Celebrate Advent—Long For It, Too
While pregnant with my first child, I fed off the excitement and uncertainty that a new baby offered our family. We curated registries containing all we would need as new parents. We crafted surprising ways to share our great news. We scoured books and our personal histories until we landed on the perfect name. Then we eagerly anticipated this little one’s arrival and were convinced that we were ready.
Until we weren’t.
The day labor started, my husband and I went in for a routine checkup. Considered a high-risk pregnancy, I had spent several appointments at the hospital to make sure our unborn daughter was healthy. As I sat in the medical chair, wires attached to my stomach, the nurse came in and examined the machine counting our baby’s heartbeats and measuring contractions.
“Do you feel these?” She asked, her face filled with concern.
I didn’t. She released the paper and pointed to jagged lines and squiggles that spoke a language I didn’t understand.
“You’re in labor,” she responded simply.
That’s when everything changed. Within twelve hours, our healthy daughter was sleeping in my arms. After all of the waiting, she was finally here!
We Celebrate the First Advent . . .
Many of us know what it’s like to experience the anticipation of new life, whether it’s a relative’s pregnancy, a friend’s adoption, or our own little one. As we read through the Old Testament, we feel this same anticipation on every page, as God’s people waited for the birth of a baby, who would change life as they knew it.
Israel’s history was filled with the birth of babies. Babies who would grow up to lead God’s people through a divided sea and build an ark when everyone else disbelieved. Babies who grew up to save God’s people from rampant oppression, to rule on an earthly throne, and to prophesy the good news of God’s salvation. Babies who grew into men and women, who served faithfully, then died.
Eventually, it became apparent that God’s people weren’t waiting only for a baby—they were waiting for the Messiah.
We see this beginning in Genesis 3 when God promised a deliverer who would crush the head of the snake. Who would be the one to do it? Patriarchs delivered God’s people for a time but couldn’t lead them into lasting rest. The priests’ sacrifices expunged sins but not with finality—the night would come, the sun would rise, and new sins would require more sacrifices. Judges provided respite from oppression only as long as they were alive. And even the most faithful kings had kingdoms that came to an end.
Come, thou long expected Jesus.
Like a master storyteller, God crafts all of human history to reveal a deep need for his Son. When we see the brokenness of those throughout human history we see a need for a savior. The past doesn’t only anticipate the birth of a baby—it longs for the birth of God’s Son and Messiah.
This need for salvation pulls history toward the Incarnation—that mystery of God becoming man, of our Creator taking on the form of his creature, of our King choosing servanthood. The mystery of the Incarnation is that in all of these, both are somehow proved true.
God resolves that felt longing for a deliverer—our longing for a deliverer—through the coming of Christ.
Born to set thy people free;
From our sins and fears release us,
Let us find our rest in thee.
. . . But We long for the Second Advent
Six years after the birth of our first child, we crafted new ways to surprise our loved ones with the news that we were expecting our fourth. We lined friends up for pictures and called “WE’RE PREGNANT!” right as the shutter clicked. Then we nonchalantly slipped these glad tidings into conversations about where we should eat dinner with family. Each time, we delighted in each startled look and teary congratulations as we celebrated this new life, together. All of our loved ones anticipated welcoming this little one into our lives alongside us.
But a few weeks later, the congratulations fell silent. My husband sent hurried text messages, thinking through ways to share the news of loss so that I wouldn’t have to. Prayers throttled my chest as I tried to make sense of the little one’s death inside of me.
Everything within me anticipated life to come forward in just a few months time. Yet, here I was, my joy crushed between death’s palms.
Moments like these, moments when I’m left longing for life when I’m left with death, cut through life’s stillness and stir up anticipation for the final Advent—when Christ will return.
Come, thou long expected Jesus.
Do you feel this longing as I do? We might feel this paradox on days like Christmas, days that should exude celebration but instead are tinged with loss and suffering. Maybe we feel this more deeply at the start of a new season, like winter—as the days grow darker, as friends stay inside longer to keep out of the cold, our neighborhoods suddenly feel more empty. If we’re honest, we feel more empty, too. We know we should be celebrating, but sometimes, it all feels too hard.
Even as we consider the good news of the Incarnation, even as we experience the gift of a God who comes close, we feel the effects of a world anticipating the return of her King. We anticipate Christ’s second coming as those before us anticipated his first: with longing, knowing God will finally restore all things as they should be.
Because of Jesus, death and suffering no longer have the final say. Death might crush our joy in its palms for a moment, but our God will deliver us and replenish all that we’ve lost with himself. He promised this to be true through his first coming; he’ll perfect this promise in his second.
Come, thou long expected Jesus.
Ashley Anthony is a pastor’s wife, mom of four, literature instructor, and seminary student. She’s a member of College Church in Wheaton, Illinois, and loves discovering how theological and scriptural truths converge with the daily lives of women. Find more of her writing on Instagram.