Advent Reflection
As I write, our daughter, Nina, is somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, scheduled to land at JFK in two hours and two minutes. (More or less!) From there, she is to have a 5 ½ hour layover before departing for Boston, with an intended landing at 9:25 PM. She has been studying in Seville this semester, and her parents, eager for her return, are planning to be at Logan with open arms upon her arrival. Yet, as I write, predictions of a snowstorm cast doubt, raising questions about both her safety and the drawing out of this already 18 hour journey. A reservation has been made at the airport hotel in New York, just in case planes are grounded this evening, though this is complicated by the fact that we must decide by 4:00 whether to keep the reservation, which she may not need, and pay for the room anyway, or let it go. And should the planes fly, will it be possible to traverse snowblown roads to and from the airport?
I’m in a heightened state of anticipation, and of unknowing. While the future is ever a mystery, the number of things up in the air at this exact moment is higher than normal- or at least it feels that way. It’s not only the extra cup of coffee I drank this morning which creates that tingling sensation in my spine, puts all my senses on alert, causes me to be both more present in the moment, more aware of time passing, and yet more unsure of how to proceed than usual. How like Advent is this moment!
What if I had this same sense of eager anticipation for the birth of the Christ child that I have this second for the return of my own child? What if Advent were not about how much I have to do before Christmas day arrives, how overwhelmed I can feel at this busiest of seasons, or even how disgusted I am with the commercialization of this most sacred of times? What if, instead, I looked forward to this homecoming the way I look forward to my daughter’s homecoming, keen to the passing of minutes and hours, vigilant in monitoring weather reports and flight schedules, anticipating a joyful reunion, in wonder at the miracle of global air travel, even as I am uncertain of what will happen as the day progresses, or what it will all portend once the plane is on the ground?
Advent is the season of waiting, of anticipation. We know that Christmas will come. Of that, we are more sure than I am of the safe, and certainly timely arrival of my daughter. As part of me lives with that certainty, can I also embrace this present moment of unknowing, eager anticipation, of a blessing to come which will always be a blessing of mystery? Can I remember what it’s like to wait for my daughter, unsure of the weather, yet ready to weather any storm to be reunited, with Nina, with Jesus? Can I feel this deep in my bones? Can I truly live in Advent?
Father/Mother God, as I give thanks for the birth of my daughter and pray for her safe return home, may I be as grateful for the birth of your son, as eager for his arrival, as joyful that he is in my life. May I embrace this mystery, of life, of Jesus’ life, of all life.
Amen.