December 2010 Philadelphia Chapter of Pax Christi U.S.A.
Season of Waiting
A few weeks ago I headed down to the Philadelphia Parking Authority on a chilly morning to contest a parking ticket we had received in March. When I arrived at the office I was discouraged by the sight of a packed waiting room—men and women, young and old filling the chairs, even standing along the wall and sitting on the floor. When the woman I checked in with informed me that the wait would be over two hours I decided to write a check for the amount due and be on my way. Just as I was handing it over to her I had a change of heart and decided to take my place with the others and wait. In such bureaucratic realms, I realized, change often comes not from dramatic confrontation but a willingness to wait quietly for hours.
At first I was dreading this time of waiting in a stuffy, overcrowded, loud room with Neva, my 6-month-old daughter. But I soon realized that her happy heart lifted my spirits and also brought some smiles to those around me. One of the joys of being a mother is seeing how Neva’s presence can bring a smile to even the hardest stranger. I chatted with a woman
about her own children, about the hard work of motherhood. The people sitting around us were entertained by Neva’s squirming and I was grateful just to have her in such a sweet mood.
Neva fussed for a bit and eventually fell into a peaceful rest. How pleasant to hold my sleeping child! I think, too, that for others there is a peacefulness in seeing a mother holding her little baby —so many that sat around us offered small smiles and tender glances. But the small gestures of mercy and shared commonality were overshadowed by the overarching waiting that characterizes the lives of the poor.
I thought of us all there and how true it is that the poor are so often forced to endure the indignity of waiting too long. Waiting like this is certainly no great suffering, but it is, in its own way, an affront to one’s dignity—which is why the rich are happy to have the means to avoid such tiresome humilities. When I was trying to get Medicaid in anticipation of Neva’s birth, I sat regularly in waiting rooms for hours, often to be told eventually that I needed to go someplace else. It is no surprise to me that tempers flare –waiting like this leaves one feeling powerless (I imagine intentionally so) but also it makes one tired, sometimes hungry and uncomfortable, and anxious that the waiting might be in vain.
Advent is upon us and so, as I sat there, I remembered that this, too, is a season of waiting. The wait was tiresome certainly, but nothing compared to the waiting that so many endure—waiting for a meal, waiting for aid or shelter, waiting for immigration status, waiting for fair rulings, or waiting for a Savior under the shadow of an oppressive government. These are the people who, like those waiting for a Messiah in the days of Isaiah, “walked in darkness…who dwelt in a land of deep darkness.”
There in our own small “darkness” that day, I remembered that even though we have the promise of a Savior to come, we always have before us the opportunity to bring the light of Christ’s love. There was a goodness that day in being there all together and I was encouraged to see how we, in such a small way, took care of one another—those that gave up chairs and those who listened for the names of people who had gone to the bathroom. These days the darkness of our waiting world can seem impenetrable, but the small acts of humanity I saw remind me that we are to be active in our waiting. Yes we await Christ’s return, but we need not do so passively, hoping for a resolution some distant day. May the joy of Christ’s birth give us the courage to love another even as we wait in darkness!
Lauren is a member of St. Malachy
Lauren Grace
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