Inexhaustible

Propers: The Third Sunday of Advent (Gaudete), AD 2020 B

Homily:

Lord, we pray for the preacher, for You know his sins are great.

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

This Third Sunday of Advent is known traditionally as Gaudete, which means “Rejoice!” or “O, be joyful!” It is a reminder that even in our waiting, even in our penitence, we are to conduct ourselves with Christian joy. And I’ll be honest with you: at first blush, that sounds kind of exhausting.

‘Tis the season—if not in Church then certainly in the world at large—wherein we feel relentless pressure to be cheerful, right? Everything is holidays, ho ho ho. And hopefully, for most folks, this is a good thing. I’ve noticed a lot of lights and trees going up early this year. I think in 2020 that’s probably healthy.

But on the whole, I’m an introverted kind of guy. And my default state, more often than it ought to be, I know, is grumpy. I’m a stereotypical middle-aged dad. I like rest and reading and quiet time to think, all of which are in short supply at this stage in my life. And so when I hear, “O, be joyful!” I’m thinking, “Maybe you be joyful, and I’ll wish you well from over here.”

But the truth is that joy, real joy, isn’t the same as the false sort of cheer we’re used to forcing over the holidays. Because we’re Americans, right? We’re all supposed to have can-do attitudes. We’re all supposed to brag about how industrious and busy we always are. Americans are optimists even when we aren’t. Yet optimism isn’t really an emotion. For that matter, neither is joy. Neither is faith nor hope nor love. We tend to treat these things as if they were emotions, as if they were feelings, because we are much more a feeling than a thinking people.

But real joy runs much deeper than all that. Real joy is in fact an entire way of life.

To say that a Christian is called to joy doesn’t mean that we need to be peppy or bouncy or enthusiastic all the time. Some of us are, and God bless y’all, because you keep the rest of us going when the going gets rough. Joy, however, is more foundational, more stable than emotion. Joy is a state of spiritual peace: a calm, strong center to which we can return, that enables us to weather all the storms of this fallen, broken world.

To live in joy is to know that you are enough: to understand that you are loved, you are blessed, you are known; and you are never, in fact, alone. You are upheld, in every breath, every heartbeat, every thought, by the same Spirit, the same creative love, who sustains all things in every moment of their being. Simply by dint of being human, you have a dignity and a worth which can never be taken away. Simply by dint of Jesus’ Cross, you have a royalty, a nobility, and a destiny more wonderful than any you could possibly imagine.

Nothing you ever do or say or earn can ever take this from you, nor can anything that you accomplish ever add to it. It is yours purely by mercy, purely by grace, as gift.

Moreover, to live in joy is to know that you have enough: enough property, enough possessions, enough things. Now I’m not talking about the hungry or the homeless or those who lack adequate healthcare. They don’t have enough. And we need to work on that. But if you’re here in this congregation—or if you’re listening online—it is my hope and prayer that you have a roof over your head and three square-meals a day. Beyond that, I wish you all the prosperity in the world, so long as the things that you own don’t end up owning you.

I have a problem with buying books. I have too many. They’ve filled up my office, filled up my home. And I get through as many of them as I can, but I’ve always bought them incessantly. Far more come in than I could ever realistically hope to read. And I’ve told myself over the years that my acquisitiveness is permissible, that it’s somehow a better or nobler form of hoarding. Because books are wonderful things, miraculous things. In the beginning was the Word, after all.

But the bottom line is, whatever your fetish happens to be, that we are all deeply embedded in a culture of infinite consumption and of infinite appetite. This is by design. It keeps the poor in poverty, makes the rich obscenely so. And for most of us in the middle class, it keeps us busy buying things we neither want nor need. That’s why your average American dies with $60,000 in debt, despite living, for now at least, in the wealthiest country in the world.

And it doesn’t make us happy, does it? It doesn’t bring us joy. Because no matter what we purchase, there’s always more to be had. The goalposts are ever-moving, leaving us tired and haggard and hungry, gorging on fare that never fills. A Christian should be different. A Christian should have enough. And whatever comes, wealth or penury, windfall or woe, we should with calm and thankful hearts be grateful for what we have, and use it for the good of others.

The open secret of Christianity, and the Achilles’ heel of consumption, is that the more we grasp, the less we have; while the more we give away, the more we grow and gain. It sounds cheesy, fortune-cookie wisdom. But at heart we know it’s true. The older we get, the shorter our Christmas lists become. We delight less in the gifts we are given—though of course any gift given in love is a gift unto itself—while the more we find joy, life-affirming joy, in the happiness of others, of those we love.

It’s why my Dad only ever asked for white shirts and black socks. He was hard to shop for, because he already knew he had all he required. And there is joy in that.

A joyful Christian is one who does not force false cheer, who neither ignores nor papers over the hardships of this life, yet who is truly present to listen and to serve, to put the needs of the neighbor before his own, even if his neighbor be his foe. A joyful Christian is less concerned with the trappings of prosperity, and more focused on the hard, rewarding joys of giving of herself, of her time, of her presence. Jesus is present with us in Body and Spirit and Blood. And He calls us to be present for others in the exact same way. Love them, He says, as I love you.

Embrace simplicity. Put others first. Desire little. In this way, a Christian always has an abundance to share. In this way, a Christian always has joy.

In the beginning was the Word, according to John’s Gospel, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

It’s very cosmic, very sweeping, very universal. Word and Light! And no matter what happens, no matter the darkness, no matter how the powers of this fallen world may rage, they can never hope to prevail against the Logos and the Light. But then we have this abrupt shift in perspective, from the realms of the heavenly and the divine, down to a specific man in a specific time and place:

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

The cosmic Light of God Most High, the universal Light of God’s own Truth, blazes eternally and unconquerably before, beyond, and above all things. Yet here’s this scraggly preacher out in the desert eating locusts, John the Baptist clothed in camel’s hair, and his job is to reflect this cosmic, eternal, undying Light into our world. He himself is not the Light, but he came to testify to the Light.

A wild man with nothing, wandering the wastes, yet he has all he needs. Crusty and cantankerous, blunt unto a fault, this man is filled with joy. Because John knows whom he is called to reflect. He knows the One who is to come. And it doesn’t matter what they say or do to him. It doesn’t even matter when they cut his head clean off. John the Baptist is the voice crying out in the wilderness, sure and strong and free, and nothing can take his joy from him, nothing can stop him from living in Light—for nothing can stop the Advent of Jesus Christ our Lord.

We are called to be like John. Nay, what’s more, we are called to be one in Christ. This is our hope and our strength and our joy. This is the calm, sure center in the manger of our souls. O, be joyful, all you Christians! Rejoice, ye sinful saints! For the world itself shall pass away, and the Light will still shine on in joy.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.