First Sunday of Advent (Year A) Waking Up to the Sacred “Now”

We all know that feeling—that impatient, anxious feeling of sitting in a long line of traffic with no end in sight. Some people get tense immediately. Others take a breath and resign themselves to the pace. And then there is that rare person who, without apology, pulls out a coffee and a Danish, turns up the music, sings at the top of their lungs, maybe even does a little car-seat dance and decides, “You know what? This isn’t so bad. I’m going to enjoy this.”
Is that you? Be honest. Are you a fretter? Or a car dancer?
But here’s the deeper question: what has that joyful driver actually done? They’ve “re-framed” the moment. They refused to let waiting become a prison and instead turned it into a pocket of freedom—freedom from pressure, freedom from the clock, freedom from the demand that things happen according to their plan. Rather than obsessing over what’s coming, they’ve learned to celebrate the now.
And when your “now” is awake—when you’re grounded in the present—your anxiety about the future loses some of its grip. It no longer drains your energy or steals your peace.
The truth is: we humans are not very good at waiting. Even if—wait for it—even if waiting would actually give us greater peace or clarity.
We like things defined. We like them predictable. We like them our way. And when life places us in a stretch of uncertainty or anticipation, we feel uncomfortable. Sometimes deeply so.
Some people especially struggle with waiting during the holidays. I once knew a child who absolutely could not handle the suspense of Christmas gifts. Even though “Santa” came overnight, the gifts from family placed under the tree ahead of time would practically whisper their name. Every year, this child begged relentlessly to open just one gift early. Eventually, the family tradition shifted: one gift on Christmas Eve became two… then three. Today, that family still opens their gifts on Christmas Eve—a remnant of childhood impatience that reshaped a family custom.
Some waiting is fun—like counting down to a vacation or seeing someone you love. But other waiting, like in a hospital waiting room, feels excruciating. You see people staring at their watches as if they can force the clock to move. Or staring at the doorway, hoping their name will finally be called so they can escape that “den of waiting.”
And as our grandmothers warned us: “A watched pot never boils.” The more you want time to pass, the slower it moves.
But here’s something we often forget:
 There is another kind of waiting that shapes us far more than traffic jams or doctor appointments—spiritual waiting. And many of us carry a deep spiritual impatience without realizing it.
Our spiritual life is like a thermometer. When it’s high, we can handle the unknown. We can stay grounded. We can even “dance in the car.” When it’s low, everything feels heavier. Waiting becomes unbearable. Fear sets in.
So how do we raise that spiritual temperature?
By paying attention not only to what we know about God, but to how we experience God. By learning to recognize God’s presence in the moment. By staying awake to the now.
Steve Cuss, in his book The Expectation Gap, talks about the space between what we believe about God and what we actually feel in daily life. Many Christians—even deeply faithful ones—often say things like:
“I believe God loves me, but I don’t feel it.”
 “I believe God is with me, but I don’t feel better.”
 “I believe faith matters, but life still feels difficult.”
Cuss’s point is this: rigid expectations can trap us. They create a spiritual disconnection. But when we practice presence—being awake to God in the moment—the gap begins to close.
Psychologist Daniel Gilbert calls this our “psychological immune system.” Christians might call it the gift of the Holy Spirit—our inner resilience. When the Spirit fuels us, our fear-fever lowers and our joy rises.
Even Scripture tells us that God turns our mourning into dancing. Not by removing every hardship, but by standing with us in the middle of them—right now, in real time.
And that brings us to today’s Gospel as we enter Advent. Jesus tells His disciples to stay awake—not because he wants them to be anxious about the future, but because He wants them to be present to God’s movement in their lives. He knows difficult days lie ahead for them, and yet He does not say, “Stop living.” He says:
 “Be awake. Be ready. Stay present. Don’t lose now by obsessing over what’s next.”
Waiting is not supposed to shut down life. Waiting is supposed to open it up.
As disciples, we are not meant to freeze, to predict, or to panic. We are meant to continue the mission, continue the love, continue the mercy, continue the joy—even in the unknown. Especially in the unknown.
Because once you embrace the power of the “now,” every time of waiting becomes instead a time of dancing.
“Dancing in the moment” is spiritual resiliency. It is trusting that God is in this hour, this breath, this conversation, this struggle, this joy. It is believing that every moment has purpose because God is present in all of them—not only the moments we plan, but the moments that surprise us.
And so during Advent—the Church’s great season of holy waiting—Jesus invites us not just to anticipate a destination, but to marinate in the living presence of God right here and now.
Wake up, people of God. Wake up to the life around you.
 Wake up to the grace in front of you.
 Wake up to the Advent invitation to see the sacred in the everyday.
Waiting is not empty. It is full.
 Full of grace.
 Full of God.
 Full of opportunity to grow, trust, breathe, notice, love, and—yes—to dance.
May this Advent be a season where you don’t rush ahead, but savor the moment. A season where you lift your spiritual temperature. A season where you learn again to see God in the “now.”
For even in the waiting room, God is already here. Present. Loving. Moving.
 And that is enough.