I was thinking last night about the Israelites waiting for the Messiah, about the years and years and generations even who lived under the heavy burden of God’s silence. I was thinking about how hard that must of been, how frustrating and painful and lonely.
And then I thought about God’s arrival, about how quiet and almost clandestine it was. GOD lived on earth for somewhere close to thirty years before most people knew about it—and even then, to say most people knew Jesus was God present on earth is an exaggeration.
Really, people didn’t start catching on in large numbers until after God had left.
And that brings us to here and now, a weird hybrid of the time before Jesus came and after. Because we too are waiting on Jesus to come. Just like the Israelites, we’re tired and frustrated and lonely. And we have no idea when He’ll show up.
But then, also, we’re living with God’s presence inside us, a kind of infinite incarnation. God is present on our earth—in us. But even with God in me, I still feel alone sometimes.
It’s cool to celebrate the moment Christ came to earth the first time, but it kinda leaves me yearning for something bigger, something more complete—a grand finale.
Celebrating Christmas makes me a little sad, because it reminds me that I’m still waiting.