How to Cultivate Joy
There’s a common theme across today’s first three readings.
Here are a few phrases from the Isaiah: glad tidings, healing, liberty, favor and vindication, rejoicing heartily, a bride with jewels.
From today’s Psalm, which is actually Mary’s Magnificat from Luke: my soul proclaims greatness, my spirit rejoices, all generations call me blessed.
From Paul’s epistle to the Thessalonians: rejoice always, in all circumstances give thanks, don’t quench the spirit.
There are a few other commands folded in there – praying constantly is one, refraining from evil is another – but the theme, repeated roughly a dozen times, is be joyful, be glad, praise.
With these readings, the Church calls today, the third Sunday of Advent, “Gaudete Sunday.” We light the pink candle on the wreath, we wear rose vestments, in order to announce that today is a little different. “Gaudium” is the Latin word for joy, and “gaudete” is the same word in the form of a command: “rejoice and be glad.”
Now it’s fair to ask: can you really command somebody to be glad? Isn’t being glad out of obedience a contradiction, like planning to be spontaneous? Somebody might say being joyful is a feeling, a mood, and you can’t command the human heart. Do you remember Eeyore the donkey from Winnie-the-Pooh? Some of us have more autumnal or wintry dispositions. Some of us are struggling with genuine suffering and hard things.
Rather than command joy, would it not be kinder and more realistic to say that we each weigh up the good and bad in life, and it’s a mixed bag, so let people have their different emotions.
But here’s the good news: the scriptures are not asking us to “look on the bright side.” The Church is not saying, “when you weigh up the pros and cons in life, gosh darn it, the glass is half full.”
When Isaiah (our first reading) wrote about glad tidings, healing, and liberty, he and the rest of the nation of Israel were captive in Babylon, with Jerusalem left behind in ruins. When Mary sang that Magnificat, she was a peasant in the Roman empire, with an uncertain future. When Paul wrote Thessalonians, he had recently been kicked out of that city because his preaching had caused a riot.
These are not people weighing up their pros and cons, and deciding to look on the bright side. These are people suffering in ways most of us can barely imagine. But what they’ve done, the reason they’re rejoicing, is that they’ve burned away all lies and self-absorption, and rooted themselves in God. They’ve surrendered any resentment, anxiety, and entitlement. Immersed in prayer, stilled and purified in heart, they have become sensitive to the supernatural.
What a gift that the people who wrote the Bible were people who had suffered. Because that means they have credibility. It’s people like that who have earned the authority to tell us to look more deeply than whatever might be happening on the surface in the moment.
“I rejoice heartily in the Lord,” wrote Isaiah during Israel’s exile. “My soul rejoices in God,” sang the teenage Mary. “Rejoice, for God is faithful” said Paul after fleeing the rioters. Being open, alert, perceptive, docile to the reality of God – this, and nowhere else, is the fountainhead for Gaudete Sunday.
Meanwhile, in today’s Gospel, the crowd has a question for John the Baptist: who are you? are you one of these prophets we’ve been expecting, are you one of our national heroes? We’ve got some expectations, political and personal - are you here to help advance them?
No, says John, “there is another among you, whom you do not recognize.”
Why don’t we recognize? What blinders do we have? How do we cultivate eyes that can recognize?
The Christian life is both simple and difficult at the same time. It’s simple because anyone can do it. It’s difficult because it means surrendering ego, which nobody likes to do. This is where the spiritual life takes gumption, a little discipline and courage.
Developing eyes for the supernatural, for the presence of God among us, is not difficult in the way that rocket science or brain surgery is difficult. It is difficult in the sense that it requires humility and open hearts. And, as anyone with self-knowledge knows, cultivating the heart is where it can get hard.
The stories we tell ourselves about ourselves can be so tasty. Flattering our own behavior while being angry at others is always a tempting drug, and a deep self-examination of conscience is always hard. There are so many ways to avoid an interior life. Another good dodge is to make sure your smart phone is always within reach, which will reliably make it harder to practice stillness and presence.
But the spiritual life is simple, because the invitation is always there, for anyone, at any stage in life. We can be joyful like Isaiah, Mary, or Paul if we center our identity like they did. How do we do that? How do we re-center from self to God?
We will know God to the extent that we give him room to be present in us. The good news is that our Catholic faith has an embarrassment of riches, time-tested ways to center ourselves on God and make room for him.
Fasting and prayer are classic steps. Simplifying the schedule and stepping back from technology are also spiritually savvy. So is a conversation with someone mature about how to prepare for confession. Confession is offered every week, and Jesus is there. Jesus is also on the altar every morning, and every parish bulletin offers a dozen different ways to serve, learn, and build community.
The good news is that he is Emmanuel, God with us. The good news is that he loves us, and that we can learn to see him. The good news is that even in the midst of great suffering, it is possible to rejoice and be glad.
