Gaudete

A pink candle in an Advent wreath. Rose coloured vestments rather than the usual violet, if your church has a set. Gaudete Sunday, a Sunday in which to rejoice at what is to come, to celebrate the halfway point of Advent, the waiting time. I didn't always know this; I came as an adult to the traditions of the Episcopal church at a time when few if any Presbyterian churches bothered with candles or ritual of this nature - came as an adult but soon learned to love these traditions that could be such powerful aids to worship.

Notice that I said "could be" aids to worship. These lovely symbols, the actions, the poetry, the music - all these can be beautifully and sensitively employed to allow the people present to enter into a place where the trials of the everyday seem less pressing, release their hold on the mind and the imagination. And this is a wonderful thing.

It will be obvious from what I've said above that I regard the responsibility of creating the best possible experience as being very great. From the reverence with which one lights the candles to the tone of voice used; from the task - given to few - of delivering a sermon that might inspire or help someone present - from these, to the often neglected business of reading the lessons or the gift of music that so few deliver really well: all these matter to the worshippers whether they realise it or not.

Today's blip is probably well out of order, in that I've not said anything about what I had for breakfast or that I suffer every year from Christmas Tree allergy (who knew it was A Thing?). However, today I'm making a pitch for the careful selection of people who will read in church - selection followed by training and the expectation that they will prepare for each reading in the same way that the organist or the preacher will prepare. It just will not do to step up and read, for example, the glorious poetry of today's reading from Isaiah, as if it were a shopping list, or perhaps the football results for the day. It's a great responsibility, that, and one that demands commitment.

And today? It was growing dark at 1.30 in the afternoon. It rained so much that my flowerbed is flooded again. I decorated the hernia-inducing tree and now have itchy eyes and a runny nose. I took both for a walk in the dark and wet before dinner, just because. And I read the Sunday paper and seethed with impotent rage. 

Gaudete? Rejoice? I'm trying. But I need assistance ...