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“Field Notes from the Waiting Room”

Matthew 11:2-11

Rev. Rebecca DePoe

December 14, 2025

Matthew 11:2–11 (NRSV)

2 When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples

3 and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

4 Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see:

5 the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.

6 And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

7 As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind?

8 What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces.

9 What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.

10 This is the one about whom it is written,

‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,

who will prepare your way before you.’

11 Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

This is the word of the Lord,

Thanks be to God.

I don’t know about you, but this Advent has felt like one long waiting room.

The kind of waiting room where you keep thinking,

SURELY something is about to happen,

SURELY my name is going to be called next,

SURELY this appointment will bring clarity to whatever thing is causing me so much pain and discomfort.

But the door stays closed, the clock keeps ticking, and you’re left sitting with your thoughts.

The trouble with the waiting room is that when you’re in a waiting room long enough, you start to ask questions you didn’t think you were allowed to ask. Questions that should a lot like the one’s John the Baptist asks from prison.

Because John knows something about waiting rooms. Only his waiting room has a lock on the door.

From that waiting room, John sends his disciples to ask Jesus a question he never would have imagined himself asking back when he was preaching in the wilderness with fire in his bones:

Are you the One… or should we wait for someone else?

This is Field Note #1 from the Waiting Room:

Even the strongest faith will have its questions.

John isn’t losing his faith- he’s locating it honestly. There’s something about being stuck, being disappointed, being sidelined from the action that makes uncomfortable questions rise to the surface.

Notice that the gospel writers don’t shame John for his questions. In fact, by writing them down, the writers preserve his questions like a holy artifact. A reminder that doubt is not a detour from faith. But part of the landscape we pass through on the way.

Notice that Jesus responds in a way that sounds almost like a second field not: Pay attention to what’s happening right in front of you.

Jesus tells John:

Look at the signs. The blind see. The lame walk. The lepers are cleansed. The deaf hear. The poor receive good news. It’s as if Jesus is saying- John, hope is already unfolding, just not in the way you pictured. Not in the sweeping, dramatic way you were expecting, but in small, steady acts of healing and mercy.

This becomes Field Note #2:

God’s work often arrives quietly, gradually, in ways that don’t match our mental picture of salvation.

And maybe that’s where we find ourselves this Advent. In waiting rooms of our own- some personal, some professional, some deeply spiritual. Wondering why God is moving slower than we would prefer, or in ways that feel too subtle to count.

We look around and thing, “Is this it? Is this how you’re going to show up?” And Jesus gently invites us to take our own field notes:

Look for the healing that’s begun even if it isn’t finished.

Look for the conversations that softened something that used to be rigid.

Look for the moments of compassion that are easy to overlook when we’re focused on what hasn’t changed yet.

Because Advent teaches us this Field Note #3:

In God’s waiting room, hope grows quietly before it grows obviously.

And if we can learn to notice these early signs, we’ll realize that Jesus is not absent from our waiting- he’s already at work in it.

But then Jesus adds a line that sounds almost strange at first:

And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.

It’s easy to breeze past that sentence,

But I think it might be one of the most important field notes in the whole passage. Because Jesus is naming something John is feeling, and something we feel too:

Sometimes the hardest part of faith is accepting a Messiah who doesn’t meet our expectations.

John expected fire. He expected upheaval. He expected quick results. Instead he hears stories of healing, tenderness, slow restoration- good news, yes, but not the kind that breaks down the prison walls he’s stuck behind.

And I think Jesus is saying, “John… and anyone who feels like John… don’t let your disappointment close your heart. Don’t let your unmet expectations convince you that God has abandoned you. This becomes Field Note #4:

Blessing comes to those who stay open to God even when God’s work looks different than they imagined.

Not to the people who never doubt. Not to the people whose Advents are tidy and peaceful and well-organized. But to those who are brave enough to remain open- open in the waiting room, open in the confusion, open even when their prayers haven’t been answered yet.

And then Jesus turns to the crowd and starts talking about John with such tenderness it almost catches you off guard.

He says, ‘What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind? A man in soft robes? In other words: “Don’t you dare dismiss him because he’s struggling now. Don’t you dare measure his worth by the questions he’s asking from prison.’ Jesus honors John’s faith precisely while John is doubting- and that tells us something profound about how God sees us.

This becomes Field Note #5:

You’re value in God’s kingdom is not undone by your uncertainty.

The questions you ask from the waiting room do not erase the faith you showed in the wilderness.

God holds the whole story together- the boldness and the confusion, the courage and the wariness, the clarity and the questions.

And I think about us- this congregation- sitting in our own kind of Advent waiting room together.

We’re in a season of ministry where things that should be simple have felt complicated. Where the boiler, the communication systems, the Day School dynamics, the planning, the workflows- the very things meant to support ministry- have been the things that break at the worst possible moments.

We’ve weathered misunderstandings. We’ve scrambled when volunteers were short. We’ve navigated new challenges we didn’t sign up for. And through it all, we’ve tried to stay faithful- to show up, to love one another, to serve families, to worship with joy, even while some days fell like holding everything together with equal parts prayer and duct tape.

And if we’re honest, we have our own questions rising up from the waiting room:

God, are you fixing anything at all?

Are we moving forward or just circling the parking lot?

Is hope going to look like something we can recognize?

Which brings us to Field Note #6:

What feels like delay to us is often slow, steady growth in God’s hands.

God is doing work in us as a congregation- building patience, deepening compassion, strengthening resilience, teaching us how to rely on one another rather than white knuckling everything alone.

Because even now, signs of the kingdom are breaking in here:

In the children ringing bells slightly off tempo but with pure joy.

In Bible studies where someone says exactly what someone else needed to hear.

In volunteers who quietly show up early to set up tables or wipe down counters without being asked.

These are our field notes-

Evidence that Christ is present in the waiting with us.

Evidence that God is not done with this congregation.

Evidence that hope is unfolding quietly, one small mercy at a time.

And so maybe the gift of Advent this year is not clarity.

Maybe it’s companionship.

Maybe it’s a Messiah who whispers, ‘Blessed are you who keep your heart open, even here, even now.’

So we gather up our field notes- the questions, the glimpses of grace, the small signs of hope- and we carry them with us toward Christmas. Not as proof that everything is fixed, but as a witness that Christ is already at work in us, in this congregation, in this waiting room we share.

And that is good news worth holding onto.

Thanks be to God,

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.