Let the
words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord.
Amen.
My mom has always been that mom who buys Christmas presents all year and then,
as soon as December hits, she gets them all wrapped and put under the tree. When
we were younger, my brother and I would be tortured by seeing a big pile of gifts
of all different shapes, colours, and sizes just sitting there, waiting to be
opened. Every day after school, we’d sit there, playing with the boxes wrapped
in pretty paper, rearranging the pile – by size, by name, by colour…
The
anticipation of Christmas morning was almost painful. There was so much joy and
expectation amassed in those gifts. One year, I decided to add to the fun and try
to guess what each of my presents were. Turns out, I guessed correctly almost
every time which, as it turns out, took away all of the fun of opening the gift.
It seems that the joy found in the unexpected was higher than the joy of the
expected.
Life
is full of expectant moments: expecting a visitor that you haven’t seen in a
long time, a baby that you’ve waited months to meet, an award you were
nominated for, a new job you applied for. The joy of these moments is found in
the nervousness of waiting, of expecting something new, big, exciting…
Expectant
joy is the joy that we know is coming, but it is not here yet in its fullness. Expectant
joy trembles with shimmering possibility that has not yet come into being but
will, and that sheer potential is enough to lighten loads, strengthen hearts,
unbind minds, and stir hopes. Practicing
expectant
joy might look absurd: it’s an act that resists rationalization and believes in
six impossible things before breakfast, à la Alice in Wonderland. Expectant joy
invites our faith, and it demands our trust.
This
expectant joy echoes through God’s words to Abram, even before Abram’s son
Isaac is born: “I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations”. God
shows up and repeats the covenantal promise to Abraham that his descendants
would be exceedingly numerous. And Abraham, now 99 years old, with a
90-year-old wife, “fell on his face and laughed.” Abraham simply did not
believe that God could or would keep the promise. The thing about expectations
is that God always seems to exceed them, to do the completely unexpected. God
kept the covenant with Abraham and Sarah, who gave birth to Isaac. Abraham then
trusted God’s promises and there was an expected continuation of deliverance
from God on the other promises that were made.
This
expectant joy is also revealed in the gospel text. Jesus stands in the center
of the scene, the Messiah who has come to fulfill God’s ancient promises. Peter
knows this. He just said it himself in the verses leading up to today’s reading.
But here is the Son of God with a repellent forecast, quite openly telling his
disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering and rejection,
be killed, and rise again after three days, breaking the power of sin and
death. That, Jesus knows, is the good news that he has come to bring, embody,
and accomplish. The expectant joy at the very center of Christian faith comes
from his resurrection from the dead. This is the jubilant realization of God’s
salvific intent, but it cannot arrive until after Jesus suffers crucifixion.
Peter
can’t buy Jesus’ absurd proposal. Why does Jesus need to suffer and endure
anything to introduce pure joy? Isn’t his presence on earth already joyful
enough? The man can heal the sick and cast out demons! He preaches, and crowds
gather to listen! He teaches, and the experts can’t refute him! He is baptized,
and the heavens are torn apart! What is this nonsense about suffering and rejection?
Where is the joy in that? Jesus interrupts Peter’s well-intended lecture. “Get
behind me, Satan,” he says. “You are setting your mind not on divine things,
but on human things” (Mark 8:33).
It’s
only from behind Jesus that Peter, or any of us, can learn to follow him. If
Jesus gave us a choice, we’d never pick the path that leads to the cross. That,
Jesus tells us, is exactly what he’s
asking
us to do. He promises that there is joy on the other side: beyond the cross, he
will be raised. Beyond the cross, we will find our lives. Beyond the cross, we
will learn that joy does not need a reason to exist that the world deems
“sufficient.” We will find it in the darkness before the dawn, in the emptiness
of a tomb, in the weeping confusion of the Easter proclamation that the women make.
Christians
live in between the right now and the not yet. So how do we find joy in the
time of expectation, in the period of coming, but not here yet? The present
moment is often fraught with grief: neither the world nor we ourselves are as
God desires. Creation is rife with violence and division, suffering and hate,
and we don’t know if we will see it change in our lifetimes. But God will fulfill
all that God has promised. That joy is with us even in the midst of the not
yet, and it has the power to shape our encounter with the right now. Through
this complexity, God invites and equips us to cultivate expectant joy, a
persistent trust in God’s future promises that empowers us to work toward God’s
vision immediately.
Lent
is a time of waiting and of expectation. Peter and the rest of the apostles
might not understand, but Jesus knows that he is walking towards something new,
big, exciting… Jesus knows that there will be joy on the other side of the
cross. It thrums through his promise to the displaced disciples that he will
prepare a place for them. It inhabits each crumb of communion bread, a
foretaste of the feast to come. It resounds through baptism and funeral liturgies
when we recall Paul’s words: “if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his”.
There
is joy in the waiting, in the expectation. We know something important is about
to happen. When we hear the promise of the resurrection, we can feel joy in
that expectation. And while laughing might seem like the wrong thing to do
during a time like Lent, as we wait for Easter, as we hold our expectation of
promises fulfilled, sometimes, in all of that expectant joy, all you can do is laugh.
God
of joy, turn our laughter into the joy of expectation and the realization of
faith. Teach us to laugh with Sarah and Abraham, with Peter and the apostles,
and with all whom you bless.
Amen.
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