Third Sunday of Advent

    The rosy hue of the vestments and the altar cloths reminds us that this week we celebrate Gaudete Sunday, the day of rejoicing as we wait for the Lord in eager anticipation of His coming on Christmas. The readings themselves broadcast this message: Isaiah proclaims his own joy (Isaiah 60.10) and Paul issues a direct command to the Thessalonians: “Rejoice always!” (1 Thessalonians 5.16). In this respect, this Sunday’s liturgy reflects the marketing schemes for the Christmas season that we encounter while watching TV and visiting the mall: “Get excited!”

    Yet amid our current crisis, many of us might not necessarily feel full of joy. The constraints imposed by the Coronavirus prevent us from celebrating with coworkers, friends, and family, or even mourning the pain that the pandemic has wrought. While we seem to have made it through some dark stretches and there is hope of a vaccine on the horizon, many of us are irritable and exhausted. The future looks like more of the same.

    In these conditions, how can the liturgy command us to rejoice? We might feel like we’re being told, “Smile!,” when we’re just not in the mood. Indeed, if I am struggling through a particularly difficult day, I might be more likely to respond with grim resentment than with authentic delight.

    So if today’s prayers and readings are intended to spread joy, they must be expecting something more than a polite nod; the joy of Gaudete Sunday must be radically different from the jolly cheer that gets broadcast to us when we are grocery shopping. But then the question arises: If we can’t generate joy on our own, especially when we are in the midst of darkness, where can we find it?

    We should look to John the Baptist for some insights. We don’t typically think of John as joyful; in today’s Gospel we hear that he is “the voice of one crying out in the desert” (John 1.23), and from other sources we learn that he embraced a radical and austere lifestyle, living not on banquets and feasting but on locusts and honey (Matthew 3.4). He preaches repentance, like some prophet of doom. And yet the Church presents him as a model for us on this Sunday of joy. Why?

    Well, we know from the contemporary reactions to John that his message did not drive away the crowds, but excited and drew them in. The gospels report that even his foes, including the wicked Herod, found a certain pleasure in listening to him speak. 

    John appealed to so many, it seems, because he got them to look for something new, something much bigger than themselves. His joy is grounded not in passing thrills or shopping sprees, but in the conviction that the Christ is coming and, indeed, is already present. John is always looking to the Lord, directing his life to the one who is at the threshold. Indeed, if you have ever noticed John’s iconography, you’ll find that he is very often depicted with his index finger extended, pointing away from himself and outward to God. 

    Consider today’s gospel: when the priests and Levites ask John who he is, he redirects the question. He makes no claim to be like the great figures of the past; the interrogators can’t pigeonhole John by looking to former models. John’s mission is rather aimed forward, to prepare the way for Christ. Thus, John is so central to Advent precisely because he is always redirecting our gaze from the past to the future.

    What can that attitude mean for us? So much of our current malaise stems, I think, from remaining trapped in the past, in convincing ourselves that we can only expect more of the same: more uncertainty, more restrictions, more pain. But the “coming” at the heart of the word “advent” means that what is to come is not something tired and familiar, something we know from the past. Rather, Christ comes always to “make all things new” (Revelation 21.5). 

    “Keep Christ in Christmas,” we are accustomed to hearing people say when they want to raise our minds from purchases and consumerism to the love and compassion proper to the season. A noble message; but it just might sound like we should shoehorn Jesus into the holiday, cramming Christ in like we might cram in a quick Mass on Christmas Eve before we rush home for a big dinner. John the Baptist as an exemplar of Advent teaches us to “keep Christ in Christmas” by making Christ the focus of our watching and our expectations. Especially in a time when we can very easily lose sight of the good cheer that usually surrounds this season, let us center ourselves on the joy that is not a product we can purchase, but a gift freely bestowed, the love of God in Jesus Christ and one another.

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