Firmness of Heart

We have reached the third Sunday of Advent, one of only a couple of days in the year still widely known by the first word of its Latin Introit.  This is Gaudete Sunday, the halfway mark of Advent, when the Church is ‘in the pink’ with special vestments and candles expressing the joyful spirit of the day.


Rejoice in the Lord always.
I will say it again: Rejoice.
Let your gentleness be evident to all.
The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything,
but in every prayer
make your requests known to God.






Rejoice in the Lord always.  I will say it again: Rejoice.

The words from St Paul’s letter to the Philippians 4:4-6 are reproduced here as an anthem for the day.  What is the message for the mid-point of Advent?  Rejoice.  How?  The chant shows us in the way it articulates the scriptural words.  The first word, “Rejoice,” begins modestly in pitch and modulation.  This is no fireworks display of glee.  The opening exhortation gently lifts us to the second part of the phrase, “in the Lord,” which carries us to a higher meaning: it is the Lord, and not our circumstances, that is the cause of our joy.  And then the phrase is completed with climactic emphasis: always.  Perpetual rejoicing, not just once and done.  From the high point, the phrase descends once more to the lower register to repeat its key word: “I will say it again: Rejoice.”  Despite the outward symbols of the day, the mode of Christian joy expressed here is not just one day in the pink amid a sea of purple, but a constant, undramatic deep-down gladness.

Let your gentleness be evident to all.

Modestia in Latin is translated restraint, temperateness, discipline or modesty.  Paul’s original Greek word is ἐπιεικὲς, can be translated as suitable, equitable, fair, mild, gentle, or sometimes kind, considerate, forbearing.  The relational manifestation of Christian joy is nothing brash or unsettling.  It is moderate, restrained, delicate, taking account of the weakness of the other.  It does not seek to overwhelm with forced gaiety, but rather to sensitively introduce a note of comfort into a situation perhaps of struggle, fear, hesitancy.  These words are not addressed to a people without problems.  The Communion song drawn from Isaiah 35:4, which is also the first reading, makes this clear: “Say to those whose hearts are frightened: Take courage and do not fear.”  Why?  Because: “Here is your God…coming to save you.”  The joy that is encouraged, even commanded, is moderated to the state of faintheartedness and fear of the one who hears, to bring about courage, strength and resolve through gentleness.

The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything,

Here we have a bold assertion central to the piece, to the spirit of Advent and to our lives.  The Lord is near.  The words rise and tip over into the most poignant moment, musically, but also in meaning.  Nihil solliciti sitis: Let nothing trouble you.  I am reminded of the words of Our Lady of Guadalupe to her Juanito: “Listen and understand, my littlest son, let nothing frighten and afflict you or trouble your heart … Am I not here, I, who am your mother?”  Where Mary is, the Lord is near.  And then there is the famous poem of St Teresa of Avila, Nada te turbe:
“Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things pass away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
He who has God
Finds he lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.”

The sentiment is in tune with the second reading from the Letter of James: “You too must be patient. Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand” (Jas 5:8).  That our hearts should at times be anxious is taken for granted.  But a faint or troubled heart, conscious of the presence of its Lord, becomes a firm heart.  Recently, we heard an example of this from Bishop Erik Varden, when he described the movement from the beginning zeal of the newcomer to monastic life to the calmer state of the more mature monk.  The first is characterized by “fiery enthusiasm,” great energy, not to say turbulence, with joy at one end of an emotional spectrum and despondency at its other.  The second state he describes as the “serene strength of conviction” with which one approaches the ups and downs of daily life, without needing great spiritual highs to sustain one’s momentum.  Serene conviction – these words have stayed with me, and I think they are synonymous with gaudete.

but in every prayer make your requests known to God.

The final phrase of our chant settles into the calmer modulation of the ordinary.  To pray, to ask, is an expression of faith; to fail to ask would be an admission of despair.  In today’s Gospel, John the Baptist, hearing about Jesus as he languishes in prison, asks whether he is really the one he has been waiting for.  No less a man than this needs and asks for reassurance that the Lord is near, for release from the fear that his life and suffering an approaching death are meaningless.  Jesus’ response echoes Isaiah on the signs of God’s coming:
“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.” (Mt 11:4-6)

I think of St Damian of Molokai, that marvelous man who went to live with the lepers exiled on an island off Hawaii, bringing them the comfort and joy of Christ.  He preached to “my fellow lepers,” on Jesus’ healing.  What an incongruous moment, one might think, to present the story of Jesus healing a leper to those who are themselves lepers, as a reason to rejoice, even though they continue to be lepers.  What does this mean?  There is a mystery here.  The lepers on Molokai were in desperate circumstances, waiting to die, without a reason to live.  But Damian came among them as a man alive with Christian joy – the deep-down gladness of knowing that the Lord is near.  How did he communicate this?  He fixed up the church and began saying Mass.  He got to know people and invited them to work with him.  He set up services for the care of children and the dying.  He planted trees.  He cultivated a garden.  After contracting leprosy, he lived life not just waiting to die but as an encounter with Christ.  He lived with a firm heart, with serene conviction, and so helped others to do so as well.  The lepers on Molokai prayed and worked and rejoiced in the Lord, not because they were no longer suffering from leprosy, but because their fearful, troubled and despairing hearts were healed by the coming near of the Lord.

At this halfway mark of our Advent journey, may we too receive this word of comfort, addressed to fearful and troubled hearts, that our hearts may be firm in the serene conviction that the Lord is near.  And may we in our turn be a word of comfort to the world around us.

Source: Commentary by Fulvio Rampi
Image: St Teresa's poem in her own handwriting.