Wait

“It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD” (Jer. 3:26).

Good? “Good” and “wait” are two words that I am not sure I would put in a sentence together.

Wait—for the prodigal to come home, the son or daughter that continues to tear their life apart, destroy their kids, tramples your heart.

Wait—for the healing when pain swamps and no light at the end of the tunnel; cancer eats away at your loved one; when the elderly parent continues to linger even when our midnight cries are for her to go home.

Wait—for the answers of “Why, God?” In God’s silence. When life seems put on a pain-wracking pause, suspended in slow motion in a free fall off a cliff with only rocks at the bottom.

Wait—treading through another daily grind, trying to make ends meet, exhausted strength, and when, God, will things get better?

Wait—through long days and months of chronic depression, a soul darkness so real it crushes the ribs from the inside out and outside in.

Jeremiah knows our pain of waiting. He opens this very same chapter tearing at his hair, his head a fountain of tears, weeping (Jer. 9), his scribe trying to understand the words through the wails and weeps, the tears that torrent.

“I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of his [God’s wrath]; he has driven and brought me into darkness without any light…. He has made my flesh and skin waste away…. He has made me dwell in darkness like the dead of long ago” (Jer. 3:1-6).

Jeremiah, is it good to wait? Is it good to quietly one waits? Is it good to wait because eventually salvation will come? Is it good to wait?

Jesus, what is your answer?

He takes us by the hand and leads us to a dusty street in Galilee. Jesus steps out of the boat, and before long a crowd gathers around him. Teaching, and then the crowd parts, “Shh, here comes the synagogue ruler Jairus!” “Isn’t his daughter sick?” “Is he coming to see Jesus?” “Aren’t the religious leaders opposing Jesus? Do you think he really wants to see him?” “His daughter is so sick….” A conversation between Jesus and the servants, Jairus’ hands urgently gesturing. Quick, quick, fall in step, Jesus leaves. Jairus tries to set the pace, hurry, hurry, fast steps, sandals flapping and robes flying.

Then, pause. “Who touched me?” Jesus, Jairus tugs on his robe, there are so many people. Daughter sick. Urgent. Time. Dying. Only twelve years old. No time. Come. Quick. Hurry. Now. Life and death.

“Who touched me?” Pause. He waits. Slowly, all too slowly the crowd parts for a woman who comes trembling, almost crawling, hesitantly. Jesus pauses, ministers to her, comforts her on the dust. He stoops down to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease” (Mk. 5:34).

“While he was still speaking…” (Mk. 5:35).  

In the midst of the wonder, the shouted celebration, there falls a pall, a hush as servants arrive from the ruler’s house.

“Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” (Mk. 5:36).

Jairus drops to the dust. Despair. Why. Shoulders heave. He lifts his eyes to Jesus, anger and pain distorting in wrenching gasps. No words, but the why shoots forth. Why pause? Why linger? Jesus, if only you had come quicker.

Why?

Wait?

Pain.

You failed.

Why her and not my daughter?

We bow in the dust before Jesus with Jairus. Why? For our personal pain. The pain of loved ones. The pain of the abused, sex trafficked, wars. The whole world is groaning, why? Why wait? The very dust on the ground must have met Jairus’ tears in accord.

“Do not fear, only believe” (Mk. 5:36).

Five words to a chasm of worldwide grief, of pain soul deep it bows the spine and bends the pelvis, too heavy to bear in a body. No promise it will get better. No specifics. No explanations.

Is it good to wait?

Did Jairus walk those final steps to his house in confident faith? In despair that it was too late? Anger? Numb? Too fearful to hope?

Jesus arrives. Bends, takes her by the hand in the flickering olive oil light, strokes the dark hair, wailing barely muffled by the mud walls.

Salvation comes.

New life.

Resurrection.

Then did Jesus after the celebration and reuniting touch Jairus’ shoulder? A look that spoke, “I paused, lingered, waited—not even though I loved you. I waited because I love you. I knew what I am doing. Jairus, you would have seen only a healing, but greater things than these you will see, you saw a resurrection. This was the gift I wanted to give you, to give your daughter. You will not feel my love if you try to impose your own timing and hurry and schedule on me. Jairus, it is good to wait quietly on the salvation of the Lord.”

Because he loves us.

Because he loved us, not even though, not in contrary to.

Because he loved us, he waited until the fullness of time to send his Son (Gal. 4:4).

Because he loved Israel, Isaiah, Jeremiah he called them to wait in faith “since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect” (Heb. 11:40).

Because he loved Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, he waited until Lazarus died (Jn. 11).

Because he loves us.

What no eye has seen or ear has heard, he has prepared for those who love him—we wait. It is good to wait on a good, wise God.

Jesus, I trust. I trust the God who himself went through the anguish and pain I know, we know. Who groaned with us and with creation.

Because he had something better.

He loves.

He waits because he loves.

It is good to wait on this God.