GAUDETE SUNDAY

16 December 2012

I must tell you that it is a challenge to preach today. Not because this is the first time I am preaching in almost two months because of my recent illness; but rather because I love this third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday, Rejoicing Sunday. But this year I do not feel like rejoicing.

I love the entire Advent season with its beautiful, haunting hymns, its gradual lighting of the Advent wreath leading us the Birth of Jesus, the light of the world. And I especially love this Gaudete Sunday – with its subtle rose colored vestment moving us from somber purple telling us we are one step closer to the feast we anticipate with longing hearts. I have been looking forward to preaching the message the prophet Zephaniah proclaims with great boldness and certitude: Shout for joy, O daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, O Israel! Be glad and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem! You have no further misfortune to fear.

No further misfortune to fear? Really, Zephaniah? Perhaps you did not foresee the events of a brisk, soon to be winter, December 14 in a sleepy Connecticut town. I have to ask you, Zephaniah, would you take the pulpit at the parish church of Saint Rose of Lima in Newtown this weekend and dare to say to the faithful gathered in shock and grief “you have to further misfortune to fear?”

I know I would not. Because the truth is, Zephaniah, we have much to fear. Our experience tells us that there are misfortunes we cannot even imagine that seem to lurk just beyond the horizon, ready to disloge us from our security and comfort; misfortunes that shatter our dreams, misfortunes that break our hearts, misfortunes that leave us tearful, speechless, alone,  heads and hearts spinning with doubt even though as are told we are to walk by faith and not by sight.

I have been wrestling with all of this, Zephaniah, for the past 24 hours. And the only conclusion I can reach, O might prophet, is that you live in a different world. You hear the beat of a different drummer. You see things no one else can see. You touch a reality that seems to be just beyond our grasp when we awaken to a day like Friday, our minds wandering aimlessly as we look for a home base, where we can rest for awhile, catch our breath, get our balance and renew our strength before we take another step in the journey that is our uncertain lives.

I must tell you, Zephaniah, that the only resolution I can find for all of this is not a happy one. Because it is a resolution that challenges me to not hold on so tightly to this world and to join you in that other world where prophets seem to wander. It is a resolution that challenges me to turn off the disturbing sounds of the here and now and listen with you to that different voice that speaks words of peace and forgiveness, words that are, to be honest, out of sync with what I am really feeling. It is a resolution that challenges me to stop grasping for a security that is measured in worldly terms and allow myself, like you O mighty prophet, to grasped by the one who reaches through time and space to guide me to a place we call eternity, a place, a mindset well beyond my imagining.

Or to put it in the context of the season, the challenge of Zephaniah is to understand that “rejoicing” is not measured by the hanging of another strand of twinkling lights or by toasting with yet another glass of eggnog.  The challenge of Zephaniah’s rejoicing is this: to move beyond the cave of Bethlehem where we ooh and aah at the Savior’s birth, and travel instead to the hill of Calvary where the babe in a manger has grown to a man of full stature; a man who on the cross embraced our pain, our uncertainty, our misfortune all the while providing us a vision of a place where rejoicing happens not over the “stuff” of this world. Rather, the rejoicing of Zephaniah happens when we allow ourselves to be grasped by the outstretched arms of the crucified one and begin to see the world with his eyes allowing our hearts to beat in tune with his own heart pierced with a lance.

I might say it this way as well – and I find myself saying it often both to you and to myself. The challenge of the Christian life is to acknowledge that this ain’t heaven yet. In heaven there is no shooting of 26 innocent people. No grieving parents. The Christian life, the life of discipleship, the life of faith, challenges me to stop expecting this place, this time, to be heaven, to be perfection, to be the world I want it to be.

There is a great deal of talk in our church these days today about the “new evangelization” – the effort we must make to preach the gospel anew. And so pope’s twitter and bishop’s blog all in an effort to get the word out there, And all of that is well and good. But the truth, as I see it, is that the word, the good news, is not very appealing to the world today.

Our world wants answers but discipleship often raises more questions than it answers – think of the events of Friday.

Our world wants comfort and security, but the gospel offers the cross.

 Our world wants to be loved and accepted, but the words of Jesus tell us that like him when we live the gospel and speak its truth we will be rejected by many.

Our world wants to find “closure” to events like those in Newtown, or Columbine so that we can get on with life and begin once again to live a comfortable, secure existence.  But the gospel tells us that in this life we will have to embrace our pain, and, like Mary, carry much sorrow in our hearts. Even in the cave of Bethlehem, when the wise man presented her son with myrrh, the bitter perfume foreshadowing his passion, Mary knew this ain’t heaven yet.

I hope you understand that I am not saying this life is joyless, unhappy, destined for doom. No, I am not saying that at all. Here and now there is much that is good and true and beautiful that must and should be celebrated with great rejoicing. But what we see and hear and hold in our hands in this world is intended to lead us to a greater goodness and a greater truth and a greater beauty beyond what this world can comprehend.  That is what Zephaniah rejoicing is all about.

There if more beyond the horizon, but it is given to us as promise; there is a beauty that will be revealed but first our earthy sight must be replaced with replaced with a heavenly vision at the end of our days; there is a goodness we will know that cannot be defined by human wisdom and reasoning, but it is a goodness known only when we see God face to face.

 Zephaniah rejoicing tells us not to be held captive by the limitations of the here and now. Zephaniah rejoicing says do not get stuck in the world we can see and hear and feel; Zephaniah rejoicing challenges us to lift our heads and see and hear and feel what God has ready for those who love him.

Zephaniah rejoicing tells a sleepy Connecticut town and a sleepy Pennsylvania town to hold onto the God who walks with us through this present pain and uncertainty; a God who and allows us with his eyes, his wisdom, to see a vision not of what has been but a vision of what will be when we see him face to face. Not here and now in a heaven of our making; but a heaven that will be in that kingdom he has prepared for us from the foundation of the world.

The hymn of the season recognizes that this ain’t heaven yet. The hymn of the season is for every Newtown experience of our life. The hymn of the season promises Zephaniah rejoicing.

O come, O come Emmanuel. And ransom captive Israel. That mourns in lowly exile here. Until the Son of God appear. Rejoice, rejoice, O Israel, shall come to you Emmanuel. Come, Lord Jesus.