We have, whether we like it or not, a lot of time to practice waiting. There are areas, as a culture, in which we are compelled not to wait--we spend money we don't have to buy things we don't need, we chase bigger and better because we can't abide the small lot we have been given, we pay a little extra here or there not to have to wait in line. We are always cheating time, or so we like to think.

But time will not be cheated. In God's economy, especially, we are invited into a relationship with time that involves words not of transaction, but of foolishness: Wait. Be Still. Pray. And there is no season more caught up in the waiting than the season of Advent. This year, Advent begins on December 1st, which is itself an invitation to wait for the Christmas season, and carries us through December 25th when we celebrate the fulfillment of our waiting.

Advent is also a time of darkness. Some of this has to do with its temporal location in the winter: the days are getting shorter, colder, and darker. We wait in the darkness for what? For light, for a glimmer of the holy, for hope. It is no mistake that Jesus revealed himself as "the light of the world." But our eyes, often so attuned to darkness, cannot always see the light.

For a few more thoughts on this season, I talked with Karl Digerness about the importance of observing Advent in a time of darkness.

We have long used the language of story to talk about the grand narrative of the Bible. What does this season of Advent say to us about our place in the story of God?

In Advent, we locate ourselves in the story of Scripture by identifying with the people of Israel. They were a long suffering people, waiting often without word or sign from God, without any prophets, especially in that truly dark place between the end of the Old Testament and beginning of the New. We remember that God was faithful in that time, even when he was quiet.

But we also remember that we live now, when Christ has come. We are walking through a story in which the light broke into the darkness long ago, when there wasn't a light. We live in the already/not-yet. Christ has come, but there is a new longing now, knowing that Christ will come again. We are waiting for the ultimate fulfillment, but our waiting is not hopeless or aimless. Our hope has an object, and that object is the crux on which our story hangs.

For those of us who are new to the liturgical calendar, it can seem that Advent is just the same thing as what our culture calls "the holiday season." Is that true?

Advent is the beginning of the Church's calendar year. It is not Christmas yet, although for our culture it is. Culturally, Christmas time ends as soon as you open the presents, but it's very different for us. It is a countercultural act to participate in Advent because it is a time of waiting. God is reclaiming our time as his time, his calendar as our calendar. We will be singing songs of waiting and longing, knowing the world is not as it should be yet. We are waiting for that final peace and shalom. The birth of Christ on the day of Christmas is the beginning of our celebration, not the end.

So if Christmas is the beginning of the celebration, it makes sense that Advent is a time of waiting in the darkness. But why do we begin the Church year with Advent? Why not simply begin with Jesus's birth?

In many ways, Advent is parallel to Lent--a penitential, reflective season leading into a season of celebration. The unique thing about Advent is that we get to focus on and reflect more deeply on the incarnation, which was God taking on flesh, becoming one of us.

So the liturgical year begins not with the birth of Christ, but with the waiting for his arrival. It's so important to learn how to wait--waiting is a necessary part of our spiritual journey and discipleship; a necessary part of the Christian life. In learning to wait, we are able to go deeper, to be still in the waiting. It's a crucial part of discipleship. We must learn to sit in the mystery and the messiness of Advent, in the pregnant, teenage, unmarried girl; how the Annunciation was so unexpected; how the foolish shamed the wise; how the marginalized and outsiders became some of the first to welcome Messiah. The light breaks into the darkness, and that is why the Church year begins with Advent.

In many ways, we are setting the stage to be able to receive Christ. This preparation requires a posture of waiting and an ability to be okay with mystery. We get to learn to humble ourselves to the mess. At Seder dinner, Jews follow a specific order to the meal, beginning with a mix of bitter herbs to remind themselves of the time of darkness and slavery in Egypt so many centuries ago. Only after remembering the bitterness of being enslaved do they move on to the sweet charoset of the next dish. The darkness must precede the light.

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