Morning Prayer and Lord's Prayer: Shannon Cook Hymn of Joy *There's a Song in the Air* Witness of Scripture: Isaiah 61: 1-4, 8-11 & John 1: 6-8 Anthem: *Christmas Day* Chancel Choir. Angela Walker, oboe; Jan Garrison Steffen & Michelynn Mcknight, flutes Sermon *Exulting in God* David Spain
Recorded December 17, 2023
Happy Gaudete Sunday to you! If you were to say that to a stranger walking down Main Street, you might get slapped; say it in the church and you might get a blank stare; say it to the person schooled in Latin and they might smile. It is Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent. The word comes from the opening lines of a Latin introit, “Gaudete, Gaudete, Christus est natus,” which is to say “Rejoice, rejoice! Christ is born.” Gaudete means rejoice, and on this third Sunday of Advent, the church recognizes with joyful anticipation the approach of Christ’s birth. We symbolize this joy with more than a Latin word—the color of the candle on the Advent wreath brightens to a rose shade, and we recognize that now there is more light from the wreath than darkness. So, Gaudete Sunday is a day for rejoicing, for singing, for exulting in the Lord.
Are we exulting yet? Not exalting, which is to praise and glorify or to place someone at a very high level or honor. We exalt in praise of God, we exalt an athlete’s abilities—hopefully not exactly in the same way. Exalting we do. Exulting however, is different. Exulting is to rejoice and be jubilant, exulting is to express joy. Are we exulting yet?
Odds are maybe not, and maybe exulting is more difficult, ironically even and perhaps especially this time of year. Tis the season after all for cranky and flustered customers in the check out line; tis the season when pressure mounts to assure the purchases are made and the packages are sent; tis the season for expectations far exceeding any one person’s ability to deliver; tis the season when family struggles and careless words create deeper divisions; tis the season when the loss of a loved one feels even deeper in December; tis the season when what is hoped for does not come as one has hoped for. Even when we sing out our joy, and thank God we do, exulting can be a challenge even on Gaudete Sunday.
It is not only our various difficulties that can make joy challenging, however.We tend to be drawn more toward happiness than joy. There is nothing wrong with happiness—happiness is a good thing and a room full of happy people beats the group whose patron saint is Winnie the Pooh’s friend Eeyore. The limitation with happiness is that it tends to be contingent on things falling our way, people getting what they want or what they think they deserve—we got the gift, we received the bonus, we won the game or the argument. Happiness is fine—I’m in favor of happiness. But if it is raised to an iconic status, then it becomes unrealistic and ironically assures unhappiness. When happiness is the ultimate goal, it is tempting to become self-focused, and as Bertrand Russell reminds us, “If all our happiness is bound up entirely in our personal circumstances, it is difficult not to demand of life more than it has to give.” And then worst of all, when we go through difficult times, when we are lamenting as happens to everyone, is there something wrong with us if we can’t get happy.“Don’t worry, be happy,” by Bobby McFarrin is a fun song, but its message may not be ultimately helpful.
The church on the third Sunday of Advent invites us to a place beyond happiness.Perhaps it is good news that there is a place beyond happiness. The church calls that place joy, and it is to joy that we light a candle. Joy, despite how often it is sung or written on Christmas cards this time of year, is a bit more difficult to describe. M. Scott Peck, with a nod toward Robert Frost’s poem, wrote his most popular book, The Road Less Travelled. Some years later he authored an anthology of wisdom entitled Abounding Grace, assembling quotes from hundreds of people reflecting on 79 virtues. It is a wonderful collection, yet oddly no entries about joy—not a criticism but a testimony that joy does not lend itself to defining, yet still can be known in our living. Frederick Buechner has written, “in the gospel of John, Jesus sums up pretty much everything by saying, “These things I have spoken to you that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” He said it at the supper he knew was his last one he’d have a mouth to eat.Happiness turns up more or less where we would expect it—a good [relationship], a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation. Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequethes it.” (Wishful Thinking, p. 47, note I substituted the word marriage with relationship)
That is helpful, because Buechner reminds us that joy is not something we manufacture; instead, it is something that comes to us, that is given to us, that is 100% graceful surprise. Joy is the kind of experience that may well be accompanied as much by tears as by laughter, as Dolly Parton said it so well in the 1980’s movie Steel Magnolias, “laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” She’s talking about joy. To that end, joy is most associated with something or with someone, the kind of experience that enlarges our sense of life. We are on an early morning walk when suddenly the shafts of light radiate their colors across the sky as our frosted breath adds another hue to the moment and we feel both incredibly small and incredibly connected all at the same time.That’s called awe, and it is impossible to feel awe without also feeling joy because we recognize all that is including our days, however many there are on this good earth, come as a gift. You spend time at the Cleveland County Christmas Store, and you see the tired look on a young mother’s face yet the furrow in her brow turned up slightly because for all that has been challenging all year, at least on Christmas morning her young son can unwrap a present—and both you and that young mother feel gratitude well up inside—that is joy. You work and you work and you work on a problem and you see no possible solution, but that night while asleep or the next morning when you aren’t thinking about it, an insight comes that creates a new way forward and you don’t know how that happened but you know it came as a gift from beyond and you are humbled and grateful—that is joy. A child on the playground plays and imagines or draws and sings before she even knows that is what she is doing, and she looks at you and smiles —that is joy.You feel a sense of loss or loneliness, and then the song comes on that brings your beloved right back into the room with you, and while you might weep another part of you knows that as Julian of Norwich said so long ago, “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well”—that is joy. People surround you with cards and calls, with hugs and heart as you have done with our family and as you do so often for one another, and you don’t how to say thank you, but you know that is joy. Moments like these remind us that joy does not have to be anything spectacular, and in fact most of the time it comes through the mundane.But that is the gift—it comes to us, not from us.
That is what Isaiah was saying to our beleaguered ancestors returning from exile.God has not given up, God comes again and again. God comes to heal, to open up, to make new. And as the writer of John’s gospel wrote, we like John the forerunner are witnesses to God’s coming. We do not originate joy, but we get to be part of God’s joy flowing into the world and through us, because God comes, and we get to bear witness. It is as Madeliene L’Engle wrote in her poem First Coming—“He did not wait till the world was ready, till men and nations were at peace. He came when the Heavens were unsteady and prisoners cried out for release. He did not wait for the perfect time. He came when the need was great. He dined with sinners in all their grime, turned water into wine. He did not wait till hearts were pure. In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt. To a world like ours, of anguished shame he came, and his Light would not go out. He came to a world which did not mesh, to heal its tangles, shield its scorn. In the mystery of the Word made Flesh the Maker of the stars was born. We cannot wait till the world is sane to raise our songs with joyful voice, for to share our grief, to touch our pain, he came with love: Rejoice! Rejoice!”
This is exactly why we exult. So happy, no let’s rephrase that—Joyful Gaudete Sunday!