Tuesday is a “meh” kind of day. Like your sophomore year in high school – it’s neither here nor there. The newness of the week has already worn off, the end is still far from sight. At some point, almost every Tuesday, I realize things are just ramping up AND that I have very little chance of accomplishing everything on my task list before the week comes to an end. It’s the one day that is always full – emails and meetings, phone calls and writing, more meetings, more calls. All of this happens with the bittersweet realization that hump day is tomorrow and the tragic reality that I’m never ready for the midway point.
But the saddest thing about Tuesday is that the gifts of the First Day of the Week have mostly faded into oblivion. Here at the close of Tuesday, the vibrant images from last week’s text have almost completely disappeared from my imagination. The vision of vats of molten iron being poured into plow-shaped molds seemed so potent, so full of hope just two days ago. But today, on Tuesday, with more deadlines looming, the hope of peace on earth is next to impossible and peace in my own small world is seldom seen.
I’m sorry I can’t offer the kind of uplifting, hope-filled prophetic words we might like to sing and celebrate while we wait for the birth of Christ. The truth is that Advent isn’t just about our happiness. It’s not about the promises God makes to us. It isn’t about some pie-in-the-sky optimistic view of a transformed world. Advent has to be lived, not just imagined. Advent has everything to do with how we live in this “meh” time of “not yet.” Advent will always be seen in the way we live all the Tuesdays of our lives. That means we have a long week ahead of us.
Even so… Come, Lord Jesus. Come now.