WAITING
It’s one of my least favourite things to do. I go to the supermarket, head for the cheese counter, and take one of those numbers helpfully dispensed to prevent irate shoppers from punching each other if someone jumps the queue. My number is 451. The digital readout indicates they are serving customer 47. I hope that cheese sandwich is worth the wait.
I call my mobile phone company, and am greeted by a robotic voice inviting me to press 1 for this, 2 for that. Rapidly I move through layers of numeric choices, but then, I wait. I listen to music composed by a deranged person. Sometimes I am told which position I am in the line, and how long I can expect to be on hold – a strategy to keep me hopeful. Then, at last, I am greeted by a human, and we play a little quiz together, otherwise known as answering the security questions. What is my mother’s maiden name, and my pet’s favourite colour? And then, the enquiry that causes me to tremble: what is my password?
Technology has eased much of our waiting. Older readers will recall the demonic invention known as dial-up networking, a torturous method of accessing the internet. The computer made endless electronic spluttering noises and after an eternity – well, 20 seconds at least – connected us online. For most, those days have gone. We’re increasingly used to everything being fast. Instant. High speed. Waiting isn’t natural anymore.
And then we come to God, who is the blesser, but is not a fibre-optic deity. God is in no hurry. Dashing is not His style, as Jesus continually demonstrated. Methodically, He walked his disciples slowly through scenarios of learning, and then spent six whole weeks with them after the resurrection, painstakingly reiterating Kingdom truths, shaping them to be world-changers.
And then He gave one final command before the Ascension. Wait. Don’t head for home, back to the anonymity, the relative safety of Galilee. No, stay put in Jerusalem, the big, dangerous city where, just a few weeks earlier, He, their leader, had been tortured and executed. It was still dangerous territory, and there was a ten-day waiting period to come.
Perhaps the waiting was deliberately designed to fuel desperation, to show them how utterly they needed the Holy Spirit. And then surely there was some calendar choreography here. The Day of Pentecost was a celebration of fulfilment. Not only was the harvest safely gathered in, but the nation remembered the giving of the law to Moses. It was surely an appropriate day for the giving of the Spirit. Whatever the reason, for the disciples, waiting was a prelude to power. It often is. But that doesn’t make waiting any more palatable.
Prayer nudges me into a waiting room. As I bow my head and mutter heavenward, I ask God a question, and most of the time, I am greeted by silence. By most, I mean 99.99999% of the time.
Suffering calls for waiting. I remember the day when I sat with two epically brave souls who were waiting patiently in line. Les and Marsha were fine Christians, and they were in the thick of a horrendous battle with cancer. A shadow of the man he was, Les was wheelchair-bound and hooked up to oxygen. The tumours in his neck were outraged at the fight he was putting up. Sometimes he woke up screaming in torture-chamber level pain, and the morphine he was on, (enough to drop a horse, said Marsha) wasn’t winning. Les wasn’t afraid of dying – that was the least of his problems. ‘It’s the thought of this pain getting even worse – that scares the heck out of me,’ he confessed. Sitting with them in the oncology department of the local hospital, I bowed my head in their presence, both to hide my tears, and as a gesture of humility before their honest, gutsy trust. And I am just a little angry, frustrated at those who insist healing is always on tap immediately for those who can summon up enough faith.
So today, let us remember all who wait, for that elusive healing to come, for prodigals to head homeward, for answers to questions that gnaw at their days and fill their sleepless nights. And if you are among that brave throng, may you be strengthened in your waiting, and while the flame of hope surely flickers at times, may it never be snuffed out.