Dear friends,
Advent is a time when we solemnly await the incarnation of Christ on earth. That solemnity hears the voices of prophets crying out for relief from the problems of the ages, and our lectionary and services border on the penitential, even as all about us celebratory shopping sales and decorations are in full swing, and yet we await a different light.
Now comes the Third Sunday of Advent, which, while the Gospel reading continues the messages of stern preparation, the Church calendar grants us a rest: The blue and purple of Advent are replaced with the rose color of Gaudate Sunday, and the Hebrew scripture and the Epistle turn to rejoicing. The light is coming, and then Advent 4 is all about Mary, and our colors become Marian blue. In other words, we have gotten through most of a small Lent, and we can start to lighten up, and to cheer up. Why, soon, we will even be singing Christmas carols.
Which opens to the question of, “What, in Advent is joy?” St. Makarios wrote of the birth of Christ:
He is the highest heaven, and he is in the depths.
He is God, and he is man.
He is living and he is dying.
He is the Lord of all, and he is the servant of all.
He is the lamb, and he is the sacrifice.
He is the suffering, and he is the unsuffering.
He is the bridegroom, and he is the bride.
He is the paradise, and he is the force of life.
He is the city of Jerusalem, and he is the temple and the Holy of Holies.
He is the ocean, and he is the land of dwelling.
He is the nourishment of souls, and he is the cherished salvation.
He is the living bread, and he is the water of life.
He is the vine of truth, and he is the wine of gladness.
He is the pearl, and he is the treasure.
There are, in fact, perhaps twenty more such phrases in his writing, but Makarios’ words place puzzling opposites and puzzling complements in both opposition and in harmony. The rhythm and the contrasts introduce a liminal sense, leading us, Zen-like, to the mystery that lies between the strange polarization.
And so what joy is, for me, is to anticipate the wonder of the incarnation and to smile, and to walk with parishioners as they rejoice, or grieve, and be solemn, or plan beautiful holidays, do wonderful things for the parish, and be happy with them, as they encounter sickness, diminishment, grief, or death, and to grieve, and to be comforted that we have the light that we await in our joys and in our sorrows, in our births and in our deaths and the spectrum of experiences and encounters and mysteries in between. Let us find in this time that inner solace and strength that the incarnation grants us, and there, no matter what, rejoice, for we are not alone.
Blessings, CJ+
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