“And as I sat there brooding on the old unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s long dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it, He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Advent, the church calendar’s season of waiting and expectation for Christmas and the celebration of the birth of Jesus, is here. For the past couple of years it has been a period of momentous reflection and growth in my life. Looking back in my journals I can certainly tell that spending the Advent season in a posture of peace and expectancy and semi-melancholic hope was so life-giving. This year, however, feels different. While life is bursting through its skin with fullness I feel more stressed than usual. My checklist of to-dos is seemingly endless and responsibilities are descending on me in a burdensome manner I don’t enjoy at all. To be honest, it’s just been difficult to connect with the heart of Jesus in this period of busyness, in the midst of life’s chaos.
I read a quote today in a blog from Ryan Hamm that said the following. “Advent is about unresolved and promised hope. A hope that we cling to, even when we’re not quite sure it exists. Waiting is about faith, not certainty—certainty doesn’t require any trust. In Advent, God promises ‘Christ will come.’ Because he already has. And the quiet anticipation changes everything.”
Last night at Campaigners (our Young Life bible study) we got to talking about death, and inevitably the afterlife. In trying to reconcile the differences between heaven and earth and what being in heaven will be like I pointed to what C.S. Lewis says about longing in The Weight of Glory. Lewis talks about the desire to feel complete and whole in this life, but how we always winding up feeling a little bit empty, like we’ve fallen a little bit too short. “Beauty has smiled, but not to welcome us”, Lewis says. “Her face turned in our direction, but not to see us.” In conclusion to our talk at Campaigners I said that I believed (which I do) that one the most influential differences between earth and heaven for me is that the longing will be over. No matter what we do or who we are in heaven we will be complete. The thirst, the hunger, the longing, the discontent…it will all be made whole.
And all of this got me thinking about Gatsby and his green light. The Great Gatsby is one of my favorite novels of all time and arguably the best American novel ever written. In the book, Jay Gatsby pines to be a part of high society and earnestly win the heart and affection of Daisy, the girl he has always loved. While he briefly attains his hopes in the book, in the end Gatsby winds up without anything he ever wanted. All of these dreams are symbolized by a green light at the end of Daisy’s dock, which is what the quote placed before this blog is referencing. Nick, the narrator of the novel, says that Gatsby “did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.” This is more than just a beautiful image, though it certainly is just that. I think this statement – and the green light – have enormous implications for our own lives.
Life is tension.
Life is waiting.
Life is unresolved chaos.
I feel that tension right now more than I ever have in my life. I’ll be graduating in May and have no idea where I’ll be living next summer or what I’ll be doing with my existence. I’m in a beautiful relationship with a wonderful girl, but she lives a thousand miles away from me and it’s unclear how the distance will affect what we have. While those are two pretty major things, the daily decisions we have to make are also inflicted with apprehension. It can be exhaustive. It can make me want to curl up and take Benadryl and sleep hour months.
I think our natural tendency in this life of tension and waiting is to hurry on up to the next thing as fast as we can. I think that’s what Fitzgerald implies when he says that Gatsby “did not know it was already behind him”. He missed moments teeming with life and beauty because he was so set on that which was to come. I think we do that too. I’m definitely guilty of it as I have been impatiently wondering where my life is headed and what’s to come of all that’s been happening to me.
What Advent teaches, and what I need to implement with a fury, is that the tension matters. While there are melancholic moments of despair and loneliness that deserve to be observed, what “the longing” offers us is the ability to live in freedom and enjoy the glimpses of chaotic glory the world suggests. While “the end” offers infinite beauty, the tension that is our existence provides us with an opportunity to suck the marrow out of life’s adventure and prepare ourselves to meet that Great Glory with an affectionate, eager, and melodic kiss.
So for now I’m going to embrace the longing, capture the glimpses of glory whenever I can, and seek beauty without ceasing. We, by being born, are thrust into a life of uncertainty and inevitable risk. Exciting, isn’t it?
