Why Do We Wait? A Personal Reflection for Advent

Advent is here. The candles are lit, the hymns have begun, and yet I find myself returning to a question that has quietly followed me for years. It surfaced during a conversation with another Christian who was not Catholic, and the simplicity of the question caught me off guard. Even now, it continues to invite deeper reflection.

He asked me

If Jesus Christ already came 2,000 years ago, if He was born in Bethlehem, lived among us, died for our sins, rose again, and ascended in glory, then why are we still waiting? What exactly are Catholics waiting for?

I offered a brief explanation about tradition and symbolism, but the truth is that the question stayed with me long after the conversation ended. Each Advent season since then has brought that question back to life, nudging me to look at my own understanding of what it means to wait. I find myself wrestling with this paradox: Why do we wait for something that has already happened? Why do we symbolically prepare for a birth that is a fixed event in history?

More importantly, why do I feel compelled to return to this waiting each year, as though I am repeating some cycle my mind already understands but my heart still needs to grasp?

These questions have intrigue me. I wanted to understand it not only intellectually but also spiritually. And I wanted to understand why, deep down, something in me longs for this waiting. To my surprise, this reflection has led me to a deeper understanding, challenged some of my assumptions, and revealed something profoundly personal about the nature of waiting in the Christian life, something that goes beyond the calendar and becomes a mirror held up to my soul.

Waiting in Daily Life: Preparing for Someone Important

Before diving into the theological dimensions of waiting, I began by reflecting on my own daily life. I asked myself: When do I wait? What does waiting look like for me outside of church? Why does waiting matter?

When I thought about the times I prepare for someone important, the answer became clearer. These reflections led me to a simple yet profound realisation.

Whenever I expect someone important, even briefly, I prepare.

If someone dear to me is visiting, I tidy the house, make sure everything is in order, and ensure the place feels warm and welcoming. If someone I deeply admire is coming, I take special care with my appearance, my environment, and even my manner of speaking. And if a person of great honour, say, a king, a dignitary, or a leader, were to visit me, I would do everything possible to present myself in the best possible way.

I would reflect, prepare, adjust, and refine myself, not because I lack worth, but because the encounter matters. This preparation is never out of fear or insecurity. It is an expression of love and respect. It is my way of saying, “Your presence matters, and I want things to be right when you arrive.”

None of us would rush into an important encounter unprepared.

We dress well for job interviews, we tidy our homes for visitors, and we organise our lives when expecting someone special. We instinctively prepare our environment and ourselves when we anticipate the arrival of someone who matters deeply.

This, I realised, is the essence of Advent.

Advent is not about pretending that Jesus has not already been born. It is about preparing our hearts as though Someone infinitely important is drawing near in a fresh, personal, transformative way. It is about intentionally becoming the best, most purified version of ourselves, not out of fear, but out of reverence and love.

The waiting of Advent mirrors the kind of anticipation we naturally feel for important guests in our lives, yet elevated to a spiritual encounter with the One who created us.

The question changed at that moment. It was no longer “Why are we waiting if Jesus already came?” It became, “Is my heart prepared to receive Him more deeply than I have before?”

The Sacred Pattern of Waiting in Scripture

As I reflected on the idea of preparing for someone important, another realisation came to mind. Waiting is not only a part of our daily lives, it is woven deeply into the story of Scripture. In fact, almost every major moment in salvation history is preceded by a period of waiting, often far longer and far more demanding than anything we experience today.

Noah waited while building the ark in obedience to a command that must have seemed strange to everyone around him. Abraham waited decades for the fulfilment of a promise that, at times, looked impossibly distant. The people of Israel waited in Egypt for deliverance, then waited again in the desert for the land God had promised them. Later generations waited for the Messiah, holding on to ancient prophecies through centuries of silence. Even Mary waited, carrying the mystery of God within her for nine months.

This pattern is not accidental. Scripture teaches us that waiting has a purpose. It forms the heart, sharpens faith, deepens trust, and stretches the soul toward God. It teaches us to pray, “Not my will but Yours be done”, not as a resignation but as a declaration of trust. Waiting becomes a way of surrendering our timetable and embracing God’s perfect timing, even when it unfolds more slowly than we would prefer.

I thought about how this truth appears in our ordinary experiences as well. Sometimes we wait for meaningful things in ways that seem disproportionate. We wait a long time in a doctor’s clinic for an appointment that lasts only a few minutes, yet we do it because we know the encounter matters. We wait in queues for services we need, in traffic for destinations that matter, and in silence for answers we hope to receive. Waiting becomes part of the process that prepares us for what is truly important.

If waiting shapes us so deeply in ordinary life, how much more does spiritual waiting shape our hearts and our souls? Advent, then, becomes not a passive season but a deliberate participation in the biblical rhythm of waiting. It reminds us that God often works slowly, intentionally, and with purpose. And it invites us to trust that the One we are preparing to welcome knows the perfect time to enter our lives more fully.

The Deep Meaning of Waiting: Past, Present, and Future

As I continued to reflect, I came across the teaching of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux describing three

comings of Christ: the first in Bethlehem, the second at the end of time, and the third in the heart of every Christian. This third coming is the one that struck me the most. It suggested that waiting is not about repeating history or rehearsing a memory. It is about allowing Christ to enter the present moment in a new way. It is the coming that happens in prayer, in the sacraments, in conversion, in acts of love, in silence, and sometimes in unexpected moments of our lives.

This changed my understanding of Advent entirely.

Christ’s birth is not only a past event we recall, but a mystery that deepens each time we encounter it. His birth reveals the humility of God, the vulnerability of His love, and the lengths to which He is willing to go to reach us. If His first coming teaches us what His heart is like, then preparing to celebrate it again each year becomes a way of preparing to receive Him in the present.

Waiting becomes less about time and more about openness. Less about reenactment and more about renewal. Less about history and more about transformation.

We are not only waiting for a date on the calendar; we are waiting for Christ to enter our lives more deeply. And this waiting, far from being passive, invites us into conversion. It invites us to examine our lives honestly and ask ourselves what still needs to be healed, surrendered, or changed.

The more I thought about this, the more I realised that Advent is a deeply active season. It is the opposite of passivity. It calls me to look closely at my habits, my priorities, my relationships, my faith, and ask: “If Christ wants to enter here, will He find room in the ‘inn’ of my heart?”

This question is not always comfortable. But it is always necessary.

And this is why the Church invites us into Advent every year. Not because the birth of Christ must be re-delivered, but because our hearts must be re-opened. His story does not need to be repeated, but our conversion does.

In this sense, Advent holds together both the “already” and the “not yet”. Christ has already come, yet His work in us is not finished. His Kingdom has already begun, yet it has not reached its fullness. His grace is already here, yet we are still learning to receive it.

Advent captures this perfectly. It reminds us that even though Jesus has already come, we have not yet welcomed Him fully into every part of our lives. Even though salvation is accomplished, we are still being transformed. Even though He reigns in heaven, we still long for the day He will reign visibly over all creation.

Waiting, therefore, becomes not a sign of deficiency but a sign of hope and longing. The longing of the lover for the beloved. A way of saying: “Lord, I know You are coming. Help me to be ready.”

This is the very fabric of our Christian journey.

But Why Prepare for His Birth Rather Than His Return?

This question still lingered for me, even as I understood the deeper meaning of waiting.

Why, specifically, focus on His birth?

Why not focus exclusively on the Second Coming?

Through prayer, reflection, and study, I came to realise something profound:

The birth of Christ is not merely a past event, it is the lens through which we understand every other encounter with Him.

The Incarnation is the mystery that reveals who God is and why He comes.

If I do not understand His birth,

I will not understand His second coming.

If I do not prepare for His manger,

I will not be prepared for His glory.

The humility of Bethlehem prepares my heart to receive the majesty of His return.

The vulnerability of the Child in the manger softens my heart for the day I stand before Him as Judge.

The gentleness of the First Coming teaches me how to desire the awe of the Second Coming.

Advent becomes the school in which my heart learns how to wait—not with fear, but with love.

What I Am Really Waiting For?

After much reflection, I finally asked myself a difficult question: “What am I really waiting for?” The more honest I became, the clearer the answer became. I am not waiting for Christmas Day to arrive. I am not simply waiting for liturgical rituals or seasonal traditions. What I am truly waiting for is Christ Himself, and for the parts of my heart that still resist Him to become more open.

I am waiting for grace to move me where I have been stuck.

I am waiting for courage to confront the things I tend to avoid.

I am waiting for a deeper trust in God’s plan for my life.

I am waiting for greater love, greater compassion, and greater holiness.

I am waiting for Christ to be born again within the hidden corners of my soul.

This waiting is personal. It is honest. It is challenging. But it is also filled with hope.

The more I reflect, the more I realise that I have not yet become the person God is calling me to be. And this is not discouraging. It is an invitation. Advent reminds me that Christ continues to come into my life in ways I often do not expect. He comes through prayer. He comes through moments of stillness. He comes through struggle and surrender. He comes through joy, through the sacraments, through the people I encounter, and often through the places I least expect.

Preparing for His coming means preparing a place within me where His light can shine more clearly. It means letting go of what blocks His grace. It means welcoming Him not only into the parts of my life that feel holy, but also into the ones that do not.

And so I return each year to this season of waiting, not because I have forgotten the story, but because the story continues to shape me.

It is waiting with purpose.

And Now, I Invite You to Reflect With Me

As we prepare for Advent this year, I would like to invite you into this reflection as well. Perhaps you have asked the same questions. Perhaps Advent has always felt like a ritual, and you want it to be something deeper. Or perhaps you are simply curious about the meaning of waiting in the Christian life.

Whatever your starting point, I invite you to reflect on these questions with me:

What are you waiting for this Advent?

What parts of your heart need preparation?

What areas of your life are ready for change?

What habits need refining?

What wounds need healing?

Where do you desire Christ to be born anew?

I also want to hear your thoughts on the central question:

If Jesus has already come, why do we still wait?

What does Advent mean to you?

How has it shaped your faith, your prayer life, or your relationship with God?

Please share your reflections in the comments below.

Your insights may be the very words someone else needs to read.

Together, let us journey this Advent season not out of obligation, but out of longing.

Let us prepare our hearts as though Someone infinitely important is coming, because He is.

And may this season draw each one of us into deeper conversion, greater hope, and renewed love for God who came, who comes, and who will come again.

Thank you for reading, and I genuinely look forward to hearing your thoughts. May this Advent be a season of transformation for all of us.