The Liturgy of Waiting: How Our Encounter with the Nativity Gives Us Eternal Peace
by Deborah Rutherford
The Liturgy of Waiting:
How Our Encounter with the Nativity Gives Us Eternal Peace
by Deborah Rutherford
“Look up, you whose gaze is fixed on this earth, who are spellbound by the little events and changes on the face of the earth. Look up to these words, you who have turned away from heaven disappointed. Look up, you whose eyes are heavy with tears and who are heavy and who are crying over the fact that the earth has gracelessly torn us away. Look up, you who, burdened with guilt, cannot lift your eyes. Look up, your redemption is drawing near. Something different from what you see daily will happen. Just be aware, be watchful, wait just another short moment. Wait and something quite new will break over you: God will come.”
– Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God Is in the Manger
Just last week, God met me in the most unexpected way. I was stirring our bubbling oatmeal as my husband reported the headlines about war escalating overseas and looming snow squalls. Noting his weary face, I imagined mine as weary too, but from somewhere deep within and without, the Spirit enthused my heart. As I looked out the kitchen window, I saw a radiant light beam through the back-wood trees, and I said to my husband, "We will see the sunrise tomorrow, here, or in Heaven." In this somber moment—where there were wars and rumors of wars—our only comfort was the beautiful assurance that, as believers in Jesus Christ, we would wake up tomorrow, either here or in Heaven, in the loving embrace of our Savior.
Even with this intimate promise the Lord gave me—a literal light in the darkness—I woke up early the following morning with a racing mind. The end of the year was approaching, and I felt the uncertainty of a new career change. Then, the washer broke just after an unexpected deck rebuild. I scrambled for peace on my knees and prayed in earnest. As I turned my eyes to Jesus, peace wiped away the gathering clouds of anxiety, fear, and doubt. Sensing God's gentle nudge toward walking more by faith, I realized I needed this Advent season more than I knew because believing the promise is one thing, while living out the promise is something else entirely. We have the peace and hope of Christ to sustain us during troubled days and deep-set nights. But what does this look like in our daily lives, as we learn to wait for the coming Light?
The Advent season invites us into the beauty, splendor, and wonder of God's divine plan for mankind's redemption. It is a season of eager anticipation, a time for preparing our hearts for Christ's hope, transformation, and new beginnings. Advent juxtaposes the world's darkness before Christ and its continued darkness with the promise of eternal Light: that Christ has come and will come again. And it is this Light that will extinguish all darkness. God, in all his mystery, brings creation into this wonderful birthing represented by the seasonal darkness of winter and the return of light in spring.
Though the world grows dim, Christ's candle is lit, aflame, sustaining and guiding us. We have confidence his word is a lamp to our path (Psalm 119:105), the peace of Jesus holds us (John 16:33), and the Father of all comfort knows the solace we need (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).
At times, the wait under the world's oppression suffocates our hope. We wonder how we can grasp God's promise in a wait that persists indefinitely. This wait of life that delivers us from birth to our final breath is the very waiting place where God prepares us for eternal life. The saints understood this well, as their faithful lips trembled in prayer for the Messiah. Then, one unexpected night, after decades of waiting and 400 years of silence, majestic angels appeared to humble shepherds in the field, announcing the birth of our Savior, the Messiah, and peace and goodwill toward all men.
In the Nativity story, we encounter a courageous couple, Mary and Joseph, who embark on an incredible journey (Luke 2:5-6). The devoted Jewish couple risked everything for a God they knew could and would do impossible things—even in the face of uncertainty and painful disappointments.
