Waiting for the Promise

This is an adaptation of the article I wrote for the December 2012 Newsletter of St. James United Methodist.


As December begins, we turn to the Advent season, which is traditionally a season of waiting.  Waiting for the story of the Nativity to unfold.  Waiting with the prophets of centuries past for righteousness to arrive and redemption to appear.  Waiting with cousins, both expectant mothers--one older than usual, who bears a prophet, one younger than usual, who bears The Promise.  Waiting with shepherds and angels, scholars and innkeepers.  All of them waiting for The Promise to arrive.  
The Promise of God’s everlasting presence. The Promise of God’s never-ending love.  The Promise of God’s healing for bodies and nations.  The Promise of God’s mercy for sinners.  The Promise of God’s justice for the oppressed.  The Promise will come, our traditions tell us, if we have the patience and perseverance to wait for the Promises to come true.  
So, friends, wait with me.  Let us both set our eyes upon the same horizon, waiting for the Promise once again to be fulfilled.  For just like the first time the Promise showed up, it still happens in unlikely environs.  This year it may happen in a hospital room, maybe even the one from which I write this. Or it could happen in a nursing home, a jail cell or a mobile home, a sidewalk or a Sunday School class, or a sanctuary.  
I remember one season of waiting in particular, a season like many before and many since, in which people of goodwill gathered to sing Christmas Carols and read the Christmas story. We did so at a nursing home, and we made certain that Mrs. Edmunds, a long-time member of the church, would be present. Mrs. Edmunds being present was typically in body only, with her eyes often angled toward the ceiling and her arms and face contorted in ways that made communication in either direction nearly impossible. On this particular occasion, the church members who gathered were predominantly children. And after the strains of Jingle Bells, Joy to the World, and Away in a Manger had faded, I began to read Luke's version of the Nativity. It was just after the shepherds had returned to their fields, glorifying God for all they had heard and seen, that Mrs. Edmunds, suddenly bright-eyed and fully present in a way none of us had experienced for years, looked at the gathered Christmas throng and said in a strained but clear voice: "It is beautiful."
So look with me--wait with me--for the beautiful Promise, who will not forget us or forsake us because to do so would be to deny the very Promise he has come to fulfill.  

Waiting with you for the Promise,

Chris