The promise of Advent is that God will come (Isaiah 35:1-10), not just once, but always again. It’s just who he is. He cannot stay away from his beloved. And when he comes, he will bring life.
But in the meantime we wait. We do not, however, wait as people without hope. We wait in the full assurance that he will, indeed, come. It is not a question of if, but a question of when. Therefore, we can strengthen our feeble hands and our knees that give way. We can thrive in our waiting and hoping and groaning, rather than merely trying to survive. We can live in hope instead of fear.
We can live in the assurance that one day this wilderness in which we live will be turned into a place of pools; dry sand will become bubbling springs. That is simply how the life of God within and among us is—it gushes forth. It is not a trickle, as it sometimes feels like in this life, but a torrent. It is a wellspring of life and love. Jesus called it living water, David described it as a cup that continually overflows, and Paul described it as being filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
We get but a tiny taste of that on this side of eternity, but one day we will get it in full. One day we will be filled with a fullness we never imagined possible. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait.
Thank you, O God, that you are, and have always been, the God who comes. It is just who you are. Fill our hearts and souls and minds with the joy and the hope of that coming, so that we might live our lives in this world in a way that anticipates, and even participates in, the life to come. Amen.