Why We Can, With Good Reason, Light the Pink Candle

Text:  Philippians 4:4-7

Theme:  "A 'Dickens' of An Advent"

Third Sunday of Advent

December 16, 2012

First Presbyterian Church

Denton, Texas

Rev. Paul R. Dunklau

 

+In the Name of Jesus+

⁴ Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! ⁵ Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. ⁶ Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

I had planned to tie in our New Testament Reading with the best-loved story of Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, which featured the ghost of Christmas past, present, and future.  But the events of his past week on Friday changed all that after we went to print with our bulletin. 

Be that as it may, our Advent Wreath is brighter this morning.  The third candle -- which represents joy -- is now lit.  On some Advent wreaths, the third candle is pink in color, and pink symbolizes joy.  Joy is referenced in the traditional New Testament Reading for the Third Sunday in Advent.  You just heard that text from St. Paul's letter to the Philippians which is aptly described as the "epistle of joy."  "Rejoice in the Lord always," declares the apostle; "I will say it again:  Rejoice!" 

The Third Sunday in Advent is a snippet of joy in a season that, liturgically, is all purple.  Purple is the color of repentance and reflection on the character and content of one's life.  It is a call to change one's mind and prepare one's heart for the coming of the Lord.  To be brutally honest, the purple symbolizes the hard work of taking a long, hard look at one's life, turning back to God, and then trusting all more in the grace given in the Christ-child, Jesus, born that first Christmas.  The joy candle, on the third Sunday of the season, gives us something of a break from this hard work.  We are called simply to rejoice.

But I must admit that this call to rejoice, at least in Advent 2012, seems tragically out of place.  Even this morning, on the way to church, I saw our American flags flying -- at half staff.  The horrifying events at Sandy Hook Elementary School in New Town, Connecticut have ripped into the time of Christmas and tore into our souls.  Later Friday, our president spoke first as a parent himself.  He talked of  hugging his children tighter like most parents would do this past Friday night.  But then he reminded us that there are some parents that can no longer do that. 

Many, many months ago, a dear friend of mine -- and a friend of yours for much longer -- suggested to me that I play a little piano before each Sunday service.  His name is Lou Kraft, and I took him up on his challenge.  He spends his first Christmas on a different shore, with a greater number, and with a brighter light shining.  Today, I played two songs:  "The Coventry Carol" and "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."  I chose "The Coventry Carol" because the text of that haunting song, played at Christmastime, refers to the dark side of Christmas -- and that is the story of King Herod's slaughter of the innocent children in Bethlehem.  On the church calendar, that event is commemorated on December 28th which is called "Holy Innocents Day."  With the events in New Town, Connecticut fresh in my mind, I suggested on my Facebook page that "Holy Innocents Day has come early this year." 

At about the same time, I noticed that Jeff Snider, our wonderful minister of music, had referenced Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on his page.  "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" was penned by this magnificent poet in the mid-1860s as America was in the midst of civil war.  In 1861, Longfellow lost his wife in a tragic fire, and he was plunged into "melancholy" -- which is a word that previous generations used for depression.  He took pen to paper and wrote:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat of peace on earth, goodwill to men.

I thought as now this day had come, the belfries of all Christendom

Had trolled along the unbroken song of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head; "There is no peace on earth," I said.

"For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, goodwill to men."

Let there be no mistake and no doubt about it at all:   the events in Connecticut "mocked the song" of peace on earth, goodwill to men.  Yesterday, while ringing the bells for the Salvation Army at WalMart, I got a text message from my daughter:  "That terrible event in Connecticut gave me nightmares last night."

Did God cause this to happen?  Absolutely not.  Did God allow it to happen?  Yes, and I wrestle with that.  The answers as to why seem to elude my grasp.

But then came yesterday morning. I walked down that same long hallway I did when I worked at Nasr Brothers Jewelers in the Golden Triangle Mall.  There, right outside Dilliards, I was a greeted by our choir and many of our people.  The entire corridor of the mall was flooded with the sounds of the carols they sang.  Then, almost as if on cue, the last verse of Longfellow's song came to mind:

Then peeled the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, goodwill to men.

I invite you to join me this morning -- whether you be member or guest or here for whatever reason it may be -- in hanging onto that hope and holding out for it.  Ultimately, the wrong SHALL fail and the right WILL PREVAIL!  That day shall come when, to use the language from Revelation, God shall wipe away all tears from our eyes. There shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain:  for the former things are passed away.

With the world being what it is, the singing of the carols by our choir, with nearly all of them telling the story and true meaning of Christmas, was almost an act of defiance.  It was like a happy rebellion.  One shopper, a lady standing behind me, had tears in her eyes.  "I'm so glad I was here," she said. "I needed to be here." 

Likewise, we need to be here today, and we are.  Perhaps the lighting of a candle called joy is itself an act of defiance, a gesture of happy rebellion.  "Rejoice," says the inspired apostle.  "And again I say:  rejoice!"  And all of it for a very good reason:  it's because "The Lord is near," says the apostle. 

They were written nearly two thousand years ago, but they are so timely -- and, to use a popular term, "relevant" -- that it's almost scary.  St. Paul says  "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.   And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Flags fly at half-staff and they may do so again in the future, but Christ has died! Christ is risen! Christ will come again!  In and through this Jesus Christ, may your hearts and minds be guarded by the peace of God so that you can truly rejoice in this world and in the world to come.  Amen.