About seven years ago, a cat wandered into our driveway. At least, that is what Jacob, my son, tells me. We took the cat to the vet and the vet told us that she was a fine cat. We named her Cocoa.
Cocoa was loving and sweet but she had one terrible habit. She liked to pee in the corner of the living room. What a horrible stench! I ran to the grocery to stock up on cleaning supplies but she would not stop.
One evening, Jacob called me to my bedroom. He had cocoa on her back, happy and purring. He pointed to a distinctly male looking private part.
"Mom, what is that?" he asked.
"Jacob, the vet said that cocoa was a girl."
"Well, then what is that?"
"I have no idea..." I said.
Jacob called his dad in and JD too reiterated that the vet told us she was female. JD too had no idea what that thing was.
Finally, out of desperation and now convinced that the stench in our house would prevent anyone from coming the visit again, I returned to the vet.
"Oops!" he said. "Actually Cocoa is a boy. And he needs to be neutered. That will stop the spraying."
So we had Cocoa neutered. And now we call him THE COCONATOR.
And we no longer go to that vet.
What is Advent? The word means The Coming. It is the four week period before Jesus comes into the world. It is four weeks of waiting. Advent has everything to do with how we see the world and whether or not we are really awake and looking at life itself.
You see many of us live our lives without really looking at each moment with an open heart and mind. We think that we know how our lives should proceed, so we live mostly unconsciously, unaware of God's ever-changing presence around us.
While the rest of the world rushes on with their Christmas carols and jolly songs, ancient Christians used to pause and wait. They would read stories from the Old Testament, stories that promised that a Messiah would come to save then and adopt them as His own. They would hold onto those stories for dear life. They would look up, expecting that, at any moment, Christ could walk through the door and call them home. It was a wholly different way of living.
To wait in this life means to admit that you do not belong here. It is to admit that you find this world beautiful and meaningful but that it is not home, that we don't belong here, that we are waiting for something better. We wait for a place where there is true peace, where we can see God face to face.
Many of us don't realize that we are waiting until our bodies begin to fail. Once our bones begin to crumble or our heart is weakened, we begin to wonder of God might have something more complete in mind for us, a place without pain or hunger. To be a Christian means to wait.
I have begun to believe that the quality of our awareness is as important as faith itself. I would not ask a person, "Are you saved?" as much as I would ask them, "Are you awake to God's presence?"
Are you waiting for a day when you can see God face to face? Are you waiting for a kingdom in which there is no hunger or fear or poverty or suffering? Do you long for that? If you do long for it, how do you wait?
Christian waiting is not passive. We don't simply believe that Christ will come and rescue us. Jesus was quite specific when he told us that we must be alert, that his coming will happen quickly. We must practice awareness of his presence now if we are to run into his arms in the day to come.
There is nothing that puts us to sleep more than our own business. We plan out our days and schedule everything. We know exactly what each moment is supposed to look like. And we no longer see anything.
That is why we must practice awareness. It is essential, in this day and age, to schedule time with God alone. Sit down alone and listen for God. Picture Christ walking towards you. Read scripture. Like physical exercise, the heart must be trained to unburden itself of worries and distraction if we are to be alert to Christ's coming. You must practice your faith daily by praying, by listening to God. It is imperative.
Carinette is just one of fifty-seven dark-skinned, bright-eyed, Creole-speaking children who live at the orphanage in Haiti. She is seven. She eats mainly rice and beans. She plays with the rest of the kids. She sleeps under a tin roof with the other girls. She hears the Haitian rain pounding on the tin roof at night. But she is unlike all the other children. Carinette has been adopted.
Carinette's parents came to meet her. They are Americans who raised three children and decided to adopt another. They came giving her a bear, photos of their family, cookies and granola bars. She stored the teddy with the director so it wouldn't be ruined (toys don't last that long at the orphanage). She shared the granola bars and cookies. And she walks about clutching the pictures. Her parents had to return to the States to finalize the paperwork. They should come for her in a month, maybe two. So Carinette lives looking up. She is awake and alert. She has a home and they are coming for her. It could be any moment and she will be going home.
That is how we Christians must live, just like Carinette. We must cling to the pictures that we have been given, the stories from Scripture, the promises that Jesus made. We must be alert and awake, for we do not belong here. Our Lord is coming to take us home. What kind of pictures can you carry with you to remind you to look for the coming of Christ? Can you practice daily thanking God? Can you sit alone in silence? Can you watch the sun rise every morning and strive to really see it?
Be on guard that your hearts are not weighed down, Jesus says, or that day will catch you unexpectedly.
Practice awareness. It is the only way.
