Third Sunday of Advent B
I think I’ve got a story this Sunday—a true story—that ought
to get you smiling even more widely than seeing your clergy up here dressed in
rose-colored vestments from head to toe…
Do any of you text?
I’m one of the last 15 people on the planet who doesn’t own a cell phone
so I don’t text myself, but I’m surrounded by people who do. Texting has almost become its own
language—so much so that some educators worry about our children learning good
grammar or even good manners. For
example, BRB means, “be right back,” and G2G means, “got to go.” You get the idea.
Well I heard the story awhile back of a dad who was having
trouble communicating with his teenaged son. The two men would pass each other in the house, and dad
would ask, “How was school?” He
was lucky if he even got a grunt in reply. His son was always head down, texting on his phone.
Eventually dad thought, “If you can’t beat ’em, join
‘em.” He started texting with his
teenager…and he actually got a response.
He’d have preferred that they actually talk to one another, but you’ve
got to start somewhere. They began
to text about all kinds of things.
They began to text all the time.
Occasionally they’d be sitting right next to each other watching the
same hockey game on TV, texting back and forth but not saying a word.
Now, dad had to learn the texting lingo. Some of it his son taught him, but a
lot of it he picked up on his own.
His favorite to text was LOL.
He never asked his son what it meant—from context, he just figured it
out. The way his son used it at
the end of so many messages, dad was absolutely certain LOL meant, “lots of
love.” What a beautiful expression!
After getting the hang of this texting thing, dad began to
send text messages to all kinds of people—family, friends, coworkers. And he sent LOL to everybody he
knew. He found out that his sister
was getting a divorce: “Sorry to hear the news, but I’m behind you
100%—LOL!” His own father was
seriously ill in the hospital: “Get well soon pop—LOL!” This sort of thing went on for six
months.
Finally, he was in the airport waiting for a plane and
missing his family (his job often took him out of town). Dad texted his son, “I hope you
understand how much I hate being away from you, but I have to do to it earn
enough money so we can live the way we want to live—LOL, your dad.”
Which is when he got the response, “DAD WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU
THINK LOL MEANS?”
“Lots of love.”
“No it doesn’t Dad.”
“Yes it does.”
“NO IT DOESN’T IT MEANS LAUGHING OUT LOUD!”
And right away dad knew that he had to go back and apologize
for 6 full months of LOLs…
Our second reading this Sunday comes from St. Paul’s first
letter to the Thessalonians.
That’s a pretty significant part of the New Testament, since it’s
actually the oldest Christians writing we have—from about the year 50 or so,
which is only about 15 years after the life of Jesus. Folks like St. Paul likely wrote things before this, but it’s
the oldest text to survive. Which
means we really ought to pay attention to what it has to say.
And what does St. Paul tell us this Sunday?
Rejoice always.
Pray without ceasing.
In all circumstances, give thanks.
This message comes from very near the letter’s end and, although brief,
packs a real punch. You’ll notice
that Paul does not say, “Cheer up a bit—things aren’t that bad. Maybe you could pray just a little
more. And don’t forget to say
‘thank you’ every once in a while.”
Instead it’s, “Rejoice always.
Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks.”
Even for St. Paul—who can be pretty intense—this is rather
over the top. But why be so
extreme? Because for Paul, the
coming of Jesus changed absolutely everything. Jesus has turned the whole world upside down for those who
believe in him. The usual ways of
thinking and acting just don’t do it anymore. This perspective usually escapes us Christians today, but
for St. Paul it was the heart of reality.
Jesus had come, and nothing could ever be the same again.
And so he tells us to rejoice always.
But don’t you sometimes feel down? Get really bummed?
Or just want to cry? Going
around rejoicing all the time would seem phony—or even insane.
“I just wrecked my car.”
“You should rejoice!”
“I lost my job.”
“Oh well—rejoice!”
That clearly can’t be what St. Paul is getting at—or he
begins to sound like a dad who texts LOL at all the wrong times. He isn’t saying that Christians should
always be giddy or giggling—always laughing out loud. But they should be convinced that, by his resurrection,
Jesus has won the most decisive victory.
None of life’s highs and lows—not sickness, not sin, not even
death—nothing this world can throw at us can undo this victory. All these things have been
defeated! Even when we’re down and
out, we can trust in Christ’s ultimate triumph and that’s cause for true joy. Does that make life one big party? No. But it does give us a peace, it does give us a hope, that
nothing whatsoever can shake.
So rejoice always. And pray without ceasing.
Even monks and nuns—who are “professional pray-ers”—can’t pray
24/7. They still have to eat and
sleep and do their chores. It’s
not rational for Paul to expect us to spend all day and all night on our knees
in prayer! So what’s he saying?
Again—St. Paul believes that Jesus changed everything. When the Son of God became man, he made it possible for all
men and women to live in close union with his Father. Jesus has given us mere mortals access to the same intimate
relationship he has enjoyed with God from all eternity. Think about what an amazing privilege
that is! But this constant
communion with the Father which marks the lives of Christians—and which is as
essential to us as breathing—is, like breathing, something of which we’re often
not conscious at all.
We know that prayer isn’t about simply rattling off a bunch
of sacred words. Prayer at its
essence is about deep communion.
Prayer is about working on and deepening our relationship with God. And prayer is becoming conscious of
what’s actually there all the time.
Shouldn’t we want to remain continually aware of how close God has
brought us to himself?
So pray without
ceasing. And in all circumstances, give thanks.
What sort of things did you thank God for on
Thanksgiving? Family. Friends. The food on the table.
Your home. Our country and
its freedoms. All the good things
you enjoy, right? Being grateful
makes sense when things are going well.
But are you thankful for your setbacks? Your failures?
Your losses? Are we really
supposed to be grateful when everything seems to be going wrong?
Remember, St. Paul wants us to realize that Jesus has
changed everything. When he became
man, the Son of God immersed himself completely in the human experience—the good
and the bad—becoming like us in all things but sin. And by uniting himself with us so completely, he has
transformed everything we can experience.
Those things that appeared to be our downfall become openings for
grace. The worse things we endure,
our most terrible moments, become means for our redemption. Just look at the Cross! Humanity’s lowest point—God is dead and
we killed him!—becomes the very source of our salvation. I suspect that I’m not the only one
who’s gotten through some hardship, some heartache, some suffering, and only
later—maybe much later—has looked back and realized just how much grace God
gave me, just how much good God has mysterious worked through that very painful
experience. We Christians should
be able to see through the surface of things—even though the tough stuff—to
what’s really going on.
And so, in all
circumstances, give thanks.
The message of this Gaudete Sunday is one of rejoicing—not
necessarily the joy of laughing out loud, but the joy that comes with knowing
we are loved a whole lot: loved by our heavenly Father so much that he sent his
Only Begotten Son in our human flesh to live a fully human life, to die on the
Cross for our sins, and to rise from the grave that we might share in his
victory forever.
So during these final days of Advent, and all the days of your
life:
Rejoice
always.
Pray
without ceasing.
In
all circumstances, give thanks.
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