This Third Sunday of Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday, which means the Sunday to Rejoice. We’re called to be filled with joy on this day. But when life turns against us, it can be hard to find a reason to rejoice. Just speaking for myself, I’m not able to switch joy on and off like a light switch. Sometimes I have to dig down really deeply to find it, and sometimes I’m not able to find it at all. In those situations, having a friend who is willing to stand by us, and offer us words of consolation and hope, can make all the difference. Such friends are like flowers that bloom in a desert.
Consider John
the Baptist in the Gospel reading for today: behind bars, and seemingly also
imprisoned in doubt and despair. Jerusalem
and all of Judea formerly had come to the desert to hear God speak through him. To them his words had been like flowers
blooming in a barren place, like a stream of water running through a drought-stricken
land, like a loaf of hot, fresh bread set before a starving person. God’s word, spoken through John, was food
for hungry people, and the people were voracious for it.
But now,
having spoken out fearlessly against the authorities, John was suffering the
fate of those who challenge and upset the powers that be. He was in jail. And we can be pretty sure that he was suffering – that he was filled with
anguish and dread of what was to come for him, and perhaps filled with doubt
and even regret for what had led him to this moment. The shoe was on the other foot: he was now
the one in need of hope and consolation.
A person in
prison is apt to do what we see John doing in today’s Gospel passage: examining
his life, weighing his previous words and actions, questioning the choices that
led him to this dire predicament.
And so there is something poignant in the question he asks his disciples to pose to
Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” It’s as much as to say, “Did I devote my life to the wrong
messiah? Did I just bet my house, my
farm and my life savings on the wrong horse?”
John, formerly so confident and fearless, who did not hesitate to call
the Pharisees and Sadducees a brood of vipers (remember that from last week?), now
was experiencing a moment of vulnerability and doubt. The one whose words had brought hope and
consolation to so many, now was in need of hope and consolation himself.
We should
understand Jesus’s response to John’s disciples to be those very things John so needed,
words of consolation and hope. We see Jesus
here being John’s friend in need. “The blind
regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead
are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.” In other words: if only we can lift our eyes
from gazing inward in despair, and look about us, signs and wonders of God’s
presence are among us everywhere. They
may not always be easy to discern, but they are there, if we can look about
us. Words of encouragement can heal our
despair. When our sight is restored by those
words, we can see those signs and wonders.
When our ears are unstopped by words of hope, we can hear God’s
lifegiving word. When words of
consolation restore strength to our limbs, we can work to change our difficult
situation.
Part of my
own ministry is to offer consolation and hope.
In our Outreach ministry, I and many other volunteers from our parish
provide food to those who are hungry in our local community, and financial
assistance to those who are poor. Those
very acts of providing food to hungry people and money to those in need are
themselves acts of encouragement and hope.
And when we consider that all of that food and money comes from
donations from you, this ministry constitutes the entire St. Edna faith
community building up God’s kingdom.
The food and
the money are important, but at least as important are whatever words of hope
and consolation we can offer those who are in dire financial straits, or who
are experiencing homelessness. Many of our
clients become trapped in a vicious cycle of despair which prevents them from
doing anything to change their situation.
Our parishioner volunteers in Outreach have a real gift for talking, and
listening, to our Outreach clients. We
let our clients know that loves them, and if they are willing to make positive
changes in their lives, we will help them.
This is how God’s kingdom is built.
I really believe that our Outreach ministers are gardeners, making
flowers bloom in the desert of despair, and watering the parched earth of
poverty with the water of solidarity and love.
There are
people around us who are thirsting for words of consolation and hope. Probably there are people among us right here
today who are suffering, who are desperate.
People with serious illnesses.
People whose marriages are falling apart. Parents struggling with difficult
children. Widows and widowers grieving
the loss of their spouses. Teens dealing
with anxiety and depression. These situations, and others, can feel like
prison. People can feel that they are
locked up in their difficult situations, with the walls closing in, and no way
out.
We are so
fortunate at St. Edna to have ministries that offer help to struggling,
suffering, desperate people. I’ve
already mentioned Outreach. Another one,
and one of the best and simplest to do, is the Ministry of Care. These volunteers bring communion to our
parishioners who are in hospitals and nursing homes, or who are homebound. Some lead communion services, too. Bringing communion to people is not very
difficult. Any of us could do it. But the best ministers don’t simply offer
communion: they also listen to the people they’re visiting and offer them words
of kindness and encouragement. I
believe that our Ministry of Care is building up God’s kingdom, one visit at a
time. They are gardeners, making flowers
bloom in deserts of pain and loneliness.
Of course, it
is not necessary to join a ministry to offer words of encouragement and
consolation. Chances are good that we know
one or more people who are suffering, who are in a difficult predicament. We shouldn’t ignore them or drop them from
our lives. This is the time when they
need us the most. It’s when we’re in a
desperate fix that we find out which friends are friends indeed. And so we should make a point of reaching out
to them. We should make it clear to them
that we love them. And we can help them
to understand that God loves them, too, and God will never abandon them. If we can find the right words to say those
things, then we will be planting flowers in the desert of someone’s life, and
watering those flowers with God’s love.
