On Advent and Active Waiting

Most Americans I know despise waiting. In fact, we do just about everything we can to avoid waiting. And when we do find ourselves waiting, we try to pretend that we’re not. We attempt to look productive. We read books or magazines. We stare blankly at televisions, or laptops, or we mess with our phones or IPods. And our culture provides us with constant aural and visual stimulation distracting us from the wait, distracting us from ourselves, distracting us from the world around us.

The problem with waiting is that it feels like we’re doing nothing. And so we attempt to eradicate waiting from our everyday lives. We constantly pass over these fantastic opportunities to practice this crucial life skill. It’s as though we’re afraid of waiting, afraid of being in that in-between space, suspended between now and then. Because if we turn off the TV, we might discover that we don’t know how to be together anymore. If we turn off the music, we don’t know what kind of thoughts might surface to fill the silence. If we get rid of the distractions and actually notice the world around us, we might feel compelled to do something about it. If we truly commit to waiting, we might come face to face with ourselves, with our demons, or even worse, with God. And that can be frightening.

What, then, are we to do with Advent? How do we deal with this season of waiting and preparation? How shall we wait, and for what or whom do we wait? For me, Advent is a time to prepare for transformation, particularly the kind of transformation I witness in the personal and social ministries of Jesus. It’s a time to be honest about the state of our lives, our communities and the world. It’s a time to start seeing things differently, to acknowledge suffering and injustice instead of pretending they’re not there. It’s a time to confront those things we normally mask or avoid… those things we’re afraid of discovering in the silence, in the waiting.

There’s reason why people in the bible speak so often about fearing God. There’s a reason why shepherds fall on their faces when angels appear. Because real encounter is intense. Real relationship turns your life on its head. Real connection leads to real change. And that is what God has in store for us with the Christ child. Isn’t that worth the wait?

On Memory and the Making of History

I often think of November as a month of remembrance. It begins with All Saints’ Day – a day to remember those persons who once lived and moved among us in body, but whose presences now grace our lives through memory. On Thanksgiving, despite family squabbles that may temporarily cloud our otherwise sound judgment, we attempt to recall those things for which we are thankful. In other words, we gather together our memories of blessings and abundance.

As a historian, I think about memory a lot. I examine records of the past to try to unearth what the past felt like when it was still the present. A hopeless task, ultimately. I have come to question whether or not we can ever really know anything about the past – even our own pasts. Memories, after all, are not accurate snapshots of what actually happened, but the impressions our minds create about the past. Historical records tend to tell us more about their authors than about the people and events they actually describe. Historical facts, ultimately, are statements made by someone who wants us to remember a person, place or event in a particular way.

Many of the books in the bible have been written in a historical style. In books such as Exodus, our ancestors in faith offer us their memories of their relationship with God. Is it possible that they got some of the “facts” wrong? Entirely. Did they have social and political agendas when creating their histories? Certainly. Does this make their writings any less valuable today? Not one bit. We also have our own histories of following, rejecting, wondering about and wrestling with God. These stories resonate with the spirit of our ancestors. Their God is our God, their flaws are our flaws, their triumphs ours. We claim these stories not because they present us with sterile facts, but because they are shot through with the joy and challenge and pain that we encounter as followers of God traveling through the wilderness. Memory alters and time distorts, but the Spirit of God still breathes through our past, present and future. Let us remember the old, old story even as we write a new one.