The Unexpected Hour is..… Now.
One harsh reality of life is waiting; waiting for someone to show up, waiting for something to happen, waiting for things to change.
Sometimes it seems like all we do is wait. Some people wait for a diagnosis, others for a cure. Some wait for the day when the pain will stop and the grief will become softer around the edges. Others wait for the answer to their prayers.
Many in our world wait for healing, reconciliation, and the resolution of conflict. Sometimes it seems as if the world has waited from the beginning of creation for peace, and the end of war, hunger, and poverty.
Sometimes we live with the overwhelming feeling of waiting, but with no clear idea of what it is we are actually waiting for.
When I think about my own waiting, I realise that I generally don’t ‘wait’ in the present. My ‘waiting’ happens in the past or the future. The great tragedy is that in doing so, I lose the present moment, and I can’t ever get it back again.
Waiting in the future brings fear and anxiety about what might happen. The unknown and lack of control haunt us. Waiting in the past brings sadness, anger, or guilt about things that have happened, or the things done and left undone. As difficult as the present moment may be, that’s the only place where we can ever be fully alive. It is the only place we can truly experience God.
When we move out of the present and into the past or the future, we not only postpone life; we deny life. We deny our resurrection. We desecrate the sacrament of the present moment. We have refused the gift of God’s kingdom this very moment where he is here with us.
And the curious thing is that Jesus does not eliminate waiting. If anything, it sounds like just the opposite. He tells the crowd, “Be like those waiting for their master to return.”
Today’s gospel is not, however, simply about passing time. It is about presence and being present. Jesus sees waiting as an act of faithfulness; the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
So we are mistaken if we think today’s gospel describes an absent God, a God who left some time ago, for whom we wait.
Jesus is teaching us how and where to wait. He’s inviting us to be present to the One who is always already present. He’s inviting us to listen for the knock, to watch, and to be alert. He’s inviting us to be present to the reality of God in each other, in the world, and in ourselves. This is the God who is present in the dreary and tedious grind of our lives, especially in our waiting.
We are mightily tempted to ask, “So where is God in all our waiting?” But maybe the better question is, “Where are we?” Where am I,… right now?
So he says, “Be dressed for action. Something is going on right now. Right here. And I want you to be a part of it. Come participate. For it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. This is for you.”
“Have your lamps lit,” the Master says. “There is something to see. Move out of the darkness. Come into the light. See what is right in front of you, what is all around you, and what is within you. For the Father wants you to have nothing less than the kingdom.”
“Be alert,” he commands. But this isn’t a threat of punishment. It’s an invitation to be blessed. “Blessed are those whom he finds alert.” Jesus is not just inviting us to be awake, to be ready, and to be watchful. He is calling us to be fully alive and to remain alive. Blessing and life are synonymous in God’s kingdom. It is as if Jesus is saying to us, “Be alert, be blessed, and I will come and serve you. I will feed you the bread of life. I will serve you the cup of salvation.”
All of this, Jesus says, happens at an unexpected hour. Like a thief in the night, the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.
So, when is the unexpected hour? When will all this happen? Well, I guess that for most of us, maybe all of us, the most unexpected hour is today, right here, right now.
The most unexpected hour is the hour spent in the hospital waiting room; the hour sitting next to the phone waiting for news of a loved one; the hour praying for a miracle; the hour in which we wait for clarity and a way forward; the hour waiting for the grief to end and life to return to normal; the hour in which it seems as if nothing is happening, the hour when life is not the way we want, and there is nowhere to go.
Interrupt the past. Interrupt the future and come into the present, be still and know
Know who you are … now
Know where you are… now
Know who you’re with… now
The unexpected hour is… now.