we wait, we wait

“Whatever it is you're seeking won't come in the form you're expecting.”

                                                             Haruki Murakami

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We made a valiant attempt at Thanksgiving

that time when we ate too much,

and perhaps, drank too much

and attempted, for at least one day

to fend off the dark wolves of despair

and remember

that there are things to be thankful for

(and there are)

Today in the lingering dark

I look out the window at an almost colorless day

Following the footprints of some lonely deer

which wandered aimlessly through fresh fallen snow

the scene is both compelling and repelling

the ambiguity of darkness muted by white

softeness and cold harshness blended

and I remember that we are entering

that odd and melancholy season of Advent

I know that in the public marketplace

the true “war on Christmas” shoots forth is volleys

of color and music

with Santa reigning supreme over malls filled with

music and color and imposed good cheer

but in the church it is Advent

a relatively somber time of quiet and thoughtful preparation

we are waiting for…. ?

Ah, that is the question!

What are we waiting for?

Faith says that what we are waiting for has already come!

In the person of that baby, born in poverty, thousands of years ago

We are told this baby changed, and changes everything

Swords into plowshares

Peace, Justice, Love, Joy

But here we are in a world that is full of strife

Bursting with anger and hate, fear, trepidation

And a lot of bone deep sadness

And so we wait

What are we waiting for?

What are we hoping for?

What would it look like if “it” got here?

So we wait,

For we know not what

Yet for something we know, we feel,

deep down at the center of who we are

is there

We wait for something to burst forth into being

We have expectations

But I suspect, that when it comes, it won’t look

Or perhaps even feel, the way we expected

It won’t come through Trump

It wouldn’t have come through any president

It does not come, I suspect, through wealth, or power

It comes, I believe, in unexpected, often unheralded ways)

(as it did the first time)

For all our waiting and preparing

It is in odd and poignant moments

That Sacred Presence advents in our lives

In those all too rare times when we quiet our fears and hates

And open up our hearts

And wake up to the Sacred

In all its surprising and unusual forms

And participate, at least for the moment

In the kingdom

Which has been inaugurated, but not yet fully realized

Just as nature replays, endlessly the seasons

Our soul too participates in an endless cycle

Of waiting, and fulfillment

Celebration and struggle

Success and failure

Returning again and again and again

To that time of reflection and preparation

And we wait

Knowing that somehow,

what we wait for,

all unfolds through us or not at all

through the Advent of The One

into the manger of our heart

Swords into plowshares

Peace, Justice, Love, Joy