“What’s taking so long?”
“Are we there yet?”
“How much longer?”
Those are questions from the backseat. Those in the front seat ask them, too, of course—just not out loud.
“Why aren’t we moving?”
“Well, we’re stuck in traffic.”
“When will the traffic go away?”
The reply, “I don’t know. I’m not in charge of the traffic. I wish I was. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I need to go to the bathroom.”
“We just left the house twelve minutes ago. Can you hang in there?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Why don’t we try? Okay?”
No one’s okay with traffic. Even the most patient of us like when things move along. We like when things work according to our plans and our timing. When things aren’t going the way we thought they would, some of us are better at adjusting our expectations than others, but still, no one would rather be stuck in traffic. That’s when even the most grown-up of us start asking that first question, “What’s taking so long?”
And what happens when we know where we’re going—or we at least have a good idea about it—but we can’t get there, nor can we see a way forward. Then what? That’s what the faithful in Peter’s church are feeling. They’re feeling stuck somewhere in the middle of “the now” and the “not yet.”
They know what’s been promised to them, and they’re wondering how long they have to wait for it, because “the now” is too much and too hard for them to see past and “the not yet” can’t come soon enough. And “the now” for them feels a whole lot worse than being stuck in traffic. At least we know there’s an end to traffic—or a way out of it.
The faithful of Peter’s church, much like every other of the late first Century, are up against persecution. They’re risking their lives for their faith and they’re suffering for it, and they’re wondering why and for how long. They didn’t think that following Christ was going to be easy, but they had no idea it would be this hard, and they’re asking their shepherd, their pastor, Peter, for guidance.
What’s taking so long? When is God, the All-in-All, going to come closer and turn the tables on the ones getting their way and destroying us in the process? What I imagine them asking Peter is close to what the writer of the thirteenth Psalm asked God:
How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
But Peter doesn’t know the answer to these questions, either. He’s asking them, too. He’s wondering about all this as well. So, Peter doesn’t offer answers. He refuses to promise them anything he’s not sure of himself. But he remembered what Jesus had to say about this. “The day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.” Peter was there to hear that. And who could forget a thing like that? No one knows how any of this will come about—or when—not even Jesus, evidently. And if Jesus didn’t know, but left the timing up to God, then what chance did Peter have at answering any questions about God’s timing?
So instead of feigning confidence, he responds with assurances—with what he does know. In response to their anxiety, their suffering, their doubt, and their thirst for something that will not fall to pieces but is sure and timeless and certain. Peter reminds them of their God-story.
“Though it seems God hasn’t shown up for us yet,” Peter seems to say, “this is how God has shown up in the past, and we can be sure that God will do it again.” Though we don’t know the answer to our “what” and “when” questions, we can be sure of the answer to the ones that begin with “who” and “how.”
See, Peter wants to adjust their focus and attention away from what’s going on right in front of them and toward God. He’s helping them imagine different questions, the ones that can be answered with faith. There will be a day when God will confront all that’s going wrong with the world and will do what it takes to set it right again. That’s the promise.
Peter tells the faithful of his church and ours that looking at what’s going wrong won’t help us fix a thing. We must be more faithful than that. We must shift our perspective—change our worry into wonder, our uncertainty into prayers, our inability to save ourselves into a deeper trust and a much more profound reliance upon the God who can.
I can’t help sharing what the Austrian Poet, René Maria Rilke wrote to a young poet he was mentoring.
I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.
Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
And though the answers to all our questions come slowly—or perhaps not at all, we’d do well to take to heart what Peter proclaims to his church: The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness.
Instead, He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance (to change their hearts and lives and questions).
And rather than spend the time worrying, spend it “growing in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”
All praises to the One who made it all and finds it beautiful! Alleluia! Amen.