Third Sunday of Advent - 12 December 2010 [Cycle A]
The third quarter is THE WORST. The third quarter of anything. The third lap of the mile around the track. The third quarter of an academic semester at college. Being only halfway through writing a paper. The third quarter is, without a doubt, the toughest part—mentally—of any race, physical or otherwise. Same goes with Advent.
A couple of researchers studying exercise science and human biology decided to take a look at the lap times for world record-breaking milers to see if they could determine which laps were the fastest and which were the slowest. The results were unsurprising to anyone who has actually run a mile, particularly after having trained for it on the track: for most of the runners, the third lap was the slowest. The final lap was almost always the fastest, followed in quickness by the first lap. The researchers merely broke down the splits; they did not offer any suppositions as to why the third lap might be the slowest, but it is not hard to speculate.
Generally speaking... the first lap, you’re full of energy and excitement; you’ve been anticipating this moment for weeks, months, possibly even years. The combination of fresh legs and pent-up excitement is a potent mixture. The final lap is when you can see the finish—you’re almost there, so you’re drawing on whatever reserves you may have left in the tank to push through to the end. If you’re going to finish strong, you suppress the protests from your now-tired muscles and focus on the exhilaration you will feel upon finishing. (Those who have survived final exams, papers, qualifying exams, and other types of grueling academic “races” likewise recognize the feeling. Even if you’ve paced yourself well, you’re still forced to make that last push through to the finish, so you can finally rest and enjoy being done.)
The mile is a lot like Advent. Four laps to a mile; four weeks to Advent. And like a mile on the track, the season of Advent is a time of discomfort and anxiety. Of anticipation and eagerness for the feeling that follows. Humans recognize how difficult it is to do anything straight through with no breaks, and so all major team sports—football, basket- ball, soccer—have intermissions. Halftimes. It’s not just hard to play straight through— to pour yourself into that athletic competition wish such reckless, unrestrained inten- sity—it’s even hard for the fans to watch! Even the spectators need a break! And so football games, theatre productions, academic semesters (woooooh, Spring Break!)... All have intermissions about half-way through. Because otherwise—as a miler can attest—it’s really, REALLY hard to maintain 100% intensity straight through, and especially in the third quarter. The Church recognizes this, too. And so, the third week of Advent, we observe what is known as “Gaudete Sunday.” Also known as the Sunday when the priest wears “pink” and we light a “pink” candle instead of a purple one on our Advent Wreath.
In fact, the actual Liturgical color is “rose,” and it dates back to a time when the color worn by the priest were not purple, but black. Black as in penance. Black as in ashes and death and mourning. Advent, much like Lent, was seen as a time of radical penitence. After all, the readings focus upon John the Baptist’s calls in the desert for us to “Repent!” and to prepare ourselves for the coming of the Lord. And so the priests wore black at Mass, to remind us that we were supposed to be focused on our sinfulness, and more spe- cifically, on our ongoing effort to repent from that sinfulness to be ready for the coming of new life at Christmas. At a time when black symbolized death and penitence, rose— like the flower—symbolized hope and new life. Indeed, the word, “Gaudete” literally means “Rejoice” and calls us to hope.
“Gaudete Sunday” is so named because, back before we had a piano and a choir to open up Mass, the priest would enter to what is known as an “Antiphon.” (In fact, many daily Masses continue to use this in place of an opening hymn.) An antiphon is a fragment of a Psalm or part of Scripture that basically sets the tone for service. And on this Sunday in Advent, the opening antiphon begins with a call to “Rejoice!” and to be “hopeful!”
The opening antiphon of the third Sunday of Mass is basically like a big, hand-made posterboard being held up by your friends along the side of the track that reads, “You can do it!” or “Keep going!” or “You’re almost there!” The Church, in its understanding of human experience, knows that, during that third quarter of Advent, we need a little pick me-up, a little boost. And so, in the depth of winter, amid the season of repentance, we take a week to “Rejoice” and focus on the celebration we’re going to experience as soon as the race is over, i.e. at Christmas.
In your own life, think of the many “races” you have undertaken or in which you currently find yourself. Think also of this Advent season—of how you are “almost there” and to “keep pushing through” this third part, because next Sunday, we will light the final candle, and you will be able to see the finish line. By that point, you’ll get your second wind, and you’ll find yourself full of adrenaline (and possibly sugar cookies, hot cocoa, or candy canes) that will sustain you in the final lap. Therefore, “Rejoice!” and “Keep Going—You’re Almost There!”
Reflection Questions
1) Have you ever run a mile around a track? How about played some other sport? What was the toughest part, mentally and physically? How did you push through? What sustained you?
2) How do you experience the flow of the semester? How do you keep yourself focused and motivated, even when you are tired and just want to be done? What do you draw upon to keep you going?
