Psalm 150 - Laetare Sunday

         Many of you know that I grew up in a Congregational church.  Though it was located in New Jersey, in many ways, it mighty just as well have been situated next to Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts, so strong were its congregational roots and traditions. 

         For example, when it came to recognizing church holidays and festivals around this time of year, we did celebrate Palm Sunday.  Everyone received – but no one ever went so far as waving - those long and pointy dried palm fronds that most of the children ended up using as swords.  We also celebrated Easter with lilies, new Spring coats and shoes, and a large assortment of white gloves and flowered hats in the congregation.

         However, we never did much with Lent, that season of preparation before Easter.  I think Lent was considered to be way too close to the papacy.  In middle school and high school, I do recall Catholic friends always “giving up” something for Lent, usually deserts or chocolate, which was probably good for teenaged complexions anyway.  My only recollection of Ash Wednesday was my father coming home from work, commenting tongue-in-cheek that he had seen a lot of people with dirty faces in New York City that day. 

         I was really only exposed to Lent as an important season in the liturgical or church year when I was in seminary.  There I learned that Lent was the solemn 40 days less Sundays that occurred before Easter and was characterized by three foundational pillars: fasting, alms-giving, and large amounts of time spent in prayer – all under the unmentioned umbrella of abstinence in one form or another. 

         One of those years that I spent in New Haven, wanting to understand Lent more experientially, several of us traveled in March to spend a few days at Mount Saviour Monastery, a Benedictine community in Elmira, New York.  At that time, the brothers were quite conservative, especially when it came to women. 

         Only Brother Peter, the Guest Master, was allowed to speak to us (though he was quite friendly).  We had to stay offsite in a small farmhouse run by some local nuns.  We could join in worship but could not sit with the brothers and other male visitors.  We had to remain on stone benches that surrounded the dark rock walls of the round chapel.  But all that was OK – especially the chilly stone benches - because we had come to experience first hand the austerity of the Lenten season. 

         How surprised we were then when Brother Peter invited us to dine with the rest of the community on Thursday evening!  How even more surprised we were when we entered the decorated refectory or dining room! 

         The meal was sumptuous and delicious.  The brothