I’ve learned a lot about myself over the years: some of this knowledge has come in prayer, on retreats and other places you expect to provide such insights. However, a considerable amount of understanding has arrived in the everyday things of life. Two specific examples related to advent have come to me via gardening, especially when I was a kid, and now, anything involving paint or wood finish.
When I was growing up, I used to love planting a small garden in the yard of our patient and kind next-door neighbor. With their help and guidance, I would till the soil, plant neat little rows, drop in the various types of seeds, pat the soil down… and then about two or three days later, be out there staring at the ground wondering why something hadn’t begun happening already. And of course, I couldn’t leave it alone. I would poke at the dirt, brush it aside, try to see if anything was sprouting yet. Any gardener will tell you: that only slows things down. But waiting felt impossible. I wanted results. I wanted proof.
Sad to report, that part of me hasn’t changed.
Nowadays, if I’m working woodworking project or painting a room, it’s the same thing. I’ll put on a coat of finish or paint a wall, and within minutes I’m thinking, “It’s probably dry enough.” So I touch it, always, and sure enough, it’s still tacky, and there’s my fingerprint or smudge. But I want the thing to be done. I want to move on and enjoy the finished product. Waiting feels like wasted time and is pure torture for my impatient side.
Today’s second reading, from the Letter of James, speaks straight to that human restlessness: “Be patient, brothers and sisters… See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth.”
The good and wise farmer waits. He knows and accepts that the seed grows in its own season. The harvest arrives in its own time, not on our schedule. That’s James’ reminder to the early Church and to us: faith moves at the speed of God’s wisdom and plan, not the speed of our desires.
For years I thought of patience as a sort of magical, spiritual commodity. I would pray that God would give me more of it, as if it were just a matter of filling the tank so it wouldn’t run out. At some point, I discovered the meaning of the Latin root of the word ‘patience’ and it changed my perspective and what to pray for. The root comes from the Latin patientia, which doesn’t simply mean “waiting nicely” or “gritting one’s teeth to get through it”. It literally means to suffer, to bear, to endure, to carry something for a long time without giving up.
So when Scripture calls us to patience, it’s not simply calling us to polite waiting or avoiding losing our temper. It’s inviting us to accept the unavoidable suffering, frustration, and slowness that come with growth. If we want to be patient, we have to accept that not everything will feel easy or quick. To be patient is to carry the tension of “not yet” without losing hope. And that’s a deeply Advent virtue.
With this background in mind, I think there are 4 main areas we are called to live patiently:
First of all, we must be patient with God. I personally find this the most challenging. Think of all the times we pray, we ask, we hope… and nothing seems to change. We wonder if God hears us or our prayers have any effect. We wonder why God isn’t sprouting something in our lives sooner. But God works like a seed: slow, hidden, deliberate. God is not late; God is thorough. And sometimes the very suffering involved in waiting becomes the place where grace takes root. Advent reminds us that God never rushes, he never forgets his promises, and he is often working beneath the surface.
Secondly, we have to be patient with the process of trusting in God’s plan. Spiritual growth is not a project we can finish on a Saturday afternoon. It’s the slow shaping of our hearts over a lifetime. The virtues grow one small choice at a time. Healing progresses slowly. Forgiveness happens gradually. Mercy grows slowly. If faith is a garden, most of the growth is underground; unseen but essential. If faith is a freshly painted wall, grace needs time to “dry,” to cure, before we see its shine.
Third, we must learn to be patient with ourselves. We all have moments when we think, “I should be further along than this.” “I should be holier by now.” “I should have this bad habit fixed already.” “I should be stronger.”
But patience means accepting the suffering of being unfinished. It means trusting that God is still working…slowly, faithfully, on the person we are becoming. God is never impatient with us.
God never looks at us and says, “You’re taking too long.” God sees the whole story. God sees the fruit that hasn’t ripened yet.
Which leads to the 4th way we practice this virtue. If we’re going to be patient with God, with the process, and with ourselves… then we must also be patient with other people. Every person in your life (family, coworkers, friends, parishioners) is also a “work in progress.” They are carrying hidden burdens you don’t see. They are growing in ways you can’t measure. They are becoming who God wants them to be and becoming anything takes time. We never know which part of someone’s life is still “wet paint.” We never know which seed in someone else’s heart is just beginning to grow beneath the surface. And we certainly never know when our impatience might damage the very delicate work God has begun in them. To love people well is to give them space to grow, space to fail, space to try again. Patience with others is simply treating them the way God treats us.
Today is Gaudete Sunday, commanding us to rejoice. The joy we celebrate is not the joy of completion. It’s not the joy of everything being perfect or wrapped up in a bow. It’s the joy of knowing that God is at work…even in the waiting, the slowness, and the suffering patience requires. It’s the joy of believing what God has begun in us will, in God’s perfect time, come to full harvest.
So this week, the invitation is simple: Be patient with God’s timing. Be patient with the long, slow work of faith. Be patient with yourself. And be patient with each other. Let the seeds God planted grow in their season. Let the paint of grace dry fully in your life and in the lives of others. And trust that what God has begun will, in His perfect time, be brought to completion.
