Today is Gaudete Sunday, or Rose Sunday, and Heaven Sunday too. The Third Sunday in Advent is rich with meaning as we prepare for Christmas and the Incarnation of God, come to us to live with us and in us. Such miracle and mystery often astounds me.
The name “Gaudete” meaning “Rejoice” refers to the introit for the day (translated from the Latin):
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. Let your forbearance be known to all, for the Lord is near at hand; have no anxiety about anything, but in all things, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God.” (Wikipedia)
Indeed, the Lord is near at hand, to be born in Bethlehem soon and reborn in us daily, hourly, with each breath. We need only ask. It is a reminder to be at peace, reconciled to God, with His birth among us, in us. We request what we need and give thanks for the life we have been given. We need not be anxious, but are called to rejoice in the Lord always. It is a good reminder to do so in our worldly world.
We place roses on the altar (no flowers during Advent except for today) and vestments are rose-colored. We consider the “last things” once again, but in the lighter light of Heaven. Having considered Death and Judgment so far, today we hope in Christ to defend us when we die, when we face our examination, or court appearance as it were, that we see what we have done or not done, repent, be absolved and step through the gates of Heaven into the New Jerusalem. It is a good reminder to practice our repentance here on Earth.
The fog drifted into our valley this morning and settled around the hills, obscuring the lower hamlets and allowing the peaks to emerge into light. I watched it swirl and change and move on, as other mists born by the breeze came in, changing shape with each second, opening and closing the planet to the sun.
We too are obscured by the swirling mists of not seeing or not knowing or not being sure of what we believe or who we are. And yet we have a path given to us, a way of parting that fog, if we so desire. We have reasonable arguments for certainty handed to us by the church and a heritage of believers, witnesses who testify to what they have seen and what they know to be true. We need only say “yes” we want to believe, we want to step further into the w
orld of faith, hope, love, and joy. It sounds too good to be true, but it’s true.
And so we look to Mary who said those words, her “fiat”, her “yes”, her “be it unto me…”, to allow her body to be the home of Christ Jesus. We travel with her through Advent, to learn how to say yes as she did, to step into this miracle given to each one of us, Christmas. We walk alongside her, and she with us, for she is our mother.
There is a wonderful icon of Mary and the Holy Child Jesus hanging in the great basilica of Mary Major, Santa Maria Maggiore, in Rome. It is said to be painted by St. Luke. Tradition and first century carbon dating testify to the probability that it was. Under the main altar lies the wooden creche.
We light our three candles today, including the rose candle, and we recall our ultimate destination, Heaven. As we do, we experience a moment of Heaven on Earth. The candles flame, testifying to the Lord of Lords to come, to be born on Earth and reborn in our hearts.
Yes, come Lord Jesus, come.
The opening prayer that collected our small flock together on this brilliantly clear morning in a chapel in Berkeley was the “Collect for the Second Sunday in Advent”:
Advent’s daily prayer begins with “Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour of light…”. To memorize this prayer is to digest it, to send our words to God, expressing our need for re-forming, re-creating. And even as we pray the words, we become clothed in a protective garment, an armour of light, lighting the darkness.
Today is also the theme of Judgment. We shall be judged. The world shall be judged. But Christ takes our part if we desire Him; we are forgiven if we repent. And so we return to words – words to instruct our conscience, learning right and wrong, law and love. Holy Scripture becomes the textbook that teaches us where we have gone wrong, returning us to who we are and are meant to be. We need merely pray our words to Our Lord to be changed, to be redeemed, to be saved.
The nights have been clear and cold here in the Bay Area. We can see the stars and I reach to touch them, they seem so close. Advent is the time of stars in the heavens. Advent is when we follow the star to Christmas. We reach and we follow the star.
These are big things, subjects we would rather avoid. Especially judgment. We define deviancy down and further down, so that we can deny judging anyone and thus not be judged ourselves. And yet we know deep within there is a moral law all mankind senses, reckoning that a standard has been set, a standard we don’t meet. And with law there is judgment.
We light our first Advent candle in our Advent wreathe. It is only one small flame in the dark, but it will light the others, each week, until we see the light of Bethlehem, the light of the world, the light of Christ.
