Traditionally, the violet vestments of Advent are lightened today to rose, a forecast of the joyful feast that is just two weeks ahead. It is easy to see why the third Sunday got the nickname Gaudete.  Call it “Rejoice Sunday.”

Even so, some people tend to get particularly grumpy, grouchy, and irritable at this time of year. Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch are very much with us.  Of course there are always reasons to be unhappy and remorseful: war in the Middle East, the weather (though not here so much), injustice, racism, the flu, student loans and credit card debt — the price we pay for indulging in the commercial extravagance encouraged by what is now known as the shopping season.  But there are much better reasons to be joyful.  Let me suggest that one of them is not shopping till you drop.

Isaiah 61:1-2,10-11
1 Thess 5:16-24
John 1:6-8,19-28

Until about forty years ago, this was called Gaudete Sunday, from the first word in today’s entrance verse from St. Paul’s letter to Philippians: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice!  The Lord is near” [Phil 4:4-5].  His words are echoed in the beginning of the second reading, “Rejoice always, never cease praying: render constant thanks.” [1 Thess. 5:16].  In the first reading Isaiah tells us:  “I rejoice heartily in the Lord, in my God is the joy of my soul” [Is. 61: 10].  And the responsorial psalm comes from the wonderful hymn of Mary from St. Luke’s gospel: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior” [Luke 1: 46-47.

Traditionally, the violet vestments of Advent are also lightened today to rose, a forecast of the joyful feast that is just two weeks ahead. It is easy to see why the third Sunday got the nickname Gaudete.  Call it “Rejoice Sunday.”

Even so, some people tend to get particularly grumpy, grouchy, and irritable at this time of year. Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch are very much with us.  Of course there are always reasons to be unhappy and remorseful: war in the Middle East, the weather (though not here so much), injustice, racism, the flu, student loans and credit card debt — the price we pay for indulging in the commercial extravagance encouraged by what is now known as the shopping season.  But there are much better reasons to be joyful.  Let me suggest that one of them is not shopping till you drop.

The feast of Christmas itself certainly gives us cause to rejoice, especially those who are having a hard time of it.  For if you recall, the first announcements of the coming of the Messiah were made to poor people — a young couple in a hick town in northern Galilee, some grimy shepherds, and if things haven’t changed a great deal, those wise men were academics rather than kings and weren’t paid enough.  Teachers never are.  But what brings joy is not power, fame, or wealth.  Jesus made that clear enough. What do we celebrate, then?  What gives us joy?  To begin with, family.

In recent times some evangelical Christian churches, mainly the big warehouse churches, took a lot of heat because they decided not to have services on Christmas day, never mind the fact that they are having dozens of Advent services leading up to Christmas.  But they felt that people (including the large staff at mega-churches) should be able to spend the day at home with their families.  If that is how they wish to celebrate Christmas, what loss is that to us?  Wish them well.  And so far as I know, even Walmart will be closed on Christmas Day. It’s the only day of the year Walmart closes, so be strong.

As a Catholic, I rejoice in the gift of Advent itself.  When I was a kid, we didn’t put up decorations or a tree until Christmas eve.  Adevent was a time of waiting, of growing anticipation. We weren’t rich by any means, but decorating the tree became a party — we didn’t eat much, because it was also a day of fast and abstinence to prepare for the big feast the next day.  But Mom always made tuna and pasta-shell salad, and that was enough.  And we also knew that after Midnight Mass — and it was Midnight Mass in those days — brightly-wrapped gifts would mysteriously appear under the tree, and the next morning, we would open them before going to mass again, because my brother and I were altar boys and also in the choir.  When we got older, we slipped gifts under the tree ourselves, just to give Santa a break. Socks and neckties and handerchiefs, plus a few toys when we were little.

Frankly, I think we celebrate Christmas too early now, and for the wrong reasons.  We’re burned out on carols, cards, and decorations by December 17th — when, traditionally, the great “O Antiphons” were first sung — the origin of the hymn “O Come O Come Emmanuel.”  We knew back when that Christmas was now just a week away! The excitement grew and grew.  And the day itself was a magical time for celebrating and visiting and eating candy again.

In a word, Christmas was not developed to make the economy sound, or to pile up more unwanted and unneeded merchandise in the attic, basement, and garage.  Christmas came into being way back in the fourth century to celebrate the gift of Jesus, our Savior, to recall the humble origins of our faith, to remind ourselves that the most needed and wanted presents anyone could want are peace on earth and good will among men and women who are not only God’s friends, but each other’s friends — God’s family, our true and real family. Not our customers or clients.  It was a time to be especially generous to the poor, which is how the legend of St. Nicholas was born.

Getting back to Isaiah, who is so important in the liturgies of Advent, that old prophet understood not only why those who waited on God for help needed to be reminded to rejoice, but who they were likely to be.  According to Luke’s Gospel, Jesus himself cited today’s reading from Isaiah 61 in his first sermon:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because God has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.
God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives,
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed,
to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.

Then, putting down the scroll, he said, “today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

If we know who we really are, and what we truly need, our response to such a message can only be joy.  And, like John the Baptist and Jesus, our task is to spread the good news especially to the poor, the sick, the marginalized, the world-weary, and prisoners of hopelessness.  For if we don’t make the world a better and brighter place for those who really need it, we haven’t got the message yet.

We do it more by actions than by words, as both John the Baptist and St. Francis of Assisi told their followers.  And believe me, that’s a lot harder.

