This sermon was preached for the Third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday, at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, Wellesley, MA. The texts for this sermon were: Zephaniah 3:14-20, Philippians 4:4-7, Luke 3:7-18.
When I first started out preaching seven years ago, I’d get really nervous before each sermon. Let’s be real – I still do. But back then I’d bug my rector at the time so much with my nervousness that one day he got fed up. Instead of asking me to calm down though, he told me to close my eyes and focus on what I was feeling. Had I ever noticed that the experience of nervousness – the bodily, physical sensations – are not actually too much different from the experience of excitement? What if I stopped for a second and decided to be excited instead?
It was so simple – and yet a profound shift. Instead of trying to change what I was feeling – the tightness and tingling and butterflies – I changed the story I was telling myself about those emotions. He taught me to shift the narrative from one of stress, pressure, and obligation to one of gratitude, openness, and possibility. The nerves and fear were still there – they always are – but I paid a lot more attention to the parts of me that couldn’t wait for what was coming next.
This Third Sunday of Advent is called Gaudete Sunday, Gaudete meaning “rejoice” in Latin. In the midst of a penitential, solemn season, this is the Sunday set aside to look for the joy of it all. We light the pink candle as a reminder that this Sunday stands out.
With all the frantic energy surrounding Christmas – all the advertising ceaselessly declaring that this is the hap happiest time of the year - it can be difficult to how radical true joy can be.
Thankfully, John the Baptist is here to help us out. Our Gospel passage launches us right into the distressing themes of Advent: the urgent calls to repentance, the pointing toward the end of the world. There is wrath coming, John warns. Time is running out.
Both Adrian and Margaret have eloquently touched on how these apocalyptic themes might feel particularly resonant these days. I’d like to add another voice to the mix. My theology professor in seminary, Dr. Scott MacDougall, currently serves as the theologian to the House of Deputies of the Episcopal Church. Last month, he penned an important letter to our church leaders all about the fears surrounding declining membership in the Episcopal Church. I think his words can also be expanded to apply to the perceived decline of our society, our culture, our democracy– or even, perhaps our personal lives. He urges the leaders of the church to stop obsessing over dropping numbers and what they could mean for the future. “We do not make good decisions out of fear,” MacDougall warns. Change is real and serious and scary - it can feel like death. But he notes that the churches who are defying the trends and growing are precisely the ones who have realized that “the church is not dying, it is changing.” These communities have decided to tell and be a story of transformation, resurrection…joy!
Change is coming, change is already here. “What then should we do?” the people ask John. Remarkably, John’s answer is: it depends! He has different and specific commands for people with different positions in society. What you are to do next depends on the power you hold and what you have to give away. Overall, however, his message is clear. Be the change that is coming. Dare to participate in the transformation of the world, even when that means giving up your power over others, or passing up ill-gotten gains - even when that means sacrificing for the poor among you. Moving into that change, embracing possibility requires you to tell a new story about the fear you feel. It means harnessing it as energy. Energy and joy.
Here’s the key though. Gaudete Sunday is not about denying or ignoring one’s fear. It is not pretending that the cold, dark night is a bright, sunny day. It is instead a matter of stepping out into the darkness, letting one’s eyes adjust, and watching for the pinpricks of starlight to shine through. Or maybe, just maybe, it is learning to find beauty in the blackness itself, inspiration in the cool, still air.
Sometime today, or maybe later in this service, maybe just for a second right now, think about a change that’s coming in your life. Something that makes you nervous or anxious. It could be as simple as an upcoming presentation at work, or as complicated as a major life transition for you or a loved one. Maybe it’s a change that’s already unfolding. Take a moment to let yourself feel your fear. Notice where it lives in your body. Then, when you’re ready, search for something that excites you in this change. How might this also be a story of new birth? Resurrection? Joy?
What then should we do? It is possible to ask this question nervously, fearly. But it is equally possible to ask this with courage and excitement. Does how we ask change the answer?
Long ago, a poor teenage girl was visited by an angel who said to her, “Do not be afraid.” Then she was told all about how everything in her life was about to change: her body, her story…and the destiny of the whole world. Today, we light the pink candle to remember that in the midst of her confusion and in the face of a whole lot of fear, Mary saw, and knew, joy.
Amen.
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