THIRD SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR C

December 15, 2024

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Canticle 9

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

 

From Paul’s Letter to the Philippians: Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. On account of these words, traditionally sung in Latin in the Introit (or Entrance Song) of today’s liturgy, the Third Sunday of Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday, or “Rejoice Sunday.”

 

We encounter this theme of rejoicing in the Old Testament reading, from the prophet Zephaniah: Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!

Then Canticle 9, from the twelfth chapter of Isaiah—which we sang in paraphrased version—takes up the theme: “Therefore you shall draw water with rejoicing, from the springs of salvation … Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy …” And the Gospel reading concludes joyfully: “So, with many other exhortations, [John the Baptist] proclaimed good news to the people.”

 

In keeping with this theme of rejoicing, today we light a rose-colored candle on the Advent wreath; we have pink roses at the Altar; and if we had them, we’d wear rose vestments, and adorn the altar with a rose frontal.

 

These biblical exhortations to rejoicing are not, however, without an element of paradox. When he bids the Philippians rejoice always, Paul is himself a prisoner in chains: not a situation we normally associate with rejoicing. The reading from Zephaniah, calling on Jerusalem to sing, exult, shout, and rejoice, is set in the context of a book full of prophetic warnings of impending judgment and doom. And John the Baptist’s preaching of good news paradoxically begins with the greeting, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”—followed by a series of solemn warnings to bear fruit befitting repentance.

 

The phenomenon of Christian joy amidst suffering sometimes proves puzzling to outside observers. The fifth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles recounts an incident in which the apostles are arrested, questioned, beaten, and then released. There follows the curious comment: “Then they left the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were found worthy to suffer dishonor for the name” (5:41).

 

Early Christian martyrs are reported to have gone to their deaths full of joy, singing hymns to Christ while the lions roared in the nearby cages. Saint Francis of Assisi is well known for finding “perfect joy” in a life of itinerant poverty. Such rejoicing in the midst of hardship, rejection, persecution, suffering, and death has struck more than a few critics of Christianity as fundamentally perverse.

 

We need to recognize, however, that the word “joy” has a special meaning in classical Christian usage. A great twentieth-century writer on Christian joy was C.S. Lewis. In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, Lewis described joy as a feeling of intense longing he first experienced as a child, and which recurred periodically throughout his life.

 

Lewis insisted that this experience was completely distinct from either happiness or pleasure. He described it with the memorable phrase: “an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction.” (Repeat.) In this sense, joy means something different from the present fulfillment of natural human needs. It’s more what we might call “anticipatory joy”—that is, the excitement of looking forward to something that hasn’t happened yet but remains hoped for in the future.

 

We all know what it feels like. Imagine, a student who’s been away from home for the first time in her life at a far-away university. As much as she loves her new life, she nonetheless misses her family and her hometown friends intensely. At last, final exams are over and she’s on her way to the airport to catch her flight home for the Christmas break. For days, perhaps weeks, her excitement has been mounting at the prospect of celebrating Christmas with family and friends once again.

 

Again, think of some of the most joyous milestones in people’s lives. When a couple announces their engagement, a large part of our reaction to the news is the joy of anticipation. (Assuming, that is, that we approve of the match.) We rejoice not only at what their engagement means for them now, but also at the future prospect of their wedding and subsequent life together. The announcement is an occasion of joy because it gives us something to look forward to.

 

When my daughter-in-law announced one evening at a gathering of the extended family that she was pregnant, the rejoicing was boisterous and raucous. Again, when a child is born, we rejoice not only on account of who this little baby is now, but also on account of the person we hope he or she will become in the coming years. Our joy is both in the present gift and the future promise.

 

When C. S. Lewis finally converted to Christianity after years of spiritual struggle, he realized that the final fulfillment of his longing—that unsatisfied desire more desirable than any other satisfaction—was none other than Christ himself. As Christians we discover that Christ is available to us here and now as both present reality and future hope. Knowing Christ affords greater joy than any earthly pleasure or happiness. Still, we also discover that, in this life, our joy in the Lord always retains something of this quality of unfulfilled longing and unrealized expectation.

 

Theologians describe the Christian life as lived in the tension between the “already” and the “not yet.” When we receive the Lord’s Body and Blood in the Holy Eucharist, for example, we really and truly receive Christ himself here and now. Yet the sacred meal always points beyond itself as a foretaste of that heavenly banquet awaiting us in God’s Kingdom. In other words, our joy remains in large part the joy of anticipation rather than that of consummation and fulfillment. But, to quote C. S. Lewis again, even as an unsatisfied desire it remains “more desirable than any other satisfaction.”

 

Advent is the season when we anticipate our future—the new life awaiting each of us after death, and the new life awaiting all creation when Christ returns to inaugurate the Kingdom in its fullness. For this reason, Advent is a season of longing, expectation, and hope. But this Rose Sunday also reminds us that, like Advent, the entire Christian life, is also a season of anticipatory joy. Even amidst our present difficulties and darknesses, we dare to rejoice in the glorious future that God promises us in Christ.