Fourth Week of Advent

Here Now But Not Yet

Maybe it’s my introverted nature, but give me the long seasons of the church calendar that involve waiting over a festival! I enjoy the emphasis on going deep into our hearts and souls to see what is waiting to be born. I appreciate the times of silence that are built into the services, the anticipation, and the longing. There is something beautiful and heartbreaking about living in these liminal spaces; the here now and the not yet. 

The here now and the not yet characterizes so much of my relationship with the church. We are here now, working for justice in the church and the world, but we have not yet built the beloved community. We are here now loving one another but we are not yet a whole church.

While I speak lovingly of the beauty of this season, I am less loving about the struggle that happens in the church. I am more impatient, more unwilling to sit with the longing. It’s harder for me to see that something is being born here when the injustice of it so visible and the hard work being done is so often invisible. My path to the Catholic church was inspired by the feisty workers for justice; Daniel and Philip Berrigan and Dorothy Day, but as a transgender man there is no place for me in the larger Roman Catholic church and no way to pursue my calling as a priest. I have had to find other ways to be a part of the tradition that feeds me while still following my calling. To that end, I have been ordained as an Old Catholic priest, and it has been a great fit for the work I feel called to do. But sometimes I get impatient with the lack of change I see in the larger church. Why aren’t we moving more toward inclusion? Why are we fighting over petty things when we could be working for justice? Why is there so much deceit, arrogance, and scandal in a place where there should be none of that? It is hard to sit in the waiting time because in the silence we can hear everything that is going wrong.

Maybe that’s why Mary’s song in Luke chapter one jumped out at me the other day. She sings, “With all my heart I glorify the Lord! In the depths of who I am I rejoice in God my savior. He has looked with favor on the low status of his servant. Look! From now on, everyone will consider me highly favored because the might one has done great things for me. Holy is his name. He shows mercy to everyone, from one generation to the next, who honors him as God. He has shown strength with his arm. He has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations. He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones and lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty-handed. He has come to the aid of his servant Israel, remembering his mercy, just as he promised to our ancestors, to Abraham and Abraham’s descendants forever.” What a song! It’s both glorious and prophetic.

But here’s the thing: When Mary sang this song, nothing had really changed. She was still a young, scared girl who was pregnant and couldn’t really explain that to her community. The Jewish people were still oppressed and overrun by the Romans who occupied their land. The people were still poor and at risk. Yet Mary was able to sing that God had rescued God’s people. She was able to sing hope even though it looked like nothing had changed. 

May we, too, sing of that hope even when it looks like nothing is changing. May we, too, continue to work even if the progress is slower than we’d like it to be. For some of us that means we join independent communities where we can have our needs met, for others it means we stay and fight, for others it might mean that we need to walk away for a while so that we can heal and be rejuvenated. But we know that God is bigger than any of our structures. God can bring justice by using us as God’s hands and feet.

So in this liminal time, go deep into your spiritual practice. Rest. Renew your heart and mind. And then let’s continue with the work to bring about the not yet that we so passionately dream of.