Then God’s love will rejoice and bloom, and today truly will be Gaudete
Sunday, a day to rejoice.
Like you, our pastor chose Rejoice Sunday to call to mind the sick, the disabled, the infirm and lonely. Those of us who are not like that sinner over there beating his breast always need to be reminded of them. Our parish ties one of two Name Tag Sundays to Gaudate to try to make the place more like Cheers, where everybody knows your name. And where you can always go if home no longer suffices.
ReplyDeleteTom - the requirement to write homilies is really good for my spiritual life - it forces me to reflect about things that I might not otherwise give a thought to. Anyway, my insight du jour (or du month, since I only preach once/month) is that Christian joy arises out of loneliness, despair, desperation ... This joy is more authentic in some way than the sort of superficial happiness that we (or at least I) tend to associate with joy.
DeleteInteresting. How does joy arise out of loneliness, despair, desperation? What is "Christian joy"? And how does happiness differ from joy?
DeleteI have always thought joy was the abiding sense that "all shall be well," as St. Julian might have put it, a permanent freedom from fear or anxiety. Which is nice, but even Jesus didn't achieve this, as in the Garden when he sweat blood.
"Christian joy," specifically, often seems to pivot around the idea that we should put ourselves in God's hands and trust. It sounds nice, but exactly how one does this under duress strikes me as something none of us faces in exactly the same way. The examples of the saints can be helpful, but there is no blueprint.
If joy is a cessation from fear, does that mean happiness is a more fleeting thing? Like when you kids are born or you graduate from college, or the mortgage is paid off? You feel great and can ride that high until the kid gets sick, you can't find a job in your field, or the furnace blows.
As always, I am intrigued but wary of emotion words that cannot be quantified. Faith often exposes the paucity of language to explain the Indefinable.
Maybe we can only experience joy in a fleeting way here.
Delete""Christian joy," specifically, often seems to pivot around the idea that we should put ourselves in God's hands and trust."
DeleteTo me that sounds more like faith than joy. Perhaps joy is one of the fruits of being able to trust in God that way.
Joy is an emotion, at least as I experience it. I feel like I've got a layer of it down inside here somewhere, flowing like a stream, but to Katherine's point that it's experienced in a fleeting way: it doesn't always bubble to the surface.
I don't think it's a permanent freedom from fear or anxiety. I'm guessing that, for me, that state of existence is on the yon side of Purgatory. Although perhaps, as one grows closer to God and feels his love more intensely, one can enjoy freedom from fear or anxiety for longer stretches.
I really need to find something useful to do and quit coming over here to prod you folks to explain this stuff. I'm 65+, have a chronic illness that gives me a lot of time to fear and worry, and if it doesn't make sense to me at this late date, it's never gonna. Good holidays to all!
DeleteJean, I love it when you engage. Hope my reply didn't come across as unfriendly, it wasn't intended that way.
DeleteGood thoughts on consolation and hope, Jim. I agree with you that we can't turn joy on and off like a switch.
ReplyDeleteOur pastor spoke on the James reading, his theme was patience, which is often a hard virtue to practice. The deacons preach this coming weekend.
I enjoy seeing the rose vestments on Gaudete Sunday (or Saturday). A little hope and color for the bleak midwinter, which didn't waste any time getting started here.
I was only scheduled to be a deacon for one mass this past weekend. And then, when I arrived, I was told that the pianist couldn't make it so could I please sit in for him? So I ended up walking up to the ambo from the piano bench, in my civvies, to give the homily. Let me know if I need to have the paddles handy for any of you liturgical police ...
DeleteJim, LOL! That was really asking a lot of you. They are lucky to have a multi-talented deacon.
DeleteI am a "can't chew gum and walk" type of person. Some of our instrumentalists play and cantor at the same time. I can play the organ or sing, but not at the same time.
Jim, Did you put on your stole to preach? Interested dicasteries want to know.
DeleteTom - no. The thought didn't even occur. I've seen priests do the stole-over-the-clothes thing, never seen a deacon do it before. The priest did take care to note verbally that I'm a deacon. If I broke yet another rule, mea culpa.
DeleteI've known a lot of priests to hear confessions just wearing a stole over shirt-sleeves. Which I guess is not according to Hoyle. But who's going to turn them in over it? Our priest wears an alb with a stole for confessions. And says that it gets pretty hot in the summer. Seriously no one would care if he lost the alb.
DeleteIn the BBC's second or third go-around with Father Brown (the recent series with Mark Williams), the priest has a purple stole as thin as the neckties I once wore that he pulls out of a pocket while saying prayers for the dead over the victim, right after Lady Felicia discovers the body and screams (not to intimate that the series is as formulaic as a nursery).
Delete