25 Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. 26 It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. (From Luke 2)
I can almost see him standing there, a faithful and persistent man, desperate for the promised Messiah. For months, years, decades...He waited. He had received a promise, and yet the years continued to tick by without fulfillment of that promise. I wonder, what must that waiting have been like? Did he ever lose heart? Did he ever want the waiting to end, to simply be done with the agony of the unknown?
For me, this advent season has been one of wrestling, of learning hope and living into the dissonance of waiting for hope's fulfillment. I have written before about this dance, this uncomfortable and sometimes awkward exchange between myself and God. I beg for this wait to end, or for the desire to go away. I'm asked instead to press into the ache, to cling tighter and ask, "How do you want to reveal yourself to me in this season?"
Our culture masquerades hope as a cheery emotion...a kid the night before Christmas. It would seem, though, that hope birthed without pain is a cheap counterfeit. Paul says, "We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope" (Romans 5:2).
For Simeon, hope meant years and years of praying and pleading for the redemption of Israel. For Simeon, hope meant waiting...and waiting...and waiting. For Simeon, hope meant no answer for decades, but a choice to keep asking, to keep searching, to keep waiting anyway. In her book Every Bitter Thing is Sweet, Sara Hagerty describes hope as "the awkward intimacy of believing that He might say no while asking expectantly that He says yes."
For me lately, waiting has come dressed up as singleness. Being single is hard and can be very lonely. It is easy to enter into discontentment, to notice everyone around me who has what I want. As I wrote in my journal many weeks ago, it often seems far easier to give up hope, to numb my desires because "the risk of them sitting on the table unmet seems too great." When I choose to press into this waiting space, however, I find that I can know God in new ways. While this season has not been easy, I have come to know a God who tenderly engages my heart. A couple months ago, I wrote the following in my journal:
You are the Husband-God, who longs to KNOW me intimately and wholly, who wants to incite passion and desire in me for himself.
You are the Husband-God, who calls to the broken places in me and wants to tenderly care for my vulnerability.
You are the Husband-God, who wants to provide extravagantly for me.
You are the Husband-God, who delights in partnering with me on this journey, who gives me co-authority to change the world with him.
You are the Husband-God, and I long to know you as such.
I have despised this waiting space. I have filled it with 'Why-me's" and "how-much-longers," when I should have instead filled it with "I long to know you deeply as Husband-God." Forgive me for wishing this sacred space away. Help me to ask the question, "What do you want to teach me about yourself in THIS, Jesus?" when my flesh protests. Help me to vulnerably open my heart to you, even with all its desires and longings uncovered bare before you.
Hope is hard. Quite honestly, it sucks sometimes. But the alternative is a dead heart, and a lesser knowing of the God who continually pursues me. This advent season, I am choosing to enter into hope, to a deep and intimate knowing of God that comes only through the dissonant chord of waiting for a promised resolution. This advent season, I will remember Simeon...I will remember his faithful waiting, and I will remember his worship when the fulfillment of God's promise to him finally stepped into the temple courts. I will press into this advent of my heart, into knowing Jesus in the sacred space that is waiting.
"Moved by the Spirit, [Simeon] went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying:
'Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you may now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and the glory of your people Israel'" (Luke 2:27-32).
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