Advent as an athlete
One of the reasons that I love being part of a tradition that follows the liturgical seasons is because each season has something to teach us. Advent is the season that is celebrated leading up to Christmas. It is a time when we are invited to prepare our hearts to receive the gift of Christ born into the world. Advent literally means “arrival,” and so it is a season where we slow down to prepare for the arrival of Emmanuel---God with us.
And yet, the weeks leading up to Christmas can feel anything but slow. They can be overpacked with finishing final exams, shopping for presents, and attending holiday parties. They can also be overpacked with work, caring for those who suffer, and tending to the injustices that rage on.
The Advent season invites us to a particular focal point. To create some space amid our full lives to pause, to wait, and to keep watch. In the midst of our active lives, we are invited to recalibrate our pace so that we are able to be more present, noticing how God shows up in our lives now. Living at a pace that allows us to be present is sacred practice.
Paradoxically, learning to be present is what prepares us for what lies on the horizon. Being present prepares us for the coming of Christ, as it invites us to keep paying attention to how and where and when God shows up in the world--- often in ways unexpected and surprising.
I find a deep tension in finding a balanced pace between the contemplative and active life—between our being and our doing. Society loves a fast clip---to push us towards exerting all our energies at once. And I’ve found that the church can be just a little too slow at times. Slogging and withholding in fear of stepping out of a comfort zone, or fear of trying something different.
One of the gifts of being an athlete is learning how to pace in a way that balances working hard and resting. We know that tapering, periodization, and heart rate monitoring all matter in crafting our fitness levels. Knowing when to push, when to slow down, and how to recover are all practices requiring intentionality that are integral in training well, and so it is for our lives.
Pace is so important. If we spend all our energies too quickly--- it can lead to burnout and compassion fatigue. If we withhold too much of our energy---we may miss receiving the gifts of experiencing how faith works in action for the transformation of the world.
My tendency is to always hurry up. To want to speed up traffic, or the clerk checking out my groceries, or a meeting. I often push too hard or pack too many meetings into a day. I want change now. And I can get impatient when things are inefficient.
Waiting is hard, especially in the seasons of waiting for an injury to heal, for playing time, or to find out what’s next for your playing career. And thankfully, I have an 11-month-old daughter and the season of Advent to remind me that slowing down and waiting is healing because it helps me be more present to the life I am living.
Sometimes I feel scared to slow my pace. It seems so counterintuitive to me in a world with so much suffering, so many injustices, and so much work to be done. “Wait” has been said to me too many times as a Queer Christian woman as a way for others to diminish, to push out, and to shut doors on me in the name of fear. “Wait” has been told to people in the sacred fight for equality- those who look to end racism, sexism, poverty, and every kind of phobia- as an attempt to slow down the push for social healing and transformation.
Yet, there is a difference between the kind of waiting that is imposed by systemic injustices that withhold love—-and the kind of waiting that generates sacred energy and life that beholds love.
Waiting feels counterintuitive when my to-do list has eight different categories of all the responsibilities that need attention and care. Waiting is vulnerable for me, and it is necessary. It is vulnerable because when I wait, I am more receptive. Receptive to others, receptive to God, receptive to myself. And sometimes I realize, in slowing down, that I don’t even know what shape my longing takes---what I am working so hard for or waiting for in the first place. In waiting, I often wonder what I am waiting for---what is the hope and longing of my heart? And I wonder, in waiting, who waits with me? Who waits with you?
It can be so tender.
I have a “yield” sign on the back of my office door. Waiting is a spiritual practice and it is an offering of love. Waiting ultimately keeps me from missing my life because it creates the space I need to notice where and how God is present through kindnesses offered through barista, stranger, loved one, and friend.
Advent invites us to wait---and to keep watch.
Advent invites us to recalibrate our pace---to slow down and to pick our head up. It does not ask us to slog or to hurry---but to wait faithfully---with one eye to the sky, and with one hand to the plow---pausing to listen, to sense the presence of God among us---as we watch for God’s coming in ways we least expect, and most deeply hope.
And the good news is that we do not wait alone. God waits with us, carrying us as we hold one another.
Practice:
Find a quiet place to slow down.
Welcome a few deeper-than-normal breaths. Invite the Holy Spirit to sit with you.
Spend time holding the word “Wait” at the center of your thoughts.Keep breathing.
Spend time holding the word “Watch” at the center of your thoughts. Keep breathing.
Reflect, how can you adjust your pace to be more present?
Notice what comes up for you without judgment.