IC: 2:5; 3rd Sunday of Advent, Year B, December 15, 2002

 

In teaching my class of home school students recently, I lamented the general ignorance of our  people (and now also, embarrassing to admit, the ignorance of many priests) of the Introit as an integral part of the text for the ordinary of the Mass. It used to be that a Catholic might say more confidently that “this is Gaudete Sunday”; or, in Lent, ‘LFtare Sunday’, in Easter, ‘Quasimodo Sunday’ or that a Mass offered for the dead is a ‘Requiem Mass.’ Those titles (and there are many more) were quick identifiers of a given Mass formula that, in an instant, encapsulated the entire mood and meaning of the day’s liturgy. It’s one of the ironies of the Catholic in the age of mass information that even with the Mass in our own language, we know so much less than our ancestors about things Catholic.

 

Gaudete Sunday derives from the Introit, the opening words of the official opening song of the Mass. I intoned those words at the start of today’s Mass. It is a text that prompts us to rejoice because the Lord’s coming is now near at hand. It recalls the immense joy of Holy Mary, the expectant Mother of Jesus, whose soul rejoiced over the prodigy that God worked in her virginal maternity. This Sunday of rejoicing over the near approach of Christ summons the whole earth to blossom in gladness: “as a garden makes its growth spring up, so will the Lord God make justice spring up” (in the words of Isaiah today).

 

Rejoicing in this state of our exile from heaven is never a pure and lasting condition. It’s mixed with worries and cares that alternate with it and temper its reach. We always have reminders about the passing nature of all joys here below and about the sinful condition of the world after original sin which never makes our joys entirely satisfying. In the passage read to you from First Thessolonians, Saint Paul, in one and the same text, bids us to ‘rejoice always’ and to ‘refrain from every kind of evil’ in order to become perfectly holy and blameless at the coming of Christ.

 

The kind of rejoicing that this Sunday would excite in the hearts of Christian believers is indicated by the next words of the Introit text: “Gaudete in Domino,” rejoice, “in the Lord”. The qualifier ‘in the Lord’ signals for us that there’s a happiness found only in the possession of Christ: a spiritual warmth, a lightness of heart, a delight of the spirit that comes from religion—and not just from any religion, but from Christ; and not from a generalized Christianity, but from possessing Christ’s grace and divine Presence in one’s soul. And, in order to taste that sweetness of Christ, one’s palate has to be cleared of other tastes. Thus the Imitation of Christ teaches us that “God alone is the true comfort of the soul and joy of the heart.” That God alone should be our joy means that nothing else, however great, pleasant or desirable, except God and what comes from Him, should be our aim in life. Why it is that we can’t own all the pleasures and joys of created things and know spiritual joys at the same thing is a mystery. It might seem that one could enjoy all things. But there is a difference not only of degree but of kind in the sort of rejoicing that a soul in love with Christ has. It’s more interior than exterior; more peace-giving than excitable; longer-lasting than passing; deeper than superficial. God has so designed it that unless one is in the grace of Christ and abstains from some measure of earthly delight, he can never experience this certain level of happiness. Those who are intent on living a devout life are moved to pursue it because they find happiness in it! One should not think of religious people as long-faced killjoys who, at every turn, spurn the goodness that God’s wonderful creation has to offer. The fact is, however, that there is another level of joy that is incomparable with all that this life can yield, and that in order to step onto that higher grade one has to step off the level below. And that is what seems so hard: taking those first and essential steps, trusting God in making that move that God will steady his step and guarantee that this risk is well worth the effort. To leave behind my old and accustomed ways to be a Christian does mean that I need to bid farewell to some things that have been familiar and delightful. And there is just enough of emptiness in worldly delights, there is just enough sadness in worldly living, to signal and invite the soul to move higher and make the attempt. Why not become a Christian all the way? What will I be giving up? What will I gain? That step is called ‘conversion’ and it is one that must be renewed, repeated over and over. It is a departure from some things and an arrival elsewhere, but with a certain tension. The old way of life beckons a return to what was familiar, and the new way of Christ invites one forward to increased grace and a higher union with God. This is the condition of being a Christian. It is a certain uneasiness that one feels in never feeling quite ‘at home’ here on earth, but in being–to use biblical terms–citizens and exiles of heaven.

 

I wish that all my parishioners would have this spiritual life in them, this savor for the things of God and the happiness that ensues from it. I know that it’s a sometimes painful thing to let go of sin’s grip and wrest free from the accustomed sources of pleasure and security. But there is no other way of life offered to us than the Christian way, a way that necessitates a certain renouncing of some things to gain others far greater. Again the Imitation: “The spiritual man puts the care of his soul before all else. If you really desire true peace and union with God, attend to yourself, and set aside all else.”

 

Rejoice in the Lord! I wish you to have just enough of the sweet taste for the spiritual life and just enough of the bitter taste for the things of this life to want to be lifelong possessors of Christ and of the rejoicing that we look forward to having some day, in eternity.