Today is Gaudete
Sunday. The name comes from the first words of the traditional Entrance
Antiphon – “Rejoice: the Lord is nigh.” It is the Sunday on which we light the
rose candles and today the deacon and I are wearing our rose-colored vestments,
the ancient color emphasizing joy. Today as Christmas draws near, the Church
emphasizes the joy in our hearts at what the birth of the Savior means for the
world. The great joy of Christians is the twofold coming: the first coming in
Bethlehem, God-become-man, born of Mary and the second coming in glory when his
kingdom is fulfilled. The oft-repeated chorus of “Veni” (“come”) during this
season echoes the prophet and establishes our desire, found also at the
conclusion of the Apocalypse of John: “Come, Lord Jesus!”
But not just
Gaudete Sunday, today is also known colloquially in England and Wales as “Stir
Up Sunday.”
As cooks all
over England heard these words from the collect, it would remind them that they
needed to hurry home – after the service, of course – to mix their batters. They
needed to go home to “stir up” the batters of plum pudding and fruitcake that
had been fermenting now for so many weeks. The traditional English batter would
be settling in, condensing and otherwise thickening. It needed to be “stirred
up” so that it could finish its work.
So I once had
the pleasure of taking a slow driving tour through what became my favorite
county in all of Ireland. County Donegal, in Ireland’s northwest, is a
fascinating place where the sheep outnumber people at least four to one. It’s a
county that boasts the world champion sheep shearer and one of the only surfing
communities in the north Atlantic. Friendly people, good beer, and edible food abound.
But what really stuck in my head in County Donegal were two signs. One sign
said simply, “This is a sign. Please follow it.” That was all. Nothing more.
Clear as mud. The second sign read: “This sign belongs here. Do not move this
sign.”
Well, these signs
are a bit comical and mostly because they have no real purpose. They don’t
point beyond themselves to something else. They have no meaning.
John the
Baptist lies deep in Herod’s prison. He is, no doubt, aware of his coming
execution. Perhaps he is beginning to doubt. Does he perhaps wonder if he got
it right. John was not the sort to hold back. John would never have been short
of an incendiary sermons, a relentless judgment of the oppressor, and good-old-fashioned
proclamation of the coming wrath of God.
But John was
also always a signpost. He was also one to be pointing to the one far greater than
himself – the one who was to come after him – the Messiah. If you look at ancient
and medieval icons of John the Baptizer, he is usually portrayed with his index
finger raised, pointing away from himself, toward Christ.
So as John sat
in the depths of his dark prison, what he had heard of Jesus confused him. This
Jesus wasn’t what he had expected. Jesus’ message didn’t conform to the message
of repentance and wrath that lay at the heart of the prophecy of old. So he sent
his disciples to Jesus. “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for
another?”
Jesus’
response is plain. “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, Jesus
is telling the John’s disciples to go back to John and tell him that they have
seen the signs foretold by Isaiah. These are the signs of the “year of Jubilee”
– the inauguration of the kingdom of God.
Perhaps what
John has forgotten for the moment, are the different roles to be played by him
and Jesus. John, we are told, is the greatest born of woman. But even the least
in the kingdom of heaven is greater than John the Baptizer.
You see, John
is the hinge on the door. John is keeper at the gate. John is the doorman who
opens the door and ushers the rest of us through. John points the way to life
more glorious than what we have yet dared to expect or imagine.
John was there
to thrust open the gate – to burst open the door. John was there to usher us to
Jesus – to make straight the way for the Lord. John is there to show us the possibility
of new life, transformed life. Not just a return to the “good old days,” but as
St. Paul declares, “Glory to God whose power working in us will do infinitely
more than we could ask or imagine!” It’s a brand new life that John is pointing
to in Jesus.
We are so busy
very busy these last days of Advent. We are setting out decorations, wrapping
presents, and going to parties. All wonderful things so long as we aren’t distracted
from the profound wonder of what God is birthing among us. Indeed, John points to
a world transformed, the very advent of the Kingdom of God.
Isaiah’s
vision is of a barren desert rejoicing and blossoming with abundance. Weak
hands are strengthened; fearful hearts are given hope; waters break forth to
create flowing streams in the desert. The way home through the desert is made
new into a broad and straight highway.
How much do we
dare hope about the gift being given us this Advent and Christmas? Are we
looking for the best of what we’ve experienced before, or dare we look for
more?
John the
Baptizer stands among us still, pointing toward a transformative future. The
great challenge facing us today is join John the Baptizer, offering our church and
our world a fresh visions of a renewed and transformed world. The Kingdom of God drawn near to all of God’s
children and all of God’s creation. It is our job to point it out.
The Kingdom of
God revealed in Jesus the Christ is different. It is far more than we could have
even imagined. May we awaken Christmas morning to the joy of opening up that gift
of life – unexpected and more than we
had dared even ask for. And thereby, through our life together, that same gift will
be given not to us alone, but to the whole world.
that’s the kind of “stirring up” we can all use!
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