Laetare Sunday

The Fourth Sunday in Lent

This past Friday, we joined in the mystery of Christ's death by observing the Stations of the Cross, knowing that soon after, we would celebrate the great missionary bishop to the Irish people, St. Patrick, feasting on delicious foods, fellowship, and fun. Friday was a night of contrasts: fasting and feasting, sorrows and joys, tears shed and happy songs; contrasts, not contradictions. Because as we find in most of life, two seemingly contradicting ideas can and often do reside together. Parting can be "such sweet sorrow." Life is bitter-sweet. To be alive is to be dying. Such are the paradoxes of this world; sometimes, things don't seem to fit or make sense, and yet they do.

The Christian who, for whatever unfortunate reason, finds him or herself unhappily dwelling in the depth of sorrow and heartache will (in time) contemplate the face of the risen Christ and, in him, find a glimmer of comfort, even the beginnings of peace, even though the clouds of tragedy and doom darken their days. St. Paul calls this "grieving in hope" (1 Thess. 4:13). The author of the 43rd Psalm asks, "Why are you in despair, O my soul? And why are you disturbed within me? Then, in his despair contemplates the answer, "Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him, The help of my countenance and my God." Both despair and divine hope fill the thoughts of his heart. Again, no contradiction but two contrasting realities.

Think of Lent's contrasting realities, the liturgical season commencing at the beginning of spring. Just look outside and take in the beautiful life emerging all around, the fields green, the flowers blooming, living water showering from the sky as sunlight bathes the earth, thus producing life! And yet Lent begins in sackcloth and ashes. Sin, mortality, and death are more than liturgical themes; they are the wintery-cold realities of this Lenten desert pilgrimage. And yet, here at the mid-point of our journey to Jerusalem, on this fourth Sunday in Lent, Mother Church chooses the loveliest flower of spring, the early rose, and brings it into God's house and into the liturgy. Today is what's traditionally known as Rose Sunday. Penitential purple gives way to a beautifully muted hue of rose. The vestments signal a muting or dampening of penitence to make room for joy. Notice the barren altar teeming once again with bouquets of beautiful roses, pulling spring's beauty, vibrancy, and life into the Church, into these barren and difficult forty days of Lenten exile. Each year, right in the middle of Lent, Rose Sunday confronts us with the miracle of spring to refresh us with the greater paschal mystery of Christ, who on Easter morn, arose from the dead like a wild rose that the earth could not suppress.

In her wisdom, our Mother, the Church, has adorned her house with roses to remind her children of Easter. "O my son, though the circumstances of this world are crushing your soul, and yes, you toil in thistles and thorns, eternal life, rest, and peace shall dawn on your horizon of pain." My daughter, "though scarcity, barrenness, and worries abound, Divine light will break forth, dispelling darkness and lightening your soul." You see, our Mother knows (like a good earthly mother) what we need and when we need it. And what God's people need, especially in days of desert exile, is to be refreshed, laetare, refreshment. Rose Sunday is formally known as Laetare Sunday, given as a refreshing oasis along this Lenten road to Jerusalem, "the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!" (Mat 23:37). Paradoxically, we are heading to the place of death AND life, eternal life brought about by the death of Jesus, who rose again from the dead, thereby ransoming a people to himself and saving the children of promise from the tyranny of sin and death. There is real and tangible hope amid our present wilderness wanderings. And though beleaguered by all sorts and conditions of men, we shall be refreshed in the Lord.

The dramatic history of Israel is Christian history as well; God's promise of redemption from the fall; the Exodus from Egypt; God's covenantal and unwavering love of David and his house, and the holiness of Jerusalem as the dwelling place of God. Our historical vantage point affords plenty of benefits, for there is much to see behind us and much more to learn. God has dealt with wilderness people before; we aren't the first. Today's readings compare and contrast two groups traveling in the desert, those whom God led out of Egypt by the hand of Moses and the great multitude following Jesus, mainly due to their witnessing miracles worked by his hands. Both groups are weary, taxed, and on the verge of exhaustion.

First, let us examine the Israelites, who are increasingly weary from excessive anxiety and fear. "On the fifteenth day of the second month after they had left the land of Egypt, the whole congregation of Israel set out from Elim and came to the Desert of Sin, which is between Elim and Sinai" (Ex 16:1). Notice that less than two months (45 days) have passed since the Lord worked a miracle before the eyes of these people! God parted the seas through Moses' lifted hands, miraculously saving and delivering his people from certain death at Pharoah's hand. God's saving work should not be a distant memory for them.

Second, notice that the story Moses is about to tell us takes place in the desert, in the wilderness. "And there in the desert, they all grumbled against Moses and Aaron. "If only we had died by the LORD's hand in the land of Egypt!" they said. "There we sat by pots of meat and ate our fill of bread, but you have brought us into this desert to starve this whole assembly to death!" (Ex 16:2-3). Do you see their anguish? Their complaint? God has brought them out of Egypt and into the desert to starve them. They are tired and hungry; they have no food, no water, nothing but dust and ashes; God has brought them to a place of death; they have become weary under the worries and anxieties of their circumstances.

