My brothers and sisters, In these weeks leading up to Christmas, if I asked a typical family, "What are you waiting for?" the answers would probably be very practical. We are waiting for Amazon packages to arrive. We are waiting for the kids to get out of school for break. We are waiting for the traffic to clear, or perhaps just waiting for a moment of peace in a chaotic schedule.
But the question of Advent goes deeper: What is your heart waiting for?
In our first reading, Isaiah gives us an incredibly intimate image. God says, "I am the LORD, your God, who grasp your right hand; it is I who say to you, 'Fear not, I will help you.'"
Parents and grandparents, you know this feeling well. Think of when you cross a busy street with your child. You instinctively reach down and firmly grasp their hand. You don’t do it to control them; you do it to say, "I am here. You are safe. We are doing this together."
In the modern world, many parents feel like they are the ones who have to hold everything together. We hold the schedule, the finances, the emotional well-being of our children, and the care of our aging parents. It is exhausting. We feel small. We feel like we are dropping the ball.
Isaiah is telling us today: You don't have to hold it all together. God is the parent reaching down. He is grasping your hand. He is saying to the overwhelmed mother, the worried father, the lonely spouse: "Fear not. I’ve got you."
In the Gospel, Jesus praises John the Baptist as the greatest born of women, but then He says something shocking: "Yet the least in the Kingdom of heaven is greater than he."
How can that be? John was a prophet who lived in the desert! We are regular people trying to get dinner on the table and pay the mortgage. Here is the stunning truth for families today: John stood at the door, pointing to the party inside. But you live inside the party.
John the Baptist never received the Eucharist. He never had the indwelling of the Trinity through Baptism in the way we do. As families, you are the "Domestic Church." When you forgive a sibling, when you care for a sick child, when you pray grace over a drive-thru meal—you are living inside the Kingdom that John could only point to.
You might feel like "the least," but because you have Jesus in the Eucharist and in your heart, you possess the very thing the prophets spent centuries waiting for.
Finally, Isaiah promises that God will "open up rivers on the bare heights" and "turn the desert into a marshland."
Every family has a "desert."
We often think, "I’ll encounter God when I fix this mess." But the Advent message is that God comes into the mess. He wants to turn the dry, dusty arguments into springs of mercy. He wants to turn the "bare heights" of our pride into a garden of humility.
So, what are we waiting for?
We aren't waiting for a perfect Christmas. We aren't waiting for our family to be perfect. We are waiting for the eyes to see that He is already here. He is in the car with you. He is at the dinner table. He is grasping your right hand right now. This week, when you feel the pressure of the world, just pause for a second. Close your eyes. Imagine that grip on your hand. And hear Him say, "I am the Lord your God. Fear not. You are already in my Kingdom."
Come, Lord Jesus. Transform our families. Transform our deserts. Hold our hands.