The promise of Advent is that God will come (Isaiah 35:1-10), not just once, but always again. It’s
just who he is. He cannot stay away from
his beloved. And when he comes, he will
bring life.
But in the meantime we wait. We do not, however, wait as people without hope. We wait in the full assurance that he will,
indeed, come. It is not a question of if,
but a question of when.
Therefore, we can strengthen our feeble hands and our knees
that give way. We can thrive in our
waiting and hoping and groaning, rather than merely trying to survive. We can live in hope instead of fear.
We can live in the assurance
that one day this wilderness in which we live will be turned into a place of
pools; dry sand will become bubbling springs. That is simply how the life of God within and
among us is—it gushes forth. It is not a
trickle, as it sometimes feels like in this life, but a torrent. It is a wellspring of life and love. Jesus called it living water, David
described it as a cup that continually overflows, and Paul described it
as being filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
We get but a tiny taste of
that on this side of eternity, but one day we will get it in full. One day we will be filled with a fullness we
never imagined possible. I don’t know
about you, but I can’t wait.
Thank you, O God, that you are, and have
always been, the God who comes. It is
just who you are. Fill our hearts and
souls and minds with the joy and the hope of that coming, so that we might live
our lives in this world in a way that anticipates, and even participates in,
the life to come. Amen.
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