In the church’s calendar, today is known as Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete means rejoice: traditionally, it is that moment during Advent when we lift our noses out of the rubric that tells us that this is a season of waiting and fasting, a time of patient preparation while being harangued by John the Baptist, and we fix our eyes instead on what it is that we are waiting for: the star in the heavens that the three wise men are following, and the birth of the infant Jesus in a stable in Bethlehem, which we shall be celebrating in less than a fortnight. That is why our church is decked out with pink this morning instead of purple; that is why the Advent candle we shall be lighting is a pink one, not a purple one. You might like to think of it as the pink in the early morning sky, a herald of all the gospel joy that is about to dawn upon us. And that is why all our Christmas decorations are up: and BTW, I would like to offer a heartfelt thank you to all of you who made that happen after last Sunda’s Eucharist. Gaudete Sunday is a day to rejoice, a day to enjoy.
Incidentally, Gaudete Sunday, takes its name from the opening words of the Latin mass for this Sunday: ‘rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice’. In fact, it is a quotation from St Paul’s letter to the Philippians, chapter 4.
But here is the crux of the matter: can we be ordered to rejoice? Can we turn it on, just because we are told to? And can we rejoice in this, the bleakest month in such a dark year?
It is alright to be sceptical: after all, reading this morning’s Gospel you see that even John the Baptist had his doubts about the Jesus project. Having proclaimed, as we heard him do last week, that there was one coming who’s sandals he wasn’t worthy to unlace, John now sends his disciples to ask if Jesus really was the one they had been waiting for. This is because John was expecting a Messiah who would put the world to rights: to throw off the Roman oppressor, to clear up Herod’s corrupt palace, and to reform that brood of vipers – a self-satisfied and self-serving priesthood. Yet he wasn’t seeing Jesus do any of these things. In the same way, we live in a world that is getting worse by the week: a nation once famed for leading and protecting the democracies of the world has this week issued a National Security Document declaring itself one of the autocracies; any attempt to combat the coming catastrophe of global overheating has been abandoned; and most of the aid offered to the poorest nations by the richest has been slashed. No wonder the John the Baptists of this world are asking what on earth is going on. Where is the Kingdom of Heaven, the silver lining among the gathering clouds, the pink promise of a new dawn?
So to return to my question: what sense does it make to rejoice in times like these? I would like to propose two answers. The first is this: Being joyful is not the same as being happy. Henri Nouwen, the Dutch-Canadian priest and writer explains the difference between them: happiness is a reaction to circumstances, an emotion that is prompted by external conditions; joy, on the other hand, is “the experience of knowing that you are unconditionally loved and that nothing – sickness, failure, emotional distress, oppression, war, or even death – can take that love away.” Such joy can be present even in the midst of sadness. Moreover, the joy we have as Christians derives not so much from Christmas as from Easter: Gaudete Sunday invites us to look up, and to look forward, not only to the nativity – to God becoming real in midst of the here and now – but also to the Resurrection; to that moment when every aspect of this earthly life is redeemed by Christ in ways that are unimaginably joyful.
But the second answer is the one that Jesus gives: Go and tell John what you hear and see: 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. In other words, never mind the state of the world, look at what I’m doing: look at the quiet healings, the acts of mercy, and the good news reaching unlikely people. Notice too, how Jesus’s response to John echoes Isaiah’s prophecies, which we heard in our first reading. The passage from Isaiah shows how the awaited kingdom is breaking in now through concrete acts of restoration: we rejoice because we’ve seen evidence that God keeps promises, even as we await the fullness of the kingdom which is still to come.
So here’s the reason for our rejoicing: yes, we live in an evil world, and whereas many, like John the Baptist, call for fire and judgement, what the coming Christ brings instead is healing and grace. Many of us here live far from the places where we were born, the places where we grew up, and far from families and loved ones; yet Christ is near. However far from home you may be feeling this Christmas, however dark the year, the Lord Jesus is inviting you to join his family. So let us open our hearts to him, let us cultivate the virtues of generosity, peace, humility, and joy – yes joy! – as we align ourselves with the purposes of his kingdom. Come, Lord Jesus! Amen.