“Prepare the way of the Lord!” shouts John the Baptist in the wilderness (Luke 3:1-6).

There was a child who was asked to read a part in a Christmas pageant at church. She had the part of John the Baptist. She was perfect for the role, a firecracker of a personality, a born leader. She had many friends who listened to her and followed her on the playground.

But she was worried that she would make a mistake or forget her lines. She told her parents that she didn’t want to go in front of so many people. It made her stomach upset and she felt scared.

Her parents told her stage fright was normal and that the best way to deal with her fear was to be prepared. Being prepared meant going over her lines 10,000 times in the weeks leading up to the play until she could fall asleep reciting her lines perfectly.

She protested. What if her mind would blank out when getting on stage? What if all that practice would mean nothing if she froze under the lights? Why should she even bother trying?

Preparation is the virtue we hail in Advent, when we are called to watch and wait – and prepare! – for the coming of the Lord at Christmas.

But what happens when we don’t have time to prepare everything just right? What happens when we are not prepared, when it comes down to it?

The notion that during Advent we are to wait, at first seems ludicrous. There is no time. How can we wait when there is so much to do (to prepare!)?

But what if the key to being prepared is learning and practising the art of waiting?

Because the truth is, no amount of preparation can prevent a tragedy from happening just as no amount of preparation can have you ready for the birth of a child when it happens. When it happens, at some profound level, we know we can never be fully prepared. When it happens, we know that we could never have anticipated and controlled for every contingency. So, what if being prepared means we know how to wait for it? Could it be, maybe we need first to learn how to wait?

From the Gospel, waiting first means we need to slow down. When shopping malls, parking lots and highways in December indicate everything but, slowing down is vital to receiving the Word of God this season. To practice, notice how you read scripture. So, in the Gospel reading today resist the temptation to skip through the first couple of verses (Luke 3:1-2) – it’s a list of names we have difficulty pronouncing.

Yet, there is purpose here. Luke, the Gospel writer, is intentional about naming all the political and religious rulers of the day and the time they presided. Luke firmly plants the message in a particular place and time in history. We can’t rush through this. Read those words intentionally as if they were a prerequisite for what comes after. And this takes practise. Read slowly.

Every valley shall be lifted and every mountain made low. Not just one valley. Not just one mountain. Not just the valleys associated with Friday night. Not just the mountains confronted Monday morning. Not just the valleys and mountains experienced during worship. In every valley of our lives. On every mountain encountered in daily living.

God’s message needs to land in time and place. We need to slow it down in order to notice it everywhere.

Luke is also quite clear, and intentional, about placing John the Baptist in the wilderness. Not in the crowded confines of a stuffy boardroom or lecture hall. Not in the opulent chancels and temple sanctuaries. Not in the public square in the middle of the city. Not even around the kitchen table or comfy living rooms of our private homes.

In the wilderness, there is lots of space, open areas yielding infinite horizons and unexplored terrain. There is this expansiveness associated with receiving God’s word. We rarely give thought to these conditions when the message is delivered. But there is always context. Waiting is preparing the ground, turning the proverbial soil of our hearts in order to receive the gift. God works from the inside out as much as God works from the outside in. Those expansive contexts of our lives, inner and outer, must be nurtured and practised.

Here is something you can do this Advent to illustrate this practice of slowing it down. For example, I know exchanging and mailing Christmas cards is not as popular today as it was a few decades ago. But maybe some of you can relate.

So, when you receive a hand-delivered Christmas card or in the mail after the postal strike is over, don’t open it right away. If you live with someone else, wait until you can sit down with them for a meal or coffee later that day to open it together, read it and give thanks for the person sending it. Or, if you live alone, wait until your next devotional time, or quiet time to open it, read it and give thanks for whomever sent it.

Advent is about slowing down, opening up time and space, and marking time.

Finally, waiting is becoming aware that the message is for you. Not for someone else. Not for the wayward children or grandchildren. Not for those who disagree with you. Not for those from other parts of the world. Not for those who behave differently from you. Not some part of the culture you do not participate in.

When John the Baptist spoke of a baptism of forgiveness, his opponents – the Pharisees – didn’t at first think this baptism referred to them. They, after all, had already participated in the mikvah, the Jewish ritual of immersing into the purity bath.

The rug was pulled from underneath the Pharisee’s feet when the message that John the Baptist brought was meant for them. And not just for the Gentiles, but for Jewish people as well – everyone who does not receive the message of repentance and forgiveness for themselves.

Waiting opens up regions of the soul to admit the call of repentance and promise of forgiveness into each and every one of us. Waiting allows us to contemplate what that changed life means for us. It’s very personal.

But what if we are like the little girl preparing for the Christmas pageant? What if we can’t or don’t prepare? What if we insist, “It’s not for me.”

When we are not ready for what happens in life, when there is no amount of work that can adequately prepare us for whatever comes our way, God still puts extra time on the clock. Just like at the end of a 90-minute soccer match, there’s always stoppage time to account for injuries that delayed the play of the game during the first 90 minutes. There’s extra time added. Always.

God’s patience is infinite. God waits for us. Even when we get injured, are delayed, or for whatever reason can’t seem to get our ducks in a row. God’s pacing and timing operate on a different level which we cannot fully understand, except that God makes time and space for us. And God’s message is to each one of us, personally. That message is conveyed in love and mercy.

“I am confident of this,” writes Saint Paul to the Philippians, “that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ” (1:6).

The second candle we light today is called the Peace Candle. When we wait for the Lord by slowing down, creating space, and we receive the message for us personally, we prepare in a way that brings peace into our lives. Because of God’s grace and love, peace reigns.

Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, sings God’s praise in the temple at the news of John’s birth:

⁷⁸ In the tender compassion of our God
  the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
 ⁷⁹ to shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the shadow of death,
  and to guide our feet into the way of peace. (Luke 1)

Having peace is about living daily with ourselves and others in the mercy, forgiveness and love modelled by the one for whom we wait, Jesus Christ the Lord.