It was surprisingly mild for a September night at 2am as I walked down the country roads in the eerie, yet serene, silence of the “wee hours”. Darkness, our old friend, does have a sound of silence. It has a way of simultaneously stilling us with its abrupt ending to our vision, focusing our attention on the moment without distraction, and haunting us with anticipation for light to break through. I came to cross over the motorway, usually filled with vehicles all rushing with somewhere to be, creating an incessant buzzing sound to those who live nearby. But the road was empty. No one had anywhere to go. On one hand it seemed calm, on the other it shouted all the louder, petitioning for its purpose to be fulfilled, for cars to fill its lanes. The temporary peace clamoured for the familiar noise of weary pilgrims to tread its highways to their daily destination.
Soon I made it to the town where I would board my bus to the airport. A couple of late-night travellers shot semi-suspicious glances out of their car windows as they sped by. Again, a certain peace came at being the only human on the main street, but a pestering voice whispered in my ear, calling for dawn to come; calling for the fragrance of fresh coffee to fill the air, for acquaintances to greet one another, for the bus stops to be filled with people ready to give of themselves for the sake of their family, for disgruntled teens to shuffle towards their place of learning for which they owe more than they know, for the birds to sing, the dogs to play, and for illumination to be restored by the sun. There is a tension between the now and the not yet.
Bleary-eyed, I landed in London where my teammate greeted me with some much-needed coffee. (God has given us a discerning team…). We boarded our train and headed into London city. There, we were greeted by a very different vibe to my sleepy 2am hometown. The teeming rain certainly dampened the mood, and forced more commuters into vehicles than might otherwise have been on foot, but nonetheless, the city was alive and kicking, with rush-hour having arrived.
Our flight times left us a little early for our visa appointment, so we dove into a small shop just around the corner from the embassy to escape the rain, and to fill our rumbling bellies with some baked goods. But mostly to escape the rain. At 11am we rose, splashed our way down the water-logged pavements and entered the embassy basement, surrounded by a crowd of nationals of our visa country looking oddly at two white guys who towered over them in height. We were ushered to the visa counter for what we imagined would be a quick and easy drop-off of documents. However, it was not quite so easy.
The attendant at the counter looked at our documents briefly and suggested that we wait for the big cheese, the top visa official, and have a meeting with him about our applications. After a short wait we were brought to his office and warmly greeted by the man himself. We spent about 20 minutes with him, discussing various aspects of our visas. He was very encouraging, wanting to help us get to his home country and help it, but he just could not give us the exact visa we were applying for. This was not the outcome that we had expected.
Somewhat downcast, we left the embassy, entered a museum café and sat for a while to discuss the new situation. It all felt a bit heavy. This was the second major delay in getting our first visas. And while the visa official had kindly pointed us to several options as a way forward, it would certainly not be quick. Our minds flicked between the anticipation of exploring these other options and the doors that God could be opening, and trying to figure out how life would look for the next few months as we waited. We broke the news to our wives and our team already out there. We would be waiting a while longer.
The months of waiting have not been enjoyable. Before the first delay, our suitcases had been packed, goodbyes had been said, and as the expected day of departure rolled around, a pang of sadness and restlessness entered our hearts. This was not the plan. We thought we would be in our new home by now.
As the days rolled by, many blessings came. More time as a family, physical rest without many responsibilities, time spent with friends. A holiday-like serenity guarded us in part. And yet the suitcases remained packed in the corner. Clothes were taken from boxes rather than a chest of drawers (having given it away). As the weeks came and went we realised we would have to send the kids back to school, return to work, and hide the packed suitcases from sight. They had stood as a reminder that we were not yet there. And yet, we did not want to unpack, as we did not know when we would have to leave.
A similar feeling to that of my early morning walk descended on our household. In certain areas, peace. A strange rest in time of waiting. Yet an anticipation for things to be used for their intended end. Man was made to work. Waiting is not bad, rest is good but, antithetically, restlessness comes when we do not work. There is an unrest that settles in, between wanting house to be a home, that functions as a place of warmth, rest, hospitality, and yet leaving things in suitcases, ready for the moment we are to leave. The visa delay has caused a tension between the now and the not yet. A disturbance in the heart of wanting to fulfil purpose here, and to anticipate the coming departure.
Put back now on the teaching roster at church, I started to prepare to open our return series in Matthew. We previously left off at the point before Jesus enters Jerusalem on his final week. Over the next few chapters, through actions, parables, tricky questions, condemnations and head-scratching teaching, Jesus will stress one reality to his disciples. They must be ready for the coming kingdom. In the meantime they must pay taxes to Caesar. In the meantime, they must bear fruit in the vineyards. In the meantime, they must invest talents and prepare oil. But they must be ready at a moment’s notice for the Master’s return. One might even say that being ready is to be carrying out the mundane things faithfully. Being ready is not sitting on the doorstep with suitcases packed, waiting for “the next step”. Readiness is faithfulness in the moment, while living with that sometimes-overbearing tension of awaiting the dawn, the life, the fulfilment of all things. It is to live wisely neither neglecting the now nor the not yet.
This season has taught us something of that. And the balance is a hard one to find. Especially when every day brings a new conversation with teammates over visa options and things seem to progress, and then we must agonizingly wait for replies etc. and get on with the day-to-day. Something of kingdom longing is reflected in the yo-yo pattern somewhere between the extremes of obsessing and ignoring as we try to balance the emotions. And yet maybe learning to hold faithfully to both the now and the not yet will teach us how to live in readiness. Readiness not because suitcases are packed and boarding passes printed, but because we live now, in light of the not yet.
Pray for our hearts in this season. We are learning what this looks like. And yet pray for all our hearts, that we might all learn how to live these days in that tension in light of a far greater journey, to the celestial city, our home.
Imitators of Those 
Leave a Reply