Waiting

 Slowly, she celebrated the sacrament of letting go.

First she surrendered her green,

Then the orange, yellow, and red,

Finally she let go of her brown.

Shedding her last leaf, she stood empty and silent.

She stood in silence and celebrated

The sacrament of waiting.

– excerpts from “The Sacrament of Letting Go,” by Macrina Wiederkehr

 

It’s probably a common, human, trap to fall into: we define “waiting” in terms of anticipating something in particular. In daily life we wait for the bus, wait in line at the grocery store, or wait for that repair person to show up. Some of us are waiting for marriage, for the right person to come along. Almost always, we have a specific event in mind that will be the culmination of our waiting.

But what if waiting is not always something to be endured but something sacred in itself? Earlier this Fall an old friend sent me a copy of the poem excerpted above, The Sacrament of Letting Go (I commend the whole poem to you, which you can find online). This Fall has been a season of transitions for me: starting a new job, new daycares, new routines. As I read through this poem I wonder, is there something beautiful in the understandable anxiety of leaving a toddler with an, albeit trusted, stranger? Is there something sacred in starting a new job, in that period where trust and vision are still in their early stages?

Advent is itself a season of waiting, and we are invited to remember that waiting is itself necessary and sacred. As we wait for the Christ child, the church invites you into the sacrament of waiting. Even if you feel you have shed your last leaf, you are not alone. A tree without leaves is not a void needing to be filled. We know that life exists in that tree even when we cannot see it. The same is true for individuals and communities. As we wait for the Christ Child this Advent, we can rest in the assurance not only that the Christ Child will come, but that each day we wait is itself something to be savored.

Ginny Chilton