December 13, 2009
Gaudete Sunday

Ergo nostra contio psallat lam in lustro . . .
(Therefore let our gathering now sing in brightness . . .)
                   — Traditional Latin sacred carol, 16th century
                                        
Today is the third Sunday in Advent, known in the Latin liturgy as Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete is the plural imperative form of the Latin verb gaudere, to rejoice. Although Advent is not a profoundly penetential season, as Lent is, the faithful are nevertheless called to a serious examination of their inner lives and the ways their spiritual and corporal practices are serving God’s purpose. In places where purple candles are used for the Advent wreath, the third candle is pink, symbolizing the fact that the fullness of our joy in the season is almost at hand.

Of all the days of Advent, Gaudete Sunday is my favorite. Lynn was baptized on Gaudete Sunday, December 15, 1985. I had my Holiday Open House Extravaganza on Gaudete Sunday until Lynn and her friends went away to college and the fourth Sunday became more convenient. And Gaudete Sunday usually falls on or near St. Lucia Day, December 13.

This morning in church we sang my second favorite Advent song, Marty Haugen’s “Awake, Awake, And Greet the New Morn.” “Be strong and loving and fearless,” it urges us, and I remember how singing it in Sheridan, Wyoming in 2007, when I was a stranger in a strange land among people to whom it was unfamiliar, cheered me and made me feel less lonely.

The Haugen piece is a “contemporary” Advent song, that is, it’s a 20th century composition by a composer who is younger than I am. My favorite Advent song, the one that most instills the spirit of watchful waiting and productive self-examination for me, is “Veni, Veni, Emmanuel.”

The words are based on texts from the prophet Isaiah and the gospels of Matthew and Luke. The tune has its origins in Gregorian chant that was adapted as a 12th or 15th century processional for French Franciscan nuns. Its hypnotic cadence helps calm the mind and deepen the sense of contemplation. I learned it first in Latin, when I knew that “veni, veni” meant “come, come” but little else of what the words said. In more recent times, when I have been trying to hold a winter depression at bay, the English words of the third stanza have been particularly meaningful for me:

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

“In some ways, this is not the Christmas I wanted it to be,” I said yesterday. I was starting to feel sorry for myself because for the third year in a row I was not having my Holiday Open House Extravaganza. (I had thought maybe I could leverage my health concern into Ron’s acquiescence — “I could be dead by Valentine’s Day!” When other difficulties besides placating Ron entered the picture, I dropped the idea altogether.) My injured ankle has frightened me beyond the possibility that it won’t serve me well on Thursday. And a friendship has been plagued by some miscommunication.

But I brought a genuine joy to church this morning. Something happened to me yesterday, in a crowded Barnes & Noble tricked out in much that makes Christmas a disheartening show of desperate commercialism. My mood lifted, my leg felt better, and I looked around and realized, not for the first time, just how much love and joy there is in my life, just how limitless are my possibilities.

So we sang about being brave and loving and fearless this morning, but here it is Gaudete Sunday and we haven’t sung Veni Veni yet. I put an anymous note in the collection plate (the pastors will certainly deduce that it’s from me) lamenting this and noting that the song’s omission can probably be traced to the fact that it is not in the regrettable new worship book which has liturgical settings that sound more like Barry Manilow than Giovanni Palestrina. I signed it, “Love, a disgruntled traditionalist.”

I was home alone this afternoon. Ron’s choir gave its annual service of nine lesson and carols, the exact same program they give every year. And although I have just spent about 800 words outlining how traditional I am about ritual music, I decided that this year my ankle, my plans for Thursday, and my contemplation of all that is good and holy in my life (and there is so very much) would be served best by a contemplative session of baking the traditional St. Lucia cardamom rolls and dressing our Lucy doll. (And do follow the link below for the story of why this event is so important to me, and for a picture of Lynn decked out as the Lussibruden.)

I put on my favorite contemplative Christmas music, including the 16th century carol that serves as an epigraph today. I am singing in brightness tonight. Thank you for reading, so much, so often.

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From the Archives
December 13, 2004 — St. Lucia Day: Today is St. Lucia Day, a feast day celebrated primarily in Sweden. , , , In one version of the saint’s life, Lucy is portrayed as a young woman from a prosperous family who converted to Christianity and then refused marriage to a pagan suitor. Because she refused to give up “the incorruptible treasure of her virginity” (a phrase known to Catholic schoolgirls thoughout the twentiethcentury), she was martyred by having her eyes plucked out and then her neck pierced by a sword. She is often depicted holding a plate with her eyes on it. More delicate renditions show her holding something like a small jewelry box. (I once thought that’s where she kept the incorruptible treasure.)

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