It is good we practiced gratitude for our blessings this past week. Gratitude humbles us. Gratitude says, we owe something to someone else. Indeed. We owe much to those giants that have preserved the West, and fought for our freedoms through war and peace. We owe much to our local church, filled with good souls who try to love us. We owe much to our own families who try to put up with us. We owe much to Our Lord who gave us life itself and continues to breathe life into each day we live.
We begin at the beginning, the first day of the Church Year. In this new year we open the gates of Jerusalem – and our hearts – to the Messiah as our Gospel reading describes. Today the story begins, and each one of us will play a vital part in the greatest drama of all, life overcoming death, eternally, minute by minute.
Today we celebrate the Holy Trinity, the three persons in one God, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, beginning the long green Trinity season of growth.
My father, a chaplain on board the Phoenix in the South Pacific in World War II, was a man of truth. Fresh out of Dallas seminary, he joined his ship in June of 1944 at the age of 28. He prayed and he preached and he pastored his young charges, as kamikazes dove into the sea around them. He returned to America even more dedicated than when he enlisted. 
For we are broken, with hearts both good and evil. But the Father reaches out to us with the Son, and the Son fills us with the Spirit. A trio of loves lives with each believer, a holy nesting birthing a holy voice that sings the song of the Holy Trinity to the world.
So on this Memorial Weekend we pause to praise the God of all memorials, the Lord of all lives, the Father of all freedoms. We remember with our sacred memory those who have gone before us, those who gave themselves for you and me. We tell our children these sacred stories, so that they will tell their children, so that the people of this great nation will never forget our brave soldiers.
The Feast of Pentecost, the celebration of he descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples gathered in Jerusalem, is one of the most dramatic scenes in the New Testament, and while I have always been astounded at the Gospel and Epistle for this Sunday, today I considered one phrase our preacher said.
And, as she was commanded, she named him Jesus, this Holy Spirit child, this quickening of Our Lord in Mary. She said yes, be it unto me according to thy will. (Luke 1)
The Spirit gave them the words, reversing the story of the Tower of Babel, uniting, not dividing, loving, not hating. With words.
Today is the last Sunday in Eastertide, the celebration of Christ’s resurrection from the dead, and with his conquering death, we too are resurrected, now and when our bodies die, releasing our souls to fly heavenward.
And should we be confused as to the meaning of these events, we look to the Early Church and the letters of Paul and others who trained these baby Christians to become adults in Christ. 
Nevertheless, in the time that is ours, the life we own, we witness to the God of love who created you and me. We witness to life, from the baby in the womb to the last days of our elderly to those suffering early deaths. We witness to the family, the life blood society that trains our children to be truth-tellers too when they come of age. We witness to the delight in being a woman or a man, knowing that we are made in the image of God, Imago Dei.
In this month of Mary’s May, we thank Our Mother Mary for saying yes long ago in a village called Nazareth. Her fiat made all the difference to the world, our world. Our fiat makes all the difference too.
It’s a beautiful spring day here in the Bay Area, a time to appreciate the beauty of the natural world as it is reborn each year, giving us a good greening before the dry season turns the grasses brown.
It is said that when writers send their manuscripts out into the wide wide world it is like sending a child away to school. At some point, we just say, okay, fly. But don’t forget who created you! Still we think of all the changes and additions we still need to make – create another plot line, another character, another setup and payoff, another scene, another dialog. That’s when I tell myself, breathe, breathe, breathe the name of Jesus.
We had a lovely annual Church Synod last week, another extended family gathering of the faithful which is one part reunion, one part inspiration, one part meeting and greeting, one part fellowship, and many parts encouragement. We live in a challenging time for the Church – any church – a hostile time in which we must not throw pearls before swine, must choose charitably, desire dutifully, and trust Our Lord completely. We are the music of the mountain (plot spoiler), each note, each hymn, each concerto. We all play our part.
Thinking about my draft again, and all the stories I didn’t tell, all the loves I wanted to include, all the mysteries and miracles of life that are stacked in folders all around me that didn’t make the cut (there’s still time I tell them). At the end of the day, what I have not packed into these chapters is huge and daunting and waiting to be included. Alas, I tell them, sometimes less is more…?
Happy Eastertide to all!
Christine Sunderland
Christine Sunderland 