My friend's congregation has longed to return to worship in its own sanctuary since a fire put them out of their spiritual house and home last fall. As their pastor, she has shepherded them through this transition with grace and loving guidance, seeking out lessons of hope and faith that would otherwise have not so tangibly entered their lives. Anticipation rose high that the first Sunday in Advent would also be the first Sunday back, but it was not to be. Last Sunday passed on the honor too. Frustrated by the hold ups, my friend expressed her discontent with the situation as " false labor." Having birthed two babies herself, she knows of what she speaks. After so many false starts, be it with a construction project or a baby that can't make up its mind when to be born, it is easy to lose sight of the goal and to lose heart for the hope of ever realizing its joy.



Paul speaks to this yearning for the labor to be over, for this new life we can see on the horizon to be manifested. "For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience (Romans 8:18-25)."

The ancient world engaged a different relationship with what it means to be patient than we twenty-first century inhabitants. We can call across the world in seconds with small contraptions that effortlessly slip into our pockets for safe keeping. Emails fly back and forth between computers as fast as we can write them and click on send. We can grab our morning coffee at drive-through windows, drive to the expressway and travel as far to work in an hour as our ancestors would have taken days to walk or ride on the back of a pack animal. We are used to living with little patience because we occupy a world that demands very little of it from us.

For Paul to be writing this kind of letter to the church at Rome gives us pause to consider what it meant to these people to live with patience and a living hope in God. I suspect the rhythm of their days as city dwellers included much of what we do today: getting up every morning, caring for themselves and their children, going to work or caring for a home. Their stress level would not have been born of rush hour traffic or a long line at Dunkin? Donuts, but of Roman soldiers patrolling their neighborhoods in search of people unwilling to bend to the Emperor's will. Understandable, then, that there may have been some mental toe tapping as they lived each day, wondering when this Jesus Christ of whom Paul spoke would be coming back. Christianity was not a legalized religion. Practicing its tenets too publicly could be contrued as a threat against Rome, and could result in violence against oneself or one's family. There were no safe places to worship and support each other through these times of confusion, despair and hopelessness, not even in the memories held by a burned out building on the mend. Our faithful ancestors met in each other's homes, privately and prayerfully, feeling the pangs of hope dissolve, but then felt them rise again, and knew their labor was not in vain as they passed this birthing of God's kingdom on to the next generation.

We are not far off now. The birth of the Christ is almost at hand. As we gather again to take our part in laboring this hope of generations into being, we also claim the promise delivered in God Who is With Us Now.