May we grasp their message, and especially that of Jesus so that our Christmas – and everyone’s — may be truly joyful!

Several years ago, I noticed that Advent was the first part of the word “adventure.”  Something, I thought, worth pondering.  Last week, I found myself pondering the hazardous adventure of Christmas shopping, which is a very strange kind of event when you stop to think about it.  Physical combat doesn’t seem to be as common among Christmas shoppers today as it was a few years ago, but it still happens. Then there’s the struggle to see who in the neighborhood can get the most lights up on the trees and bushes and eaves and railings.  There’s even a TV reality series about the competition.  Not that it has much to do with the birth of the Messiah.  The main thing still seems to be shopping.

A different kind of adventure is offered us in the readings for this second Sunday of Advent, which center on the power of repentance and forgiveness, the theme linking the three beautiful texts from today’s liturgy of the Word.

Is 40, 1-5, 9-11
Ps 85
2 Pt 3:8-14
Mk 1:1-8

Several years ago, I noticed that Advent was the first part of the word “adventure.”  Something, I thought, worth pondering.  Last week, I found myself pondering the hazardous adventure of Christmas shopping, which is a very strange kind of event when you stop to think about it.  Physical combat doesn’t seem to be as common among Christmas shoppers today as it was a few years ago, but it still happens. Then there’s the struggle to see who in the neighborhood can get the most lights up on the trees and bushes and eaves and railings.  There’s even a TV reality series about the competition.  Not that it has much to do with the birth of the Messiah.  The main thing still seems to be shopping.
A different kind of adventure is offered us in the readings for this second Sunday of Advent, which center on the power of repentance and forgiveness, the theme linking the three beautiful texts from today’s liturgy of the Word.

In the first reading, we encounter the passage from the fortieth chapter of Isaiah, perhaps most familiar to us in the King James version, which was so beautifully set to music by Handel at the beginning of the Messiah.  What we hear these days is still powerful and slightly more accurate:

Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her tribulation is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins [Isaiah 40: 2].

The Hebrew word for “pardon” here is ratsah, which basically means to be pleased with someone, especially because they have satisfied a debt, that they are reconciled, and therefore favored.  It also means “pardon” and “please” as when we beg someone’s forgiveness for an offense or even ask for help, por favor.  Here, it is God who is pardoning, but who had earlier doubled the penalty for Israel’s rejection of the path of justice.  Now all that is past, wiped out, the slate cleaned, the debt paid.

The financial metaphor involved in the preaching of forgiveness carried over into Christian times.  Jesus uses it frequently.  We still echo it when we speak of our debts to God and each other.  Bankers, lawyers, and mortgage companies still use the vocabulary of forgiveness when a loan is written off – except, it seems, for student loan debt, which is arguably the cruelest of all and constantly increasing.  Debt forgiveness may not be the happiest simile, but it is a relevant one.  When we injure one another by our sinfulness, we enter into debt, both to those we have hurt, and to God, who takes on the hurt of the world.

This has become terribly evident in the events of the last couple of weeks.  Early on Saturday, two more hostages were killed for what are increasingly if wrongly identified as religious reasons.  For days across this nation, protests filled the streets of major cities.  We can understand when angry citizens protest manifest inequality and brutality in the execution of the law.  Walter Brueggermann, the great scripture scholar, reminded us years ago that the role of the prophet is public lamentation in the face of injustice.  But when a family finds it possible to speak of forgiveness in the face of the death of their loved ones at the hands of the police or foreign terrorists, I hear an echo of the Lord’s Prayer.  I hear Jesus teaching.

Turning back to God, finding our way again, the great Advent theme and great adventure of our lives, requires a settling of debts.  On God’s part, it is remarkably simple: forgiveness is there to be taken, abundantly, and completely.  The only hitch is the condition that we be as willing to forgive each other, so that God’s forgiveness can take possession of us.  Jesus never tires of repeating that our unwillingness to forgive each other limits the effectiveness of God’s forgiveness in our case.

It’s all too easy to forget the little commentary that follows the Lord’s Prayer in Matthew’s gospel:

…if you forgive people their transgressions, your heavenly Father also will forgive you; but if you do not forgive others their transgressions, neither will your Father forgive yours [Mat 6:14-15].

The second Letter of Peter seems to pass quickly over the theme of repentance and forgiveness in its enthusiasm for grand eschatological drama, but in fact, it lies at the heart of his message, too.

The Lord is not slow about his promise as some count slowness, but is forbearing toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance [2 Peter 3:9].

The word the author uses here is metanoia, one of the most important words the New Testament.  It has nothing to do with punishment, penance, or penalty, like the Latin word paenitere.  It means to change our way of thinking, to reverse a decision, to change direction.  The richly metaphorical language of the Second Epistle of Peter evokes a certain feeling of dread anticipation, one not diminished by the imagery of the approach of a thief, a use so prevalent in New Testament texts that there is no reason to doubt that it came from Jesus himself.  We have no time to waste.  The need for a change of mind and heart is urgent now.

But it is the opening of the Gospel of Mark that returns us most forcefully to the theme of repentance and forgiveness, introducing the main character of the Advent readings, John the Baptizer, who came to prepare Christ’s way in the wilderness.  John, too, preached metanoia.  And of course, Jesus preached the same message, the urgent need for a whole new way of thinking, feeling, and acting grounded in love and expressed in forgiveness and reconciliation, which may be the greatest Christmas present of all.