Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Randy Greve
The Second Sunday of Advent, December 8, 2024
Every year in early November, a local radio station changes its usual music format to Christmas music. I know this because when I am driving somewhere, I will occasionally surf the radio and land on this station. I scan the stations based on what is not commercials. It may just be me, but since the presidential election and in the context of ongoing political division, as the fabric of civility is tearing and many relationships are fracturing, I feel more dread than usual (and I usually feel a lot). When I lit upon this station a few days ago, I was surprised to note that not only was I cheating by listening to Christmas music before Christmas, but I did not even enjoy cheating. I was actually repulsed by it. Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole singing to me about mistletoe and tree tops glistening and sleigh bells in the snow made me want to drive the car into a light pole. It is like having a DJ at a funeral reception. Perhaps in more optimistic times the themes of abundance and togetherness, peace and goodwill that come through so many of these songs are in harmony with the cultural moment, but not now. At that moment it all rang hollow and empty. I pushed the power button and turned it off.
Pumped into our blood from every media entry point is the lure of commercialism that promises we can conjure the emotions we believe we are supposed to feel - “be merry”, “celebrate”, “holly jolly”, the songs hypnotize us over and over. Their prescription for our discontent is that if we are experiencing grief or loss, fear or dread, conflict, strife, anxiety about the future of our families, churches, politics, then another cup of cheer will fix everything - or at least we can forget about our and the world's problems - at least for a while. And that is the best we can hope for. The capitalistic system is a dealer in Christmas as escapist fantasy. Sorry, Bing, but not all our days will be merry and bright, nor will all our Christmases be white. Life does not work that way.
If we are to faithfully prepare room in our hearts for the coming of God incarnate, and if that preparation can open us to welcome that coming with great joy, then we are in need of something more substantive than nostalgia and sentimentality. Divine discontent, which is what I think I was experiencing at that moment, is discontent at quick and shallow fixes. This is a good thing and can actually prepare us for deeper conversion. Advent is the opposite of escapist fantasy. That is why it is usually awkward. Primed as we are for the standard fare of instant gratification, the church sets us unflinchingly inside the tension, the contradiction of the reality of hope and salvation alongside the reality of sin and suffering. Can joy come from a contradiction? The proclamation of salvation ought never ask us to cheer up, get over it, feel what we do not feel, deny reality, believe what we cannot quite believe - that is mind control, not good news. What is on offer is the invitation to dwell in Christ with all our thoughts and emotions, our doubts and pains, our expectations and hopes and to be fully, deeply, knowingly engaged in our actual life experience.
What, then, does joy really mean? Am I doomed to be Scrooge forever, or could my association with joy as an external mood, mere emotion, be inadequate? The Collect and the epistle lesson for today give us some profound wisdom on this question. The Collect for the Second Sunday of Advent asks God for the grace of repentance which prepares the way for greeting with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer. In the reading from Saint Paul’s letter to the Philippians, which is included for this Sunday because of its mention of joy, Paul writes, “I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now.” Both the Collect and Philippians root joy in God’s activity and our choice to recognize and participate in good work blooming in and around us. Joy is the gift of the glimpse of God’s goodness which has begun to set the world right. We receive joy when we stop; stop acting, numbing, avoiding, or pretending and start opening, anticipating, and receiving.
Saint Paul’s joy for the community in Philippi came from his care for them and his trust in the power of the gospel. What he saw and knew was the triumph of the grace at work in their hearts. No Caesar, no empire, no violence, no persecution or chain or martyrdom (try as they might across the centuries) no division, no scandal, no heresy could thwart the power of God to effect good in willing hearts. Those things harm and are tragic, but they are no obstacle to Christ. When he saw that, joy flowed up out of him in the lavish, unbounded love of Christ who will never leave us or forsake us. He never denies or minimizes his suffering, he is still in prison. He never presents life in Christ as a program to escape reality. His joy is in the truth that the suffering cannot, will never, quench the power of that presence and mystery. “This present suffering is not to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed in us”, he writes to the Romans.
Joy is the effect of offering and entrusting our lives and the life of the world to the one who is its source and end. Our source intends our flourishing and growth and our end is bound up in an end to all suffering and crying and pain. Let not the power of joy be cheapened by its cheap imitations - it is a gift much richer than mere cheerfulness and positivity. It is honest and real, includes melancholy and sadness, grief and loneliness, but gathers up our longing and cries, our blessings and riches - indeed our whole lives - into the promise of the redemption of the world. The deepest, most soulful peace and fulfillment we can experience is that the unstoppable goodness of God in our lives is more wondrous and beautiful than we can imagine and will be ours for eternity.
So, we may not feel as cheerful this year. The groanings of the world - in creation, in our bodies, in our care for each other - these groans and sighs and tears last for a time. We must groan when we need to groan. But only new creation is ultimate and is our hope and home. In the foretaste of that promise now and to come, we rejoice. In our patient endurance, in our faithful witness, joy beckons in and over it all. Grieve, but refuse to despair; be discontented, but continue to bear witness to the gospel; lament, but guard against becoming bitter. Welcome joy when it emerges in you - do not stifle it. But know that it may come at a time and in a way that does not follow a schedule. It may surprise you. Greet it openly and humbly when it appears - it is a precious gift from God. Amen.
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