I have a priest-friend (like me, a gay man) who likes to say that people need ritual. It is a topic that comes up in Anglicanism with regard to the level of ritual employed in worship. Some churches are highly formal about their ritual and others eschew it altogether—except, in those places they always replace it with some ritual of their own. Maybe there is no Great Litany in Procession, but there is likely to be a procession of flowers, or a circle of hand-holding, or some other formality that arises as a community expression of joy.
The same is true in the secular world. If you want an obvious example just look at the Olympic Games. Not only is there a highly stylized ritual procession of athletes—the “opening” ceremony—but there also is ceremony before, during and after each event, from the introduction of the athletes, to the formality of the competition, to the medal award ceremony. It is a formal way of the community giving thanks and rejoicing.
I have been fortunate in my ministry to be involved in ritual from the beginning. I was ordained on a Saturday morning, served at my first mass the next morning, and the morning after that found myself processing into the General Convention of the Episcopal Church with a zillion (ok, maybe 30 or so) other clergy to music by Handel. What could be more grand? I remember the moment because the exhilaration was profound. Later in my ministry I was blessed to serve at a church where the organist was so terrific that, as I mounted the steps into the pulpit to preach, the improvised music had just enough of some music that was individually profound (for me, often the strains of the hymn “General Seminary”) to get me to the point of tears as I reached the lectern. The beauty of it was that it moved me into soul-space from which my sermons then could proceed unfettered by ego (or traffic noise from outside).
In my secular life I was most profoundly moved I think in the gay discos of the 1970s. I loved to dance, I loved the music, for sure. But what was profound was the joy, the happiness, the smiles, the singing along with the dance. The energy on the dance floor was profoundly a ritual of rejoicing, of thanksgiving, of love freely given, of justice even if just for a moment. There are lots of other examples too, of course. What about the ritual of the drag show? Costume, ceremony, formal stylized events—it was my great and profound privilege to be a good friend of Madame Michelle DuBarry, Toronto’s famous drag queen and Empress VI and XXVI of the Imperial Court of Toronto. And, we can’t forget Pride and its parades. The whole point is a ritual of community rejoicing and, well, pride!
It seems the ritual of joy is a responsibility of LGBTQ+ life. It is not just an expression, it is a calling, to create a dimension of love and rejoicing that lifts the whole community.
In Advent as we experience the changing seasons around us and are reminded of the solemnity of the Christmas experience we also are called on this Sunday to step back a bit and rejoice, to give thanks, to experience love in community. Gaudete Sunday it is called (or Rose Sunday, if you will). We light the rose candle on the Advent wreath, rose vestments appear, we give thanks for grace and mercy. We know that grace is love freely given, that mercy is justice freely given, that love and justice are the same thing, because justice is love in action. And in the relief of the rose vestments and the lighting of the rose candle we know from the ritual of rejoicing that Christmas is coming. We know that love has indeed come to help and deliver us.
Isaiah [61:1-4, 8-11] prophesies that God’s good news takes the form of being “clothed with the garments of salvation … the robe of righteousness.” A ritual metaphor of righteousness, which is right-living, walking in love. The robe of righteousness is the glory of love worn as adornment. Creation’s glory springs up with thanksgiving, as the earth brings forth its shoots, as the rose candle symbolizes hope. The Psalmist [126] responds in praise. “Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy.” Praise is joy expressed with the body, laughter, shouts, happiness endorphins are released physically; it is something God gave us in creation. We are intended to be joyous, to stir up love. We are called to rejoice.
Paul reminds us [1 Thessalonians 5:16-28] to “rejoice always, [to] pray without ceasing.” Part of joy is prayer, remembering to give thanks to God; remembering to feed the Spirit with joyousness; remembering to use joy to feed the body—no wonder we create ritual.
John’s Gospel [1:6-8, 19-28] tells us (as Mark did last week) about John the Baptist, who “came as a witness to testify to the light.” John quotes Isaiah when he says “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord.’” We all are called to witness to love, to testify to the joy God has given us. The wilderness is the noise of the world. Our voices of joy call love into our presence, making clear the pathway for the coming of God into our midst. It is in the rejoicing to which we have been called that we find the pathway into the dimension of love.
3 Advent Year B 2023 RCL (Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8,19-28)
©2023 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.