Still Not There Yet?

Advent 4—No, Not There Yet.

“It is it always is, however much we say it was.”

—Thomas Mann

Years ago the kids kept beating on my car seat. “Daddy, are we there yet?”“No—not yet.” And they moaned: “Will we ever get there?” And these days we ask it too, don’t we?

Did Mary and Joseph also asked it ? Those five long hard days as they traveled from their hometown in Nazareth-to Bethlehem where Joseph was to pay taxes. In the last days of her pregnancy Mary must have thought it again and again.  How much longer. Joseph leaving behind the gossip and scandal he must have faced at home. But on that journey he must have asked it too. Will we ever get there?

How much longer is this rocky road with it’s nausea and weariness and fear too—how much longer will it last? Will our baby be all right? They must have said why couldn’t we just stay in Nazareth. But no—duty called.

And duty calls us too. To say goodbye to those we have loved. To those we almost forgot until that Christmas Card came. Recovering from this cursed virus. We thought it was all behind us. Hearing that terrible news of people— who left us a year or more year ago. And we have just heard.

Will we ever quit worrying about our children, our health, old age, the world. That lab report. That lump. The MRI. Is this road never ending?

What a gloomy word for Christmas. But the child is not quite here yet. And the streets in Bethlehem are crowded with so many. And lodging? It will be hard to find a place for Mary especially who desperately needs a rest. 

I am thinking today about all those moving through deserts and snakes and scorpions and bandits and that cold, cold river. And the wall—that cursed wall. 

And as I don my nice duds on Christmas Eve I can’t get those thousands that desperately look for a room out of my mind. Where their children will be warm and all five of them will feel safe. And their fragile hope will flicker. They must have asked it too: Are we there yet.

I have no answers to this enormously complicated problem. Seems like nobody does. But this I do know these are our brothers and sisters. And somehow amid the wonder of our celebrations we must pause and remember. The tiny child we worship would one day say:“As you do it to the last of these —you do it unto me.”

No, children, we are not there yet. And may that fragile hope we all carry make room for all. Somewhere I read about a kindergarten play. Gary was the innkeeper. And little Joseph knocked on the door of the inn. And Gary decided to be inventive. When Joseph asked if there was room in the inn, he answered, “You are so lucky.  We’ve just had a cancellation.”

And may all of us—whoever we are—be able to say the door is open and we have a cancellation. And we will answer our own question: Yes, we will all get there.

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com