December 17, 2023
Third Sunday of Advent, December 17, 2023 – Isaiah 61:1-2A, 10-11; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28
“Oh, somewhere hearts are happy and somewhere people shout, but there is no joy in Mudville; Mighty Casey has struck out.” The Church tells us this is the Sunday of Joy and St. Paul begins today’s passage by saying, “Rejoice always.” But everybody has a “Mudville” day from time to time. And sometimes, that Mudville day lasts for a whole lot of days.
“Joy to the world, all the boys and girls. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea. Joy to you and me.” “Jeremiah was a bullfrog.” The second verse begins, “You know I love the ladies. I love to have my fun. I’m a high life flyer and a rainbow rider and a straight-shootin’ son of a gun.” The first time I ever heard that song, I was both scandalized and very angry. How dare they take one of the most beloved Christmas carols and change it into a hymn about male sexuality! But over the course of several months, I got used to hearing it, and actually began to like the song. And began to realize that there is genuine joy in the world, even though that joy may not be ours. So, joy is a difficult concept. Some of our biblical commentaries, that I use to prepare for Mass, wanted me to explain the difference between joy and happiness, as though that would solve our problem about joy. We could be joyful always but not happy always. Except, all that is is semantics.
So, I’d like to begin by telling you a story or two. When I was a very young priest, I was assigned to Staten Island. And ordinarily, the Pastor would give me off right after the last Mass on Christmas morning and I’d go home to the Bronx to my parents. And, in the evening, he would go to his relatives’ house in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. On this particular Christmas, however, there was a family in the parish who had suffered a death, and they were going to be in the funeral parlor on Christmas night, and they were expecting one of the priests to come and lead prayers. And so, I insisted to him that he go to his relatives’, and I would come home early from the Bronx. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy about it but even less happy about it were my Mom and Dad. It meant that we had to eat early, and I had to leave them on one of the most joyous family holidays of the year and go home and do that. And, when I went to the funeral parlor, I thought to myself, “I can’t imagine a worse experience of Christmas then this.” Until it happened to me.
A number of years later, one of the relatives in my family died and was waked over Christmas. And so, after doing all the Christmas Masses, with all their joy and pomp and ceremony, I wound up at the funeral parlor with my family. And we were a small family. Back then, most wakes were 2-4 and 7-9, with a big break for dinner. And wonder of wonders, a Christmas miracle, we found a restaurant open right near the funeral parlor. So, the whole bunch of us, maybe eight or nine, gathered for dinner. And the most ironic thing happened. In the midst of all that sorrow, we began to share stories and laugh, and a great sense of peace descended on all of us. And so, joy and sorrow are a mixed bag. And people who say you should be happy all the time because you’re Christian, are either very naive or very cynical.
But I want to talk about what St. Paul is really talking about. In order to understand that you have to understand what Mass was like at the very beginning. It’s not at all like what we have today. Although the structure of today’s Mass found its beginning way back with St. Paul, it was very different. There were very few of us in any community, maybe two or three dozen. Maybe even fewer than are gathered here this morning. If you wonder where everybody is, we had a mob at the last Mass. And they would gather, not in a church for worship, but in someone’s home for dinner. And everybody would bring potluck. They’d sit down to dinner and, if the head of the household or the head of the community was lucky enough to possess an Old Testament scroll, - because there was no New Testament - he would read from the scroll until everybody got bored and then stop. And then, because almost everybody in the community would have known some of the psalms, they would pick a favorite psalm to sing and then begin dinner. And, during the beginning of the meal, the head of the household would take the large flat loaves of bread and tear them into little pieces, saying the words that Jesus said over the loaves at the Last Supper, and pass them around for everyone to share, to dip into the dipping sauce. When dinner was almost over, he’d fill a cup with wine - because all of the beverages at these ancient dinners were wine, even for the children - and he’d say the words that Jesus said over the cup. Then he’d pass the cup around the room for everyone to drink from it. And that was how Mass began. So, when Paul says, “Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. Give thanks continuously,” even though, when he wrote that letter, he wasn’t thinking of our Eucharist, he was actually talking about what we do at Mass.
Except for Advent and Lent, our first big prayer at Mass - our Mass is one big prayer - is the “Glory to God in the Highest,” which is a prayer of joy. “We praise you; we bless you; we give you thanks.” And the musical settings we use for the Gloria when we sing it are upbeat and lively. It is true that the whole Mass is a prayer, even though there are individual prayers stuck into it. But the whole Mass is a prayer in a particular way. It is Jesus’ prayer. And we don’t come here to say our private prayers. We come here to unite ourselves with Jesus’ prayer. Specifically, his prayer at the Last Supper, and how he realized that prayer in his own life the very next day, as he said, with his dying breath, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” And it’s a prayer of thanksgiving.
The word we learned for Holy Communion when we were growing up was one of those words that was hard to say and hard to spell. Eucharist. Eucharist. It comes from the Greek. The Greek word means “the great thanksgiving.” Because Jesus, when he broke the bread and prayed over the cup, was giving thanks to God for the gift of bread and the gift of wine and then dedicating himself, through the bread and wine, as gift to his Father, in thanksgiving for his own life, the life of the world, and the life he was about to save through his crucifixion.
Right now, it’s twenty-five after eleven, here in the Eastern Standard Time in the United States. But someplace in the world, every hour of the day, every day of the week, some people, somewhere are gathered to do what we’re doing. So, when Paul says, “Pray without ceasing;” this is how we pray without ceasing. This is how we are joyful always. And this is how we give thanks all the time.
It’s joy to the world, to all the boys and girls. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea. And joy to you and me.