Gaudete Sunday: Rejoice, the Lord Is Near

“Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I say, rejoice. Indeed, the Lord is near.”

What are we to make of this Sunday—commonly known as Gaudete Sunday—from the words of the entrance antiphon?

Today is supposed to be a day of joy. In fact, St. Paul’s words are written as a command, not as an option. That should strike us as odd.

I would posit that, among our many differences, the vast majority of human beings—from every race, culture, nation, and socioeconomic background—would agree with the idea that the world is not perfect, or at least that our lives are not perfect. There are things wrong, and at least some of these wrong things cause great pain and suffering in the world. Put another way, we would agree that there is evil in the world, and that this is a cause of sadness.

How, then, can someone command joy?

The Limits of Optimism

One of the reasons I think it is hard for us to understand the command to rejoice is because our culture prizes a self-dependent optimism in the face of the suffering and death we experience.

How many of you have read or heard the story The Little Engine That Could? The Little Engine That Could is about a toy-filled train that breaks down before crossing a mountain, and after big engines refuse to help, a small blue engine agrees to try, chanting “I think I can” as she chugs her way to the top. The story teaches lessons of perseverance, self-belief, and service.

It’s a classic of children’s literature—a story designed to help kids learn that choosing to have a positive attitude toward challenges will help them overcome those challenges. And it’s pretty good advice. Studies have linked optimism about the future and self-confidence with better overall health outcomes. Furthermore, having agency—the belief that we can effect meaningful change—is important. The power of visualizing what we want to happen and believing we are capable of it—in other words, saying “I think I can”—is real.

But we all know deep down that this optimism has its limits. No amount of optimism—no amount of “positive thinking” or acting—will eliminate suffering from our lives. So often, we are told to “trust ourselves—we can do it.”

But the truth is that, in the face of sin and death, we cannot do it. There is a dark veil that covers the human race. Sin and its real consequences—death, anxiety, misery, pain, and suffering—continue all around us, and even more depressingly, within our hearts.

On our own, we cannot overcome death, misery, and suffering. I cannot force myself to have joy through optimism. Saying “I think I can” in regard to the real suffering and pain around us in the world will not change the situation of pain.

Optimism is not the virtue or disposition we need in this situation. Optimism does not bring us the lasting joy that St. Paul commands.

 

Hope in the Darkness

What, then, are we to do amid pain and suffering in a broken world? How are we to rejoice?

First, the Christian response begins by acknowledging reality. The Christian does not pretend to be immune from suffering or that everything is okay. John the Baptist, the great preacher—the greatest born of women—shows us a model of this in the Gospel.

John does not have false optimism. He is not a Pollyanna. He is not ignoring the challenge he faces. In the darkness of the prison, John grapples with the disconnect between his experience and his expectations for what Jesus would do.

We don’t know his exact state of mind, but it would make sense for him to ask the question, “Was I wrong about my cousin?” John likely faced the temptation toward despair in that enveloping darkness.

Yet in that temptation, John shows us again where to go. He shows us that the virtue to exercise is hope. This is why he sends his disciples with the question, “Are you the one, or should we wait for another?” The question reveals that John struggles against doubt and despair, but it also reveals that he has still set his heart firmly on trust in the Lord. We know that he still trusts Jesus precisely because, when he struggles, he goes to Him. John asks Jesus to help him.

He recognizes that he cannot save himself, and so he looks to another. He looks actively for the signs of God’s work. He looks for salvation—he expects it.

 

Waiting with Hope

Likewise, to have joy we must exercise hope. We cannot save ourselves, and so we must look to another to provide the help we need. To continue from last week, when we find ourselves lost in the process of ongoing conversion, we cry out, “Lord, come and save us,” and allow the Lord to be our Savior.

This, I think, is why elsewhere in the Bible Jesus calls us to be like little children—children who so readily acknowledge that they need help and are willing to receive it. When a little child is hurt, he does not hide it. When a little child is scared, he does not hide it. When a little child is in need, he does not hide it. In expressing this hurt or fear or need, he implicitly expects that his mom or dad will help him, and he is willing to receive that help.

This exercise of hope is what permits us to rejoice in the face of the darkness we experience. It is the virtue that allows us to acknowledge the darkness for what it is, but also to look beyond the current misery to see the signs of the radiant dawn breaking upon us. The color of the vestments recalls the dawn from on high that is breaking upon us—Jesus Christ, the Savior.

We continue to wait well in Advent when we wait with hope.

He has conquered death. Let Him be your Savior today. As you wait, wait with hope. Say not, “I think I can,” but rather, make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand.