Waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God.

Luke 23:51

I saw a photo recently of a man standing at an airport arrival gate with a sign that read: ‘Godot’. If I’d been there in person, I would have walked over and given him a high five. Imagine the commitment of someone prepared to stand in public like that to affect a brilliant sight gag. Unless he really was Waiting for Godot. Samuel Beckett’s famous play of the same name is a hallmark of the Theatre of the Absurd, a work that no literature or theatre major can avoid. Beckett’s controversial play about nothingness—long before Seinfeld ever came along—broke many boundaries and expectations, and stunned audiences with a narrative about two vagrants waiting for someone—Godot or God—who never shows.

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As with any work of art, critics are divided on the exact meaning of the central and absent figure. The beauty—or challenge—of abstract art is that it is possible to ascribe virtually any meaning to the text. Still, given the period in which it was written, and the issues Beckett was addressing, there’s no question that the play challenges the sense of modern culture’s vacuousness, and the hope for meaning in an otherwise deserted moral landscape. For many, of course, the play expresses the longing for faith—for the return of a saviour—to salve the pointlessness of existence.

While many have argued that this is evidence of despair and failure, the reality is that waiting is a central part of faith. It is, perhaps, one of the most significant dimensions of the Catholic faith, wherein we are invited to await the return of the Messiah, but also, in that process of anticipation, to grow in patience, in reflection and spiritual understanding. Waiting, in other words, should never be passive. Isn’t this precisely what Advent is all about? 

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The word itself comes from the Latin, ‘Adventus’, meaning ‘coming’ or ‘arrival’, and in the 12th century was used in English specifically to refer to the coming of Christ. However, Catholics love their trilogies, so it is fair to say that we understand Advent as a tripartite formulation: waiting for the birth of Christ; waiting for Christ’s love to manifest within us; and of course, the Second Coming at the end of time. Advent marks the beginning of the liturgical year. Advent Sunday, the fourth Sunday before Christmas, is thus a time of quiet celebration, though marked by many festive and symbolic gestures: the hanging of the Advent wreath, the beginning of an Advent calendar, or even praying a daily devotional. Waiting, in other words, is an act of active faith.

Not surprisingly, the Bible is replete with figures who wait. Abraham is perhaps the quintessential example of this. He waited decades for a sign that God would fulfil his promises. He is tested, like Job, beyond belief. He fails, too, but is allowed to repent and grow. And he grows wiser in that time of anticipation and expectation. Waiting is both how we prepare ourselves for a sacred time but also celebrate those gifts which we have already been given. It is a humbling interlude that explodes in triumph through the Christmas miracle. 

I read somewhere that the word ‘wait’ itself has been translated in some Biblical traditions as the word ‘hope’. The King James version of Isaiah 40: 31, for example, which reads, ‘But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength,’ is rendered, in a different translation, as ‘They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength.’ Hope and waiting can indeed be interchangeable.

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This reflection is important because it reminds us that waiting is a concept defined by the journey we are taking. If our engagement with our faith is one of passive interaction, where prayers and observations are mechanical and disengaged, then little will come of it. Perhaps like the characters in Waiting for Godot, we will leave disappointed that we wait in vain. If, on the other hand, we understand that prayer is not to be performed by rote; that charity is not an occasional loonie dropped in a Christmas collection tin; or that faithful observation does not mean an annual attendance at a Midnight Mass—then perhaps waiting becomes hope. 

Time and time again, Christ asks us to be present; to engage the world and strive for good. He urges us not to judge but to embrace; to honour not to idolize; to welcome not to shun. He asks us to wait for him, to be ready when He calls, but also to be engaged and active in our faith, so that we are worthy when He calls. So, what are you waiting for?