Great Expectations: Rediscovering the Hope of AdventSample

The third Sunday of Advent is the Sunday of joy. It is called, from the Latin, Gaudete Sunday, the Sunday in which we say to one another, “Let's celebrate!” But haven't we been celebrating all month, one might ask? Well, in some sense, yes, every day is a celebration of God's goodness, and the culture around us is certainly in celebration mode at this time of year. And that's a wonderful thing.

But the rhythms of the Christian life allow us a different perspective and sometimes a retreat from the facile frenzy around us. Such is Advent. This is the season of expectation, certainly an expectation of the celebration of Jesus's birth. But also the expectation of Christ's return. This is the season in which we contemplate our readiness to receive the Lord or the lack thereof.

And so, in the history of the Church, it has been a penitent and solemn season.

Except for this day. On this day, the colors change. In one tradition, the color of Advent is blue, a visual demonstration of this season's connection to Lent. The intensity of mourning our sin is displayed in the richness of a purple hue. But this week, the third week, transitions from blue to rose.

Not quite as celebratory as the red of Pentecost, but pointing in that direction. This is the week to pause from somber introspection and to rejoice. And this is the week in which Mary is honored. Rightly so, for the first word spoken to her in Scripture is this, Rejoice. When God directs Gabriel to her space to present the invitation for salvation, not for her alone but for the entire cosmos, this is a cause for rejoicing. “God has shown you grace,” the angel says, “the Lord is with you.”

What better news could be given? Clearly, the fitting response is joy. But this is not Mary's response. At least not initially. Instead, she is disturbed. Instead of embracing this good news, she stops to consider it. Gabriel reads her hesitant response, "Don't fear, Mary, let me tell you more. Your favor with God means that you will escape the anxieties of barrenness, you will have a child, a son, and unlike so many other infants born in uncertain times, he will live. In fact, He will become great and ultimately reign upon David's throne. You will be the mother of the awaited one."

And even with this news, yet again her reaction is not a joyous one. She does not embrace this news with giddiness. Instead, she poses a question: How? How can this be? In response, Gabriel utters words most holy, words never spoken before or after. He tells her, "The Holy Spirit will come over you; the power of the Most High will overshadow you. And the child conceived in your womb will be called holy Son of God."

With the pregnancy of Elizabeth as an example, Gabriel concludes, "Nothing is impossible with God." After contemplating and questioning, her answer to the divine invitation is yes: "Behold the handmaiden of the Lord. Let it be unto me according to your word." It is an infinitely weighty and somber yes.

So why would the Church honor someone so serious on a Sunday meant to celebrate joy? Possibly one might respond it is because she will soon break out into song. Clearly, she is joyful when she sings The Magnificat. "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my savior."

But even here, she has not lost her edge. In the same song, she acknowledges power and its misuse, hunger and need, and God's faithfulness amidst the mournful history of her people Israel.

But surely, once the angels arrive, then there is joy. They say, "For behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be for all people." And yet they direct these shepherds to a poor child bedded in an animal stall. This is not how things should be for such a king.

So too, with Simeon. He proclaims the epitome of his life, seeing God's salvation when Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to the temple. "And yet this son," he says, "will be for the rising and falling of many, assigned to be opposed." And Simeon turns to Mary: "A sword will pierce your soul too."

Luke is the most joyful of all the Gospels. At least he uses the word more than any of the others. But his joy, the joy of the Lord, the joy of Mary, is not precisely what is often packaged to us this time of year. It is a joy that does not escape reality but embraces it. A joy that asks questions. A joy that names injustice. A joy that calls attention to the outsider. A joy that understands the price of pain and says yes anyway.

A joy that can sit amid three weeks of solemnity. This is the joy of Advent.

Advent is about anticipation. Great Expectations – something on the horizon. The season remembers Mary's pregnancy year after year because all of creation is groaning as in labor for our redemption. We are anticipating the return of her son, the Son of God. When He fully and finally sets up his kingdom on the renewed heavens and earth. And at that point, we will experience joy, no longer tinged with sadness, but free and full. Rejoicing now is an act of hope for that untainted joy we will experience in the future.

And so, this Sunday, when we don our pink and sing our gadetes, and join the young Jewish woman Mary, who knew that deep and abiding joy, the joy only possible when one is graced with God's presence. We do not experience it embodied as she did, nor yet resurrected as we all will. But through the Spirit, we, too, are the recipients of God's favor and God's joy now. May that kind of honest and hopeful joy shape your celebrations this day, this week, and this season.

(Adapted from a message by Amy Peeler.)