I wonder if Mary and Joseph's hearts were anxious on their ten-day journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Through the arduous terrain, Joseph led a donkey with Mary upon it, close to birthing her child. The wind and sand bore down with the wild cries of animals carried on the night sky. And at last, when they finally arrived in Bethlehem, there was no room in the inn. The Roman census made for a bustling town, so all that was left for them was refuge in a lowly stable. With Joseph by her side, Mary gave birth to her son—the Light of the world. I can imagine Mary, her face glistening, as she wrapped her baby in swaddling clothes and Joseph stacked a wooden manger with fresh hay. I can almost hear the lambs bleat and oxen shuffle as shepherds from a nearby field arrived to find their Messiah. This humble, lowly, and holy moment was the very moment the world had been awaiting.
I imagine there were moments of fear as Mary and Joseph waited for the birth of Jesus and the fulfillment of God's plan. But when Mary’s baby took his first breath, and the Word became flesh—Immanuel—the love of God dispelled all fear. Mary and Joseph never stopped trusting God, no matter how unexpected, unusual, or complicated life became. Their unwavering faith and trust in God serve as a beacon of inspiration for us all—a liturgy of living and a way of life that we can aspire toward with every passing day.
We, too, can embrace the liturgy of waiting during this Advent season. It is a time for anchoring our hearts in the hope, peace, joy, and love of Jesus amid the hustle and bustle and struggles of everyday life. Like Mary and Joseph, we are secure in knowing that God is faithful to his promises of redemption and restoration and can accomplish the impossible. God does extraordinary things if we trust him in the waiting seasons.
As shadows cast disturbing headlines, flared illnesses, broken relationships, and crashing storms amid life's uncertainties, we are tempted to doubt God. Instead, may we hold the Light of the nativity and Jesus’s finished work on the cross in our weary hearts so that we might find undeterred peace and hope instead.
As my husband and I sat on our restored deck later that evening, bundled in down and wool, the fears of the day had faded, and I wondered, Will there be winter in Heaven? as I imagined a white winter without darkness and only the beauty of the snow and stillness. Soon, the day folded, stars filled the sky, and a string of Christmas lights twinkled in the dark, and I could hear, “Peace, I give you…” whispered in my heart with the hope and splendor of the Christmas promise that first began in a humble stable.
Jesus came as the Light to dispel the darkness, as he declared in John 8:12, "I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness but have the light of life." Dear friend, when fear and uncertainty grip you, the light of Jesus kindles hope, quelling your despair. A hedge of peace is here for you in this liturgy of waiting. Can you feel it? Reach out. Receive it. His presence is waiting for you all year long.
A Prayer for Peace This Christmas:
Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank you for your peace, which quells our worries this Christmas season. Thank you for the beautiful gift of your son Jesus, whose Light dispels the darkness. May we celebrate and contemplate your glory as we light the Advent candles, string our Christmas lights, gaze at the stars in Heaven, and sing our favorite Christmas songs–for your peace shines, guiding and protecting us. Help us embrace the liturgy of waiting this Advent–and always. We need to steady our days on you in this beautiful and complicated experience called life. As we await you, Lord, give us strength and courage.
Amen.
A Poem of Peace:
CHRISTMAS BELLS
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."
Art: from Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence, by Caravaggio, 1609
DEBORAH RUTHERFORD
Deborah Rutherford, a writer, poet, and makeup artist, draws inspiration from her redemption story and nature to create work that is both beautiful and faith filled. Born in Spain and raised in Southern California, she and her husband, Don, now call Georgia home. Deborah is of Mexican American, Irish, Welsh, and English descent and holds a Communication Arts and Theater degree from Loyola Marymount University. She founded the Behold-Her Beauty Blog and Podcast at www.deborahrutherford.com.
Currently, she is working on her debut poetry collection, a testament to her redemption story with her editor and creative counselor, Kimberly Phinney, as well as beauty and faith book. Her writing has been published in The Way Back to Ourselves Journal, Aletheia Today Magazine, Vessels of Light Journal, Calla Press Literary Journal, The Truly Co. Magazine, Austur Magazine, and Prosetrics Literary Magazine. Follow her journey on Substack https://deborahrutherford.substack.com/ and Instagram @deborahrutherfordwrites.