Come, oh just One

Come, oh Just One, here descend…Like the rain, our drought attend…

It’s definitely dry in these parts.

News reports daily detail the impact of what is now believed to be one of the worst droughts since records were kept in this part of Texas.  What were once lakefront homes now seem strangely abandoned, their piers leading to nowhere.  Farmers planted in the Spring, and nothing came out of the ground in the Summer.   Lawns have gone to seed, and water restrictions will soon be upon us. Neighbor will no doubt turn against neighbor to secretly report those who dare to water their flowerbeds during prohibited hours.

Day after day, cloudless skies, unrelenting in their blueness, withhold from us the rain for which we have waited.

And waited.   And waited.

Waiting can be discouraging, frustrating, anxiety-producing.  In our society, addicted to instant gratification, even the shortest of waits tests our patience.  And waiting on something over which one has no control—like the rain—is a double-downer.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.

As I listened to the choir sing this well-known hymn this morning, the first Sunday of Advent, I thought of those exiled long ago who waited their entire lives to be restored to their homeland.  We lose our cool when we have to wait more than five minutes for a food order.  They waited for generations to be brought back from the Diaspora.

We enter the Advent season, a time of waiting for the Christ-child, each coming from a different experience.  For some of us, we begin from a place of abundance, peace, security.  Not such a bad place in which to wait.

And others enter Advent from a place of turmoil, despair, pain…or spiritual drought.  And waiting there can be unbearable.  The refrain, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel” is a personal and impassioned plea.  We are Israel, and we need to be restored.

The Spanish word esperar means “to wait.”  But the same word in Spanish also means “to hope.”  To me, this is what the “waiting” of Advent is about.  It is not staring in despair at the cloudless sky, waiting for the rain to come.  Advent “waiting” can lightened by the hope that Christ will eventually restore us from our exile, and attend to our spiritual drought like a soaking rain.

Prayer for today:  Come, Emmanuel, and rain your unconditional love on the dry and parched places in my soul. I wait with hope for the restoration you have promised.  Amen.

Scott Elliff, 2012