Similarly, in Luke's words, the great multitude following Jesus in the Judean wilderness are "like sheep without a shepherd," lack of food and water has made them vulnerable; following Jesus is exhausting; they are tired from wandering and with no means of finding food. They need refreshment; they need inner strengthening both in body and soul. We could say, then, that Israel in the Desert represents a weariness of the soul; those following Jesus, a weariness of the body. But who will feed them? Jesus. Jesus, the Greater Moses, will feed them. He is the heavenly Manna. Jesus is the bread of life given for the life of the world. And yet, we don't always seek Jesus when trials and tribulations overcome us. When confronted with apparently insurmountable troubles (grieved by an overbearing conscious, awash in sorrow, buried by grief, anxious and afraid, immobilized by worries) when the exilic life gets difficult and we grow weary, we fail as Phillip failed.

Jesus, looking out and seeing an enormous number of hungry, harassed, and struggling people (5,000 was just the men!), turns and asks Phillip a pointed question: "Phillip, where on earth can we buy enough bread to feed all of these people?" Phillip answers, "Two hundred penny-worth of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one of them may take a little." In other words, Jesus, even if we had a million dollars, we'd still come up short, and the people would remain hungry." Wrong answer. Phillip failed the test (remember Luke tells us that Jesus is asking as a test to prove the man because Jesus already knew what he would do). Phillip fails the test because he fails to recognize the One who provides all our needs, who came down from heaven to give life abundantly. Only Jesus can supply our needs, turn scarcity into plenty, comfort us in affliction, and turn our sorrows into joy. Upon the mount stands the One who says, "come unto me all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will refresh you."

Who needs to be refreshed in the Lord? Don’t worry; he sees your need and knows your concerns, for Luke tells us it is Jesus, not his disciples, who first noticed and looked upon the crowd with compassion. Though you are presently suffering from some great distress or when sorrows find you in a future day of struggle, Jesus sees you, and again, as Luke reminds us, “he already knows what he is going to do.” He will come and say, "Sit; lie down in green pastures." He will lead you out of distress and beside the still waters. My friends, he will restoreth your soul. And like Israel in the desert, when the weight of suffering brings murmuring, complaining, and even sins against the God of your salvation, remember this: he will not forsake you but lead you into the paths of righteousness for his namesake. For his name is mercy and grace. The Rose of Sharon will surely refresh you in the wilderness of this life, simply to turn to him in faith.

Whether it be Lent or not, the Christian life is one long journey in the wilderness, a life-long Lent of exodus and exile. Our destination is the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of saints and the dwelling place of God. But the road to that far country is difficult. We get tired, we get hungry (spiritually and physically), distracted, sideswiped, and often blindsided by the world, the flesh, and the Devil. This is why we need to be nurtured and refreshed in the Lord, and he does this through the tender care of our Mother, the Church. St. Paul says, "Jerusalem which is above is free and is the mother of us all." For we have been reborn- not by works of the law (born of Hagar)- but by God's gracious initiative, through faith (born of Sarah): and since we are dead to sin and alive to Christ, we are free. Free from sin, released from sorrow, wiped clean of guilt and shame. Such are the wonderful benefits given to the children of Jerusalem above, who is "the mother of us all." Jesus has left us in the hands of a loving mother whose name is the Church.

You see, the Church is our Mother in whom the Spirit of Christ dwells with the children of promise. Our Mother ensures we are well fed, feeding her children a daily diet of Holy Scripture, both read and prayed in the Morning and Evening Prayer Offices. And we remain attentive to the Lord through prayer, knowing that he is always beside us, in good times and bad. Thus, in the wilderness, we live not by bread alone but by the very word of God. Each and every Sunday, she sets a lavish table and calls her children to a Eucharistic feast of Word and Sacrament, not only feeding our weary bodies but strengthening the inner man with something greater than Manna, far surpassing the loaves and fishes; she feeds us with Jesus who says, "my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me and I live because of the Father, the one who feeds on me will live because of me" (Jn 6:55-57). Mom fills us with the bread of life, nourishing the weak and giving rest to the weary child. My friends, Jesus refreshes his people through the liturgy, sacraments, and care of Holy Mother Church. And if we will but listen to her, she will teach us how to live as pilgrims in this world with eyes fixed on heaven.

Jerusalem is the Mother of us all and loves her children selflessly, tirelessly, and without reservation. Like St. Augustine's faithful Mother, Monica, your Mother prays continually for all her children who have wandered away, tearfully pleading with heaven for their return. For she desperately loves even the most wayward and confused of her children. And when the burdens of life bring you to tears, she weeps with you. And remember this, your sin will never shut the door to her room, which remains open, as do her arms, waiting to gather up a tearful and remorseful child. Your Mother loves you. The Church loves you and desires nothing but your good, and that's because Jesus loves you and has entrusted you to her.

Therefore, we are never alone on this Lenten journey nor in the pilgrimage of life; we have a family. God is your Father, and the Church is your Mother. Remember, you were not born of Hagar but of Sarah, for you are a child of promise, and in Holy Mother Church, all the riches and blessings befitting the Children of God are yours, and you are free. Your Mother says to come, come weary pilgrims, and feast on Christ; she has set the table before you. Come to the feast not only for the nourishment of your body but for the refreshing of your soul. Come, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will refresh you. Amen+