Read Haggai 2:6-9
THERE WAS A MOMENT, in the aftermath of my husband’s premature death, when I thought about Jesus coming back and longed for his return with an urgency I had never before experienced. I always knew we were supposed to long for the return of our king—a kind of obligation of anticipation. But I confess I had previously liked my life too much.
But now, I wanted him to stop all the delays. I imagined the moment arriving and seeing Jesus and thinking, “Yes, yes, there you are. Fantastic!” And then pushing past him as quickly as politely possible to search for my husband. (Is this what it will be like? A busy airport arrival lounge?)
I imagined throwing myself into his arms once again. (Dear God, please let it be a little bit like that.) I have never known such longing. And I know that this reveals my longings to be out of order. Of course they are. I feel a bit badly about this, but I can confess it to the God who knows us, and who I have discovered made us more resilient than we know and capable of so much love that the vastness of this love’s loss causes grief to feel like an ocean.
Advent isn’t normally about feeling badly about ourselves or our lives. That’s Lent’s job—the party pooper of the Christian liturgical year. Advent is more like that event planner friend who is cooking up a great feast and making all kinds of fantastic plans for the next month. We wait. We mark off days on the calendar. We are impatient as we prepare.
Enter Haggai. His name even means “festival,” so he’s perfect for Advent. He’s also just what the returned exiles of 520 B.C. needed to get them moving on their temple rebuilding project, which they had been neglecting. The temple had fallen into disrepair during their forced absence. There was government pressure to leave the temple in ruins, and the people had been focusing their efforts on their own houses rather than the work of rebuilding God’s house.
Haggai hears the call to speak into the lives of God’s people. He stirs himself for the task and stirs the pot, prophetically speaking. He urges the people into action. They come to see their priorities have been misaligned and their longings have been in the wrong order. They find their courage. They start to rebuild and repair the temple.
“Work, for I am with you,” says the Lord (2:4). I wonder if there’s a moment in the life of a prophet like Haggai, when they see that the message God gave them to deliver has both landed—hit the mark almost exactly—and they experience a moment of pleasure. A job well done. That is a fine thing to consider.
The sun came up for Haggai and his work crew, and it comes up now for us, each day as the morning turns to afternoon and we turn to work and toil. We sweep. We tidy. We build new temples and patch up the old ones. There is garbage to be taken out and fresh flowers to be put in vases. There is holiness to be seen to, and lived out of and toward, as much as we can muster, while we wait.
And what about our hearts that long? They can also be an offering. Our longings will all be swept up in joy that might feel even more vast than the ocean that grief becomes. We believe, and we wait.
We are in the afternoon of the most promising of days. So much more is to come. “I will shake all nations, and what is desired by all nations will come, and I will fill this house with glory,” says the Lord Almighty (2:7). Come, Lord Jesus. Come.
Karen Stiller is author of Holiness Here, The Minister’s Wife, and other books about the church.
This article is part of A Time for Wonder, a 4-week devotional to help individuals, small groups, and families journey through the 2024 Advent season. Learn more about this special issue that can be used Advent, or any time of year at http://orderct.com/advent.
