Zephaniah 3:14-20 & Luke 3:7-18
Through
the centuries of the Church, this 3rd Sunday of Advent,
Gaudete Sunday, has had one resounding theme...a theme traditionally
reflected in a lightening of the seasonal solemnity as in some
churches the vestments and here our Advent candle changes from
penitential purple to pink for just one day as a reminder that, no
matter what, we are to REJOICE!
That's the
overwhelming message of our Scriptures this morning, from Zephaniah
“Sing aloud...Rejoice and exult with all your heart”
through
the psalm “shout aloud and sing for joy” to Paul's letter to the
Philippians
“Rejoice
in the Lord always”
Rejoice...or,
in Latin, Gaudete.
You might,
of course, be forgiven for failing to notice it as you heard John the
Baptist's opening salvo
“You
brood of vipers!”
Hardly the
most encouraging greeting with which to woo your listeners – but
nonetheless, Luke is able to sum up all of John's preaching as GOOD
news...something to rejoice in.
But I'm
very conscious that today joy seems far away...that families who were
immersed in the cheerful preparations for Christmas together are now
planning funerals instead...that the darkness of the world's sin
seems deeper, more pervasive than ever. The massacre of the innocents
in Newtown Connecticut is the harshest reminder of our need for
someone to save us from ourselves and só our premature carolling
switches to a minor key...
On
Mothering Sunday 1996 in the wake of the Dunblane shootings I found
myself preaching to the All Age congregation in our village church.
Struggling for words that could connect the expected joy of the day
with the unbearable pain that we felt for those families broken by
the death of só many children, I spoke of Jesus weeping over
Jerusalem, and longing to gather her as a hen gathers her chicks.
Today Zephaniah gives us a different picture – of a God whose love
for us is só strong, só overwhelming, that even in the face of
judgement and disaster it reaches our ears like glad singing. Surely
God IS a loving parent, for he both weeps and rejoices over his
children, as he gathers them to himself...and sometimes those two
extremes of grief and joy are closer than we can imagine.
That
doesn't mean that we can turn away from the world's pain, bury our
heads and deny its reality by singing ever louder and allowing the
Christmas tree lights to blind us to the events that happen in the
shadows. Our readings this morning acknowledge all the darkness of
the world too...
Zephaniah
speaks to a people destroyed by their enemies, a people in exile with
only dreams of their homeland to sustain them – and indeed, as Jane
Williams points out, to hear of Jerusalem as “home” today is
almost unbearably ironic, as that holy city remains at the centre of
an apparently insoluable conflict. Who has the right to call
Jerusalem home?
Our
psalmist speaks of trusting God in the face of his fears, Paul of
rejoicing in EVERYTHING – both good and bad...and John the Baptist,
- well he makes it abundantly clear that there's too much wrong with
our world, that nobody is exempt from the need to repent and be made
new – but he promises, too, that the Messiah is on the way, the
Lord is at hand.
Só
perhaps we can still find joy, even as we weep with the families of
Sandy Hook school – and all those others for whom there is little
good news this morning. This world remains a place of insecurity, and
we remain a people capable of appalling acts, who too often put our
faith in the wrong things. But there is something to hold onto...good
news for the oppressed, the lame, the outcast...those with empty
hands and aching hearts.
As John
points out, we do not need to seek security in our family history, or
in our material props – two coats, abundant food in the cupboard,
more money than we need to survive. We need to let go of those and to
find our home and security somewhere else – in the presence of God.
The God
who weeps over Jerusalem and longs to gather his children in loving
arms, the God who through Zephaniah promises to gather us and bring
us home, is the God who comes into our world as the
homeless Jesus, the joy of his coming soon clouded by the lament of
Rachel weeping for her children as the innocents are slaughtered in
Jerusalem.
Joy and
grief walk side by side at every turn in his ministry til the grief
and pain of all time, the destructive cruelty and selfishness of all
people is carried to the cross and redeemed for ever.
The one
who clears the threshing floor and gathers the wheat into his granary
has, through his death and resurrection, cleared a pathway for all of
us to reach home safely.
So here
and now may be harsh, disturbing, full of sadness but as we wait for
the light of Christ to dawn, let us rejoice that we have a home to go
to – and in that place the Lord will renew us with his love and
exult over us with loud singing.
Rejoice in
the Lord aways. Again I will say, rejoice!
Amen
That explains the purple candles last week! We've just moved and never experienced coloured candle before!
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