or distant from) arrows and firearms understand this description?

This got me thinking about the plethora of emotions we find in the Advent narrative, and there indeed are many. From Zechariah and Elizabeth to Mary, Joseph, and everyone they knew, emotions ran the gamut from doubt and fear to joy and thanksgiving, and everything in between.

In her book, The Art of Living in Advent: 28 Days of Joyful Waiting, Sylvie Vanhoozer reflects on her childhood growing up in Provence, France, the deep Advent traditions tied to the pastoral landscape and slow rhythm of life. I think she gets close to how those in Ancient Israel may have experienced the first Advent; the first Christmas.

For she writes,

“The art of living in Advent is all about cultivating this sense of confident expectancy: Christ is coming, but he cannot be rushed.” (p.29)

It’s not uncommon this time of year, to hear the admonition, “slow down and savor the season.” But we don’t often think about Jesus’ speed, or lack thereof. God could have sent His son fully formed, beamed down from heaven. But instead, He chose to give Jesus the same journey as every earthly baby. What was nine more months, or thirty three years of waiting after 400 years of silence? 

God had something huge and miraculous in store for His people, much bigger than anyone could have hoped for or imagined. Yet the promise was fulfilled in the most unexpected way ever. 

I like the way Vanhoozer puts it: 

“The nativity scene takes place mid-story, but it recounts the birth of the one who is in truth the beginning and end of all stories.”

She goes on to say, “Advent, we have seen, is an integral part of a greater story when things happen at just the right time: ‘But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law’ (Galatians 4:4-5) . . . But be assured: God’s gift is worth waiting for.” (p. 29-30)

“Remember that your story is woven onto the larger tapestry of what God is doing in our world. Remember that being adventish means joyfully watching and waiting for Jesus’ advent to make sense of your life too.” (p. 40)

I often struggle with what it means to joyfully wait. But joy isn’t always displayed in bouncing happiness or jubilant expressions. Joy can be as simple as “a source or cause of delight.” And I have to believe the ancient world found delight much easier than we do today, with colored pixels floating before our eyes almost 24/7.

And so I adjust the phrase: to wait with delight. 
Mary and Elizabeth both felt it, at the leaping of the babies in their wombs. But before that, I trust they lived their lives delighting in the work and success of a harvest, the routine of a day well done, the rest of Sabbath after a long week of toil, the comfort of their communities and faith.

Vanhoozer is thinking along these lines when she writes,

“We live in cultures that have forgotten how to wait for things—life itself!—to grow. Instead of being a time of preparation or joyful anticipation, waiting is often something we unhappily endure. The art of living in Advent has therefore become a lost art . . . But there is always something to be done to tend what God is growing as we wait for Christ to come again. He will come at the right time. In the meantime, he has given us the gift of time—a time to grow in the grace and knowledge of Him, and a time to serve others.” (p.43)

I don’t know about you, but I find great delight in watching seedlings grow each Spring. It is miraculous, every time. Indeed, buying fully bloomed plants from the store are just as delightful, but there is something important that happens as one joyfully waits and participates in the growing process.

It was no accident that Jesus spent his first nine months as a human wrapped in embryonic fluid, sustained by nutrients Mary’s body provided. The fullness of time was not to be rushed. The fullness of Mary’s joy would not be rushed either.

Advent helps us become better watchers and waiters. We finish each season, better prepared to notice God’s presence and movement in our lives. And the waiting helps us remember that we are waiting for a greater Joy still to come. 

Vanhoozer says, “In Advent, we enter into the beginning of the fullness of time” (p.27). And some day soon, this weary world will rejoice because Christ has come again.