Advent reminded us to watch and wait and here we are still watching and waiting even though the Divine is come. We are watching and waiting with bated breath to see whether there will be a peaceful transition of power, especially in light of the events on Epiphany. We are watching and waiting to see if something else has been planned, something we don’t expect.
As so many have noted over the past week, there is a helplessness in the watching and waiting. There is little we can do except hold space and cling to hope and pray fervently. Still, this doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like we should know more and do more.
Even as I remind myself of this, I find myself noticing a restlessness within me. Wanting this waiting to be over and unsure of what the end of the waiting might bring. Theologically this is called liminal space or the space in between. It’s the already and the not yet. And most people aren’t too comfortable in that space, this minister included.
I have found myself here waiting quite often. Waiting to see if I would be accepted to seminary. Waiting to hear about grades and classwork. Waiting to see whether a search committee would call me pastor and take the risk on a female minister. Waiting to hear about church members who are undergoing procedures. Waiting to hear back from congregants who I have not seen or heard from in a while.
In the waiting, as uncomfortable as it is, the Divine always reveals the Divine’s self. In the sacred ordinary. In tiny pictures or whispers of the way the Divine is working. Many times for me this revelation comes in some form of light.
Last night, it was the light next to bath toys, a reminder of sacred play. Play that leaves the current circumstances to imagine worlds in which towers of cups and teapots hold treasures. Play that is so engaging that you lose track of time. Play that invites creativity and possibility.
And so today as we watch and wait, the Divine whispers and invites us to listen to our beloved child selves and play.