Rejoice, Rejoice, Emmanuel!

On Sunday we lit the third candle on the Advent wreath: the Gaudete (“rejoice!”) candle, the candle of joy.

My church has large pillar candles on a table, standing like sentinels, keeping watch over the season. But the traditional formation is a circle, a wreath. It is a reminder that Advent actually marks the beginning of the church year calendar—a cyclical marking of time between holy-days and ordinary time.

For centuries the early church emphasized the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection as the most significant time of worship. It wasn’t until the 4th century that celebrations of Jesus’ birth were added as a regular church practice, and a tradition of Lent-like weeks of meditation and reflection were formed. Around the turn of the first millennium, the four Sundays leading up to December 25 were standardized, and Advent took its place as the beginning of the church year calendar.

But how does this help us see Advent joy?
With week three, we have a spiritual shift from the more somber weeks of Hope and Peace to the rejoicing that the birth of Jesus draws near. 

Indeed, in Luke 2:10-11, it is recorded:

“And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great JOY that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’”

So too, each year, as the circular year goes round again, we are drawn to remember that Advent is not only a celebration of Jesus’ birth, but the day when He will come again.

In his article, The Neglected Meaning of Advent, Ryan Griffith writes and quotes:

“We may neglect Advent’s future-orientation in our contemporary celebration, but, intriguingly, the theme of Jesus’s second coming runs deep in our favorite Christmas carols. Isaac Watts’s (1674–1748) “Joy to the World” celebrates Jesus’s glorious return and his future kingdom where sin and sorrow are no more (Revelation 21:4):

    Joy to the world! the Savior reigns;
    Let men their songs employ;
    While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
    Repeat the sounding joy,
    Repeat the sounding joy,
    Repeat, repeat the sounding joy.

    No more let sins and sorrows grow,
    Nor thorns infest the ground;
    He comes to make his blessings flow
    Far as the curse is found,
    Far as the curse is found,
    Far as, far as the curse is found.

Finally, consider John Mason Neale and Henry Coffin’s “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” a translation of the ancient Great Antiphons:

    O come, Thou Key of David, come
    And open wide our heavenly home;
    Make safe the way that leads on high,
    And close the path to misery.
    Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
    Shall come to thee, O Israel.

    O come, Desire of nations, bind
    All peoples in one heart and mind;
    Bid envy, strife, and quarrels cease;
    Fill the whole world with heaven’s peace.
    Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
    Shall come to thee, O Israel.

History illuminates the richness of Advent’s celebration and anticipation. And one practical way of recovering the deep joy of this future-oriented season might just be to believe what we sing.”

This is challenging and convicting. For me, this is a season where it’s hard to see big Joys. I try to notice tiny joys each day: like the sun shining through my plants, the taste of a delicious meal, the smile of a child as they notice you (children’s librarian here!). I truly believe God is in all those moments. But then I open a social media app or look at a webpage full of news headlines and all I see is how fractured and devoid of joy this world really is. Where is God or joy in hate, murder, racism, and war?

As a part of their yearly Advent devotional announcement, Desiring God posted these lines on their social media:

“Advent is a season of groaning and gladness.
We are glad that Christ has come.
We groan for Christ to come again.
Advent is the time in between.”

This hit hard. Advent, the time in between, reminds us that though we live in a world broken by sin, we have a Savior whose life and return will bookend eternity. And until we see that day, we can truthfully fill our days with equal parts longing and rejoicing. We can hold space to mourn, and also rejoice that we serve a God who gave of Himself fully, so that we could experience His unfathomable mercy and grace.

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel! God is with us. 

And They Shall Rejoice

Today we light the third candle on the Advent wreath. It is traditionally called the Gaudete candle—the candle of rejoicing.

What does “rejoice” even mean? It is not a word we use often in modern English. To rejoice is to “feel or show great joy or delight.”

But if you’re anything like me, these last years of the pandemic have made rejoicing pretty difficult. The things we celebrate have changed. We might rejoice over routine accomplishments like getting out of bed in the morning; or feel joy over a delicious cup of tea or coffee; we can shout for joy over a negative COVID test.

But I think the Christian tradition of rejoicing goes deeper than that. This past Spring our church did a sermon series through the book of Zechariah (not to be confused with the Zechariah of Luke 1 and 2).

Prophesying to the people after their return from the exile in Babylon, Zechariah provided messages pertaining to both their immediate and distant future. Mixed among the themes of rebuilding the temple are some of the clearest and most numerous passages about the Messiah in the minor prophets. Zechariah brings messages of hope and restoration for the people of God—exactly what they need after being apart from God’s presence for so long.

