Long-Expected

Last Sunday, the first of Advent, I was minding my own business, just belting out the opening hymn (“Come, thou long-expected Jesus”) and watching the procession file past me when a vision of purple tore my heart open.

It was the chasuble (the colorful, tablecloth-like garment worn by the celebrant). Such a deep, vibrant purple. I tried in vain to continue singing, but I was too choked up. 

I’d been moved by many aspects of Episcopal liturgy and worship, but never before by the vestments. Though I’m writing about it now, I really didn’t want anyone to notice that I was tearing up over a holy poncho. How could I possibly explain it?

It took me by great surprise because my brain had nothing to do with it. I felt the richness and the rightness of that purple in my body – a truly visceral reaction. After six months of green, green, and more green – purple! Ah, purple.

It was the final chord of a symphony or great choral work, that moment of resolution, when – after much wandering and teasing – the composer brings us home, back to the sound we’d almost forgotten we were expecting. 

Purple. Oh yes, I had been expecting you, hadn’t I? Long-expecting, in fact.

There is a wisdom and richness to the Episcopal tradition that becomes more and more apparent to me, and alive within me, with each passing year. It is a wisdom that cannot be taught or learned in Sunday school. It is a richness that accumulates over time, through repetition and prolonged exposure.

I hate to generalize, but we as a society love instant gratification, don’t we? We also, not coincidentally, love to quantify and count things, to measure results as scientifically as possible (to know whether or not we’ve been gratified). And we don’t always possess the patience or foresight to recognize that the fruit of our religious practice (and especially that of our children) is often “long-expected.”

I appreciate that many of you encourage, cajole, and perhaps force your children to come to church when their strong desire is to stay home or do something else. As an adult, I am deeply grateful for the gift that my parents gave me of the Church, of literacy in this beautiful tradition. I know that it must have caused suffering at times for them. And I know that I am richer for it. 

As I say thank you to my own parents, I say thank you also to all of you on behalf of your own children, who are at a different place in their faith journey. At this time of year, our tradition reminds us that patience is rewarded. I was able to really see the purple because I have seen so much green.