Advent Fail; Lenten Hope

Yes, friends, I know that Advent (and Christmas!) are both over, and Lent has yet to begin. We are, as the liturgically-minded well know, pretty much smack in the middle of the first Ordinary Time. Actually, this post is most fitting during this season, as Ordinary Time is a season of growth and hope of life in Christ.

Advent Fail.
Advent is a time of preparation and joyful anticipation. It is the season when we, as a Church, remember Israel's waiting and longing for a Messiah, just as we wait in joyful anticipation of the coming of Christ at the end of time. We hear in the readings that we are to be ready for redemption is at hand. We light the candles on the Advent wreath as a reminder that the Light of the World has overcome the darkness.

I was ready for redemption. End of suffering? Bring it! Stepping out of the darkness and into the light? I've got my sunscreen ready!

But Christmas came. And Christmas went. While it was happy, certainly, it was not the joyful celebration I had hoped it would be. The baby Jesus had been placed in the manger, but the joy of the Lord was not placed in my heart. The pain, suffering and sadness remained.

It wasn't until after the Advent wreath was put away, and the Christmas tree and creche packed up for another year that I realized what had gone so terribly wrong.

Christ did not fail to come. I did.

I was not preparing for Christ to come. I was preparing for my suffering to end. I was not joyfully anticipating the arrival of my Savior. I was joyfully anticipating the arrival of relief from pain and sadness, and even that anticipation was not so joyful, but nearly demanded. I was so preoccupied with my own condition, so caught up in the hurt that I was feeling, so engulfed in my own self that I nearly missed it.

Christ did not fail to appear. Surely, Christ is present in the world, during Advent, Christmas, and now.

I failed to recognize Christ's presence.

I was so preoccupied with the love I wanted, but didn't have, that I failed to recognize the love being poured over me. Christ is present in that love.

I was so concerned with the lack of peace in my family that I failed to recognize the peacefulness of the snow-blanketed earth and sleeping babies. Christ is present in that peace.

I was so longing for joy on my terms that I failed to recognize the joy of dinner with old friends, and of a child's awe-filled wonder at Christmas. Christ is present in that joy.

Christ is present in the world. Like the Magi, we must seek Him.

Today I had coffee with two wonderful, faith-filled women. At one point our conversation turned to the suffering in the world, suffering far greater than my pain in the neck and unrest in my family: The earthquake in Haiti. The loss of a child. The death of a grandparent. The suicide of a college student. Our discussion did not linger on the senselessness or intensity of these sufferings. Rather, it was a proclamation of gratitude for the gift of faith during times of suffering.

Suffering is senseless, she said, until you connect it to the Cross. It is by our faith, she noted, that we have hope despite our suffering. Even when we are experiencing Good Friday, we are promised Easter Sunday.

In three weeks, we will fill our parishes, receive our ashes, and go out into the world with the words, "Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel" echoing in our ears. We will enter, with the Catechumenate, into the period of Purification and Englightenment. I'm actually looking forward to Lent this year. I hope to be purified and enlightened. I hope I can learn how to be graceful in suffering, because suffering is so often grace-filled, when we can see Christ present.

In the meantime, in Ordinary Time, I pray that I come to more fully recognize the love, peace, joy and hope of Christ present in the world.