Tears and joy

Advent 3C
http://lectionarypage.net/YearC_RCL/Advent/CAdv3_RCL.html

Today is Gaudate Sunday – Literally “Be Joyful” Sunday. It is quite a paradox – this command to be joyful - standing in stark relief to the overwhelming sadness of this week. I do not think there are adequate words to make sense of the violence, the loss, the pain, the darkness of our world that was so violently made clear in Connecticut and in Clackamas this week. So this is real – at first all we can do is wail and cry and pray: Here is a prayer from a Christian Century in response to Friday’s shootings:

God of the broken-hearted,
God of the broken heart,
Receive our sighs
too deep for words.
In your time
by your grace
heal us.
In this meantime
hold us
as we weep.
Hold us and rock us
with the rhythm
of your own
grief-struck
quaking
body.
Amen

We start there, crying the tears that are our own, and crying the tears that belong to the God of love. Perhaps this is where the paradox of joy enters, that we have a God who weeps and wails at this loss.

Kafka tells a story of a little girl who was late coming home. When her mother inquired about where she had been she shared that she had stopped to help a friend who had broken her doll. When the mother asked if she had helped fix the doll the girl proclaimed, “oh no, I do not know how to fix it. I stopped to help her cry.” We cry and pray today for our own grief and for those who are too sad, too angry, too lost to do it for themselves.

This broken world – this is where God chose incarnation – vulnerable flesh – a quiet light in a world already filled with darkness. There were perhaps not guns, but he chose to come into a world in which a King would kill innocent babes to secure his reign, where oppression and occupation dictated daily life…and he chooses to come now, into this world where innocents continue to die – a world as much in need of a savior as ever. We wait again to experience his choice to come willingly into this darkness, to love its people.

And so it is the wisdom of these lectionary texts and of the traditions of the church to command joy in the face of the evil of the world. Because, as Paul proclaims, “the Lord is near” and the story of our faith would proclaim that this violence, death, and pain do not have the final word but that “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it!”

So, what does it mean to be joyful in the face of such tragedy? The readings today give us a very different picture of joy than we expect. They tie up this experience of joy with repentance, with hope when things seem lost, and with generosity. The theme of joy here is this: Hope and generosity must rule our hearts even when we are tempted with fear and despair.

After getting the crowd’s attention with colorful comparisons of the crowd to a frightened, spawn of snakes John presents the first step in the life of Joy… “bear fruits worthy of repentance”.

To talk of repentance in the midst of tragedy perhaps seems harsh. And I want to be clear that I am not in any way suggesting that these events are God’s wrath in response to our sinfulness, but am talking about that sense of repentance in which we are able to see the ways that our choices embrace rather than reject a culture in which such tragedy could happen. All of the readings today, to some extent, equate the depth of joy with turning away-repenting from- death.

Can we tolerate asking ourselves today what parts of our existence contribute to a culture of death? Can we, like the crowds stand before John and our God and ask, “what then shall we do?”

One thing I believe repentance means today is a turning away from what would be our natural response to violence: fear, a desire to lock ourselves away, to choose protection above connection to the marginalized people of our world…we would wish to seek comfort. But John doesn’t let the crowds fall back into comfort and safety. He defines this fruit, this joy, very differently. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” They will not be able to hold onto the safety of their careful planning or to their strength, they are asked to risk their safety and comfort for their neighbor. He asks for an act of trust and hope. Here it is again, hope and generosity must win over fear and despair.

What does this mean for us today? I imagine a contemporary writing to include language like: “If you have power, use it for the powerless. If you have a voice, speak for the unheard. If you have been heard, give your ear to the discounted. If you have been loved, love the unloved.”

What is it we hold onto that John would challenge us to share? In what places do we allow fear and despair to trump hope and generosity? Do we trust that in sharing we will experience joy?

I think it is a natural temptation, but one we must resist, to respond to the events of this week with fear of those struggling with mental illness. Every day that we open our doors here at Saints Peter and Paul we are gifted with the face of Christ in the poor and his voice in the often confused, lost words of those who are plagued by insanity. We could, right now, choose to close our doors, or at least our hearts, out of fear. But joy means holding on to hope for each of those souls. It means trusting and giving even when we are afraid. If we have ten dollars we give five…if we have two cups of coffee we give one. And maybe like Kafka, Paul’s message echoes that of John: “Rejoice in the Lord always (not sometimes…not only when times are good) again I say rejoice. Let your gentleness be evident to all” –Hope and generosity not fear or despair. And how can we do this? Well, Paul proclaims, “the Lord is near!” Weeping beside us, lighting the path in the darkness. This is the source of our hope, the motivation of our generosity.

As we light the pink candle this week we are called, like Mary, so long ago, to sing a song of rejoicing to the lord - even in the face of very real brokenness - and to wait expectantly for Light to come into the darkness of the world.
Gadaute!
Amen.

Preached by the Rev. Tracy LeBlanc