My sister lives in Zambia, in Africa, and I had the pleasure of visiting her there twice. One of the first things I noticed while there, was the way people approach time. One of the strangest things to get used to is people telling you that they will be coming over “now.” In my mind, the word “now” means that they will be there as soon as possible. But nope! This is not the case. Someone might live on the other end of town; they might only be just beginning to drive over to your place, and the drive to your house might be an hour or two, but that’s okay, they will tell you “I am coming now.” And, if they meet people they know along the way, or if they have some other people to see before you, then that’s okay, because if, when they arrive at your house, if you are not there, they will simply sit on your stoop and wait for you, because surely, you will be coming soon. That is their concept of “now.” However, if someone wants to convey that they are practically on your doorstep, mere minutes away, then they tell you that they will be there “now now.”
Clearly, this concept of time feels considerably more laid back and fluid than the sense of time that people like me – who measure productivity in minutes – are used to. It certainly teaches you to slow down, and experience life not in definable increments, but to experience life as a measure of the relationships with those around you.
The reason this came to mind recently was because I had been musing on the concept of God’s time, and how God might often say “Yes, but not now,” when answering prayer. “Not now” clearly implies “not at this time.” But, it also implies that what you have prayed for will happen “at some time,” though without any indication as to when exactly that might be.
It could be a month or two.
It could be a year or two.
It could be a decade or more.
There simply is no way of knowing when the appointed time will arrive, when God has said “Not now.”
This past Thursday, we celebrated one of the Principal Feasts of the Church Calendar: Ascension Day. The day that Christ declared that all things that he had been sent into the world to accomplish had been fulfilled, and he was taken up – he ascended – into heaven. But not before he looked at the disciples and told them to return to Jerusalem and “Wait.”
Jesus had told them that they could never know the time or the hour of the things that God has planned, but he did tell them that “not many days from now, you will receive the Holy Spirit.” And what would happen then? Then they would “receive power … and they would be Christ’s witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”
“Not many days from now.” Is that a couple of days? A few days? Several days? They weren’t told. All they knew was that God had a plan, and that plan would be made clear to them … whenever it was made clear to them.
The word Ambiguity doesn’t quite seem to capture what they might have been feeling at that time. They had been close to Jesus, spending roughly three years with him, in constant contact with him, learning, playing, eating, praying. He always seemed to know what to do, and always seemed to know what to say to them, to teach them, to guide them. And now? Well, now he is gone. And they were told to “wait” for a promise from God. After that, it seems, they would proclaim the message of Christ, but until then… what to do? Twiddle their thumbs?
The disciples could have gone back home, could have gotten their old jobs back, could have found a way to transition back into society from a life of adventure with Jesus. Instead, they chose to obey. They chose to wait. They didn’t try to make things happen for themselves, take the horse by the reins, or whatever other idiom you can think of that means “doing it their own way.” Instead, they did as they were told. They waited. But they didn’t wait aimlessly. They got together, and they prayed. They built relationships with one another, and continued in prayer, building their relationship with God.
And when the time came, God poured out the power of the Holy Spirit upon them, and the promises of God were made real and true among them. They experienced God in a way that was different even from the way that they had experienced Jesus when he was with them in mortal flesh. They sensed the closeness of the presence of God, and felt the power of God move through them to be witnesses for the Love and sacrifice of God to the ends of the world.
All because they waited. Not idly, wasting time, passing the hours, throwing rocks in a pond, or whatever. They waited actively, building their closeness with God through prayer and study. And God came close and made a home with them.
This closeness with God, this pouring out of the Spirit on these disciples, this promise of God fulfilled, is something that a lot of people desire. They want the closeness that the disciples enjoyed. I’ve seen books that hype the new way to experience the divine, new methods for seeking God, new ways to enter into that state of bliss that helps us to commune with God just like the disciples did.
And these books always seem to sell well. They sell well, because people want that closeness with God. They want the richness of a relationship with one who understands everything about them. They want a new experience with Christ, a new interaction with God, a new ecstasy from a meeting with the Divine. They want a deep, intimate relationship with God.
But … they wanted it “now now.”
They want it at the snap of their fingers.
I say “they.” But we are all in the same boat. Seeking quick answers to our prayers, fast solutions to our struggles, or immediate resolutions to our spiritual puzzles.
And why wouldn’t we? The vast majority of our current culture is built around the concept of getting things when we want them, as we want them. Want to watch a movie? Stream it. Want a new pair of shoes? Order them online, and have them delivered later today. Want a home-made meal, without all the prep work? Subscribe to a meal in a box program that gets delivered to your door, and all you have to do is heat it up, or fry it in a pan.
The immediacy of our culture has trained us to constantly be on the go, getting things now, and doing things we want to do at the slightest inclination or provocation.
We can, at the click of a button, have the new and shiny thing, “now now.”
We have been trained to think that we can have what we want, when we want it. It doesn’t take any deep thought. It doesn’t take a lot of work. It’s the mental equivalent of sitting around and twiddling our thumbs.
When we, over in the Western Hemisphere, think about living in the “now,” what we often think of is this fast living, this immediate satisfaction of everything we desire. It means having an itch, and immediately scratching it. It’s getting what we want when we want it.
But living in the “now” is truly more of a slowing down, of taking every moment to relish in what is happening around us, and with the people that we meet along the way. Living in the “now” is about making the journey more important than the destination.
Jesus told the disciples to “wait” for the power that the Holy Spirit would bring. It would happen, he said, “not many days from now.” And despite the ambiguity, they waited. Just like those people who tell us that they are coming “now,” while still having a whole city to make it across, the disciples leaned into the journey, the “here and now,” while they waited. They made the waiting part of the journey toward God’s promise, and they actively pursued relationships with others, and especially with God through prayer.
Just as we put on one article of clothing at a time, a relationship grows, one meeting at a time. God is always available, and all that God requires of us is that we draw near. And then, when we have drawn near to a God who desires that relationship with us, and have grown in that relationship, one step at a time, we may finally hear God say what we’ve been waiting for: “It is time. Now now.”
“See, I am coming now,” says the Lord. “Let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift. … Surely I am coming now.”
[This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on June 1, 2025.]