And so that is one of their first goals: to rebuild the temple, the dwelling place of the Lord. Enter Zerubbabel, from the line of David, and governor of Judah. Quickly he sets to work on reconstruction. Funny how so many from this kingly line find their occupations tied to the building of this temple. And it was so, until the final descendant, Jesus Christ, will build for us a new temple, and eternal place with Him.

But Zerubabbel just as fallible as his ancestors, and so God reminds him: “Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of hosts” (Zechariah 4:6b). The people’s expectations of what a rebuilt city should look like were so small and basic compared to what God had in mind.

“The Christian life is being called to be a craftsman,” our pastor explains. “None of our work done in faith, is done in vain. God’s design has no limits.”

And so, God spoke to Zechariah:
“The hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this house; his hands shall also complete it. Then you will know that the Lord of hosts has sent me to you. For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice, and shall see the plumb line [a measuring tool] in the hand of Zerubbabel.” (Zechariah 4:9-10a)

For whoever despised the day of small things shall rejoice. Great joy and delight. Not from anything the people accomplished, but all from the Lord.

Do you ever wonder at Jesus’ earthly occupation? Scripture tells us he was a carpenter or tradesman. He built things with His own two hands. Can you imagine?

In her book, Prayer in the Night, Tish Harrison Warren reflects on this idea. She says,

“Jesus spent time, decades even, building stuff. Jesus was a tradesman. A builder who used his hands. God came to earth and apparently thought it worth his while to take some wood or stone or metal and make something. What did he make? We have no idea. Apparently nothing earth shattering enough to have kept around. But in this dark world, where men and women were dying, or the poor were suffering, where injustice raged in a vast and violent empire, God became flesh and built some furniture. During all those decades that he spent building things, he wasn't preaching, healing, or clearing out temples. He wasn't starting a movement or raising the dead. The light came into the darkness and did ordinary work. All of Jesus’ work brought redemption. Not just the work that odd the crowds, the feeding of the multitude, the sermon on the mount, the raising of Jairus’ is daughter, but also his quiet craft. (eBook, p. 233-234)

And with each finished product, I imagine Him rejoicing and saying, “and it was good!”

We may never see the fruit of God’s movement in our lives, but as a collective body of Christ, we will know and celebrate the work. So take courage and rejoice, your labors of faith are not in vain.

"Great Joy" and the Angel's Upside Down Announcement

Advent has been speeding by this year. And yet, as I look at my social media feeds, I don’t see as many articles and stories about the Christmas season as in years past. I wonder why that is. Maybe they think everything’s already been said. It probably has. But if the last post is true, we need those yearly Advent reminders.

The church year calendar is there to keep us on track. Not for some checklist of holy tasks, but in sync with the rhythm of our need and God’s provision.

The 3^rd Sunday of Advent is traditionally called Gaudete Sunday. It comes from the Latin word, gaudete, meaning rejoice. Today we light the candle of Joy. What better way to reflect on that theme than with Kate DiCamillo’s Christmas tale, Great Joy.

I didn’t think I’d be using many non-Nativity stories for this year’s reflections, but I knew I could trust DiCamillo to have the right spirit in her story. If you haven’t read any of her other books, I highly recommend them. She’s written everything from beginning readers to early chapter books and middle grade novels. And she is a gem of an author.

Today’s story is about a little girl named Frances and a poor organ grinder with a pet monkey who plays music out on the street. It’s a week before Christmas and very cold outside. Frances wonders if the organ grinder is going to be ok. “Where do they go at night?” she asks her mother. But mother seems to have other things on her mind. The Christmas pageant is quickly approaching, after all, and there is still a lot to prepare.

When it is time to leave for the church, Frances sees the organ grinder, still out on the corner. “You can come,” she tells him. “The play is at the church. It’s just down the street. You can both come.” He smiles back. But she could tell he was sad.

Back stage at the church, everyone is bustling around, getting ready for their scene. When it is Frances’ turn to play the angel, she stands frozen on the stage, unable to say a word. All she could think about was the organ grinder, outside, alone on the snowy street.

The world was quiet. Everyone waited. Then, at the back of the sanctuary, a door opened. Frances smiled.

"Behold!” she shouted. “I bring you tidings of Great Joy!”

And because the words felt so right, Frances said them again, "Great Joy!”

DiCamillo’s story is unassuming, yet packs a hard punch as the “world quietly waits” to see what will happen. There isn’t a clear analogy here, but a demonstration of God’s great compassion for each of us, from the very lowest to the richest king.

The angels could have performed in Jerusalem for the court of King Herod, yet as Mary exalts in her Magnificat, “God has brought down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of humble estate” (Luke 1:52). He chose the lowly shepherds to be the first ones to hear the Good News. It was not because the rulers of the land needed to hear the message any less, but because declaring this flipped-on-its-head Gospel to the shepherds “felt so right.”

A humbled savior, announced to honored laborers.

And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

- Luke 2:10-11