One of our staff members is the foster mother of a preternaturally perfect baby boy. As an occasional attendee of our staff meetings, this young fella contributes to the overall productivity by boosting morale to historic levels. His big smiles and gentle cooing create an atmosphere of joy that’s just impossible to measure. Even his rare moments of pouting motivate us to work harder for our little mascot. A ministry resident commented this week that he’s not being paid near what he’s worth, and that is most certainly true.
I recently heard someone describe how having a baby around amplifies everything. On a quality-of-life scale from one to ten, it’s like levels 2-9 have simply been removed. The fader on extreme feeling is turned up all the way to a Dickensian “best of times; worst of times.” We haven’t had a baby in the house for some time now, but that resonates with my memory of the thing. There’s a texture of unbreakable joy that lies underneath these extremes and wraps the whole thing up in swaddling clothes of wonder and beauty.
This Sunday, the third in Advent, has for about a thousand years been referred to as “Gaudete,” or Rejoicing Sunday. It represents a break in the penitent nature of the season, where the nearness of fulfillment is brought to the middle of the waiting. It’s fitting, then, that we take a look at the passage in which the unborn infant John leaps with joy in Elizabeth’s womb at his first encounter with Jesus, only days newly arrived in his own mother’s body; still close to 40 weeks from his birth. It’s a perfect Advent text, just brimming with the already-but-not-yet nature of the Kingdom. Shot through it all is a sense that whatever is happening, however complicated and burdensome, this is nothing short of blessing.
- js