3) How is your Advent going? Have you “paced yourself” well? What have you done in terms of repentance and preparation for the coming of the Lord? What might you do in the final two weeks? How could you “pick up the pace” if you haven’t done your best to this point?
A couple of researchers studying exercise science and human biology decided to take a look at the lap times for world record-breaking milers to see if they could determine which laps were the fastest and which were the slowest. The results were unsurprising to anyone who has actually run a mile, particularly after having trained for it on the track: for most of the runners, the third lap was the slowest. The final lap was almost always the fastest, followed in quickness by the first lap. The researchers merely broke down the splits; they did not offer any suppositions as to why the third lap might be the slowest, but it is not hard to speculate.
Generally speaking... the first lap, you’re full of energy and excitement; you’ve been anticipating this moment for weeks, months, possibly even years. The combination of fresh legs and pent-up excitement is a potent mixture. The final lap is when you can see the finish—you’re almost there, so you’re drawing on whatever reserves you may have left in the tank to push through to the end. If you’re going to finish strong, you suppress the protests from your now-tired muscles and focus on the exhilaration you will feel upon finishing. (Those who have survived final exams, papers, qualifying exams, and other types of grueling academic “races” likewise recognize the feeling. Even if you’ve paced yourself well, you’re still forced to make that last push through to the finish, so you can finally rest and enjoy being done.)
The mile is a lot like Advent. Four laps to a mile; four weeks to Advent. And like a mile on the track, the season of Advent is a time of discomfort and anxiety. Of anticipation and eagerness for the feeling that follows. Humans recognize how difficult it is to do anything straight through with no breaks, and so all major team sports—football, basket- ball, soccer—have intermissions. Halftimes. It’s not just hard to play straight through— to pour yourself into that athletic competition wish such reckless, unrestrained inten- sity—it’s even hard for the fans to watch! Even the spectators need a break! And so football games, theatre productions, academic semesters (woooooh, Spring Break!)... All have intermissions about half-way through. Because otherwise—as a miler can attest—it’s really, REALLY hard to maintain 100% intensity straight through, and especially in the third quarter. The Church recognizes this, too. And so, the third week of Advent, we observe what is known as “Gaudete Sunday.” Also known as the Sunday when the priest wears “pink” and we light a “pink” candle instead of a purple one on our Advent Wreath.
In fact, the actual Liturgical color is “rose,” and it dates back to a time when the color worn by the priest were not purple, but black. Black as in penance. Black as in ashes and death and mourning. Advent, much like Lent, was seen as a time of radical penitence. After all, the readings focus upon John the Baptist’s calls in the desert for us to “Repent!” and to prepare ourselves for the coming of the Lord. And so the priests wore black at Mass, to remind us that we were supposed to be focused on our sinfulness, and more spe- cifically, on our ongoing effort to repent from that sinfulness to be ready for the coming of new life at Christmas. At a time when black symbolized death and penitence, rose— like the flower—symbolized hope and new life. Indeed, the word, “Gaudete” literally means “Rejoice” and calls us to hope.
“Gaudete Sunday” is so named because, back before we had a piano and a choir to open up Mass, the priest would enter to what is known as an “Antiphon.” (In fact, many daily Masses continue to use this in place of an opening hymn.) An antiphon is a fragment of a Psalm or part of Scripture that basically sets the tone for service. And on this Sunday in Advent, the opening antiphon begins with a call to “Rejoice!” and to be “hopeful!”
The opening antiphon of the third Sunday of Mass is basically like a big, hand-made posterboard being held up by your friends along the side of the track that reads, “You can do it!” or “Keep going!” or “You’re almost there!” The Church, in its understanding of human experience, knows that, during that third quarter of Advent, we need a little pick me-up, a little boost. And so, in the depth of winter, amid the season of repentance, we take a week to “Rejoice” and focus on the celebration we’re going to experience as soon as the race is over, i.e. at Christmas.
In your own life, think of the many “races” you have undertaken or in which you currently find yourself. Think also of this Advent season—of how you are “almost there” and to “keep pushing through” this third part, because next Sunday, we will light the final candle, and you will be able to see the finish line. By that point, you’ll get your second wind, and you’ll find yourself full of adrenaline (and possibly sugar cookies, hot cocoa, or candy canes) that will sustain you in the final lap. Therefore, “Rejoice!” and “Keep Going—You’re Almost There!”
Reflection Questions
1) Have you ever run a mile around a track? How about played some other sport? What was the toughest part, mentally and physically? How did you push through? What sustained you?
2) How do you experience the flow of the semester? How do you keep yourself focused and motivated, even when you are tired and just want to be done? What do you draw upon to keep you going?
3) How is your Advent going? Have you “paced yourself” well? What have you done in terms of repentance and preparation for the coming of the Lord? What might you do in the final two weeks? How could you “pick up the pace” if you haven’t done your best to this point?
