The Art of Waiting

Scripture Reflection for the First Sunday of Advent (November 27, 2011)

Scripture Readings:
Is 63: 16b-17, 19b; 64:2-7
Psalm 80
1Cor 1:3-9
Mk 13:33-37

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Today we begin a new liturgical year, and the New Year’s resolution that Jesus proposes for us is “Be watchful! Be alert!” What are we on the watch for? Why do we have to be alert? It certainly isn’t Christmas, because we know that it is going to come. In many ways, it’s not even about the “end of the world,” or the “second coming of Christ,” even though the readings today talk about them. Chances are, frankly, that these won’t come very soon—although, as we all know, predictions of this are always being made.

No, what we need to be watchful about, be alert for, is what is right before our eyes. God is always “rending the heavens and coming down,” as Isaiah says in the first reading. We are always able to receive “the grace bestowed on us in Jesus Christ,” and to be “enriched in every way,” as Paul tells us. What Jesus calls us to today, I think, in calling us to “Be watchful! Be alert!” is to practice the art of waiting. This is something we can begin in Advent, the season of waiting, and continue all throughout the year.

Waiting really is an art. George Niederaurer, now the Archbishop of San Francisco, wrote an article a few years ago in which he tells “A Tale of Two Benches.”^[1] One kind of bench on which we can sit is a “bus bench.” When we sit here we are concerned with sitting for the shortest time possible, because the most important thing is to catch the bus. So we look at our watch, we look down the street to see if we can catch a glimpse of the bus, or we read a newspaper or a novel to pass the time more quickly. We are certainly watchful and alert, but only in terms of the bus that we need to catch. There’s no art here.

Another kind of bench, though, is the “park bench.” When we are on the park bench we are there to sit on the park bench. We allow ourselves to feel the breeze on our skin and in our hair. We hear the birds singing. We feel the warmth of the sun. We smell the flowers. If we can relax ourselves and quiet our minds we can experience all sorts of things—ants scurrying to and fro, bees buzzing around, the beauty of children playing nearby, the wonder of a couple in love on the next bench. When we are on the park bench, we see the world as it really is—beautiful, amazing, an incredible gift. The more open we are, the more we experience; and the more we experience the more human we become. On the park bench we practice the art of waiting.

Recently I read an article by another archbishop that says much the same thing as the reflection about the park bench. The author is Rowan Williams, the present Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury, and the article is entitled “Being Disciples.”^[2] Williams talks about prayer as similar to bird-watching. I’m no bird-watcher, but I think I get what he means. He says when you bird-watch you have to sit still, often for a long time, and often in the cold and rain with nothing much happening. But it is precisely that discipline, that art, that prepares you for the moment when the brilliant cardinal or the rare oriole comes into view, or when you see two goldfinches playing together or a robin tugging on a worm. And then it’s all worth it.

This is the kind of watchfulness and alertness that I think Jesus calls us to in today’s readings. Williams describes it as “living in expectancy—living in awareness, your eyes sufficiently open and our mind sufficiently both slack and attentive to see it when it happens.” Hearing what “no ear has ever heard,” seeing what no eye has ever seen is what Isaiah says will happen to those who wait for God. Experiencing “the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ,” as Paul says. Greeting the “Lord of the house” when he comes unexpectedly.

This Advent, spend a lot of time on the “park bench,” or in the “woods” “bird-watching.” Be watchful! Be alert! It will be worth it. Jesus comes again all the time.

We are “Catholics on Call.” All we need to do is to practice the art of waiting.