"The theological virtue of hope is the patient and trustful willingness to live without closure, without resolution, and still be content and even happy because our Satisfaction is now at another level, and our Source is beyond ourselves."
-Rohr, Richard
In the past, the expectation of Christ’s coming felt like a fearful event, like the horror you’d feel watching an rated R movie as a kid and hearing the metallic whir of the garage door sliding ajar. It was a way of promoting correct behavior—a Santa Clause eschatology that demanded goodness: “Make sure you’re doing X, so you don’t get Y when Jesus gets here.” I remember times in high school feeling shame for playing poker (in the church youth room) because I thought Jesus would be angry if he came back watching me go all in on the same pool table where I led a Bible study once a week. But Paul speaks of a different kind of waiting: an eager expectation of the return of a person we long to see, a stage of waiting that is “enriched” in every way, where we are not “lacking,” and where we are considered “blameless.” Instead of dreading the return of an angry father, we rush to embrace the adoring mother who has been gone on business.
The application, then, is to seek any sign of this parent’s homecoming, a vigilant investigation into the movement and revelation of Christ in the mundane—searching for His presence in the voice of a daughter, in the simplicity of washing dishes, in the smile of a spouse, in the crisp December air. When we lose the hope of the Christ moving in our lives, we have fallen asleep. Our hearts harden, and we forget to call God’s name as we fade away like a leaf on the wind, feeling as though God’s face is hidden from us.
Instead, God, may we seek you in eager expectation every day, longing for your return today, tomorrow, and the next.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Amen.
Isaiah 63:16-17;19
Isaiah 64:2–7
1 Corinthians 1:3–9
Mark 13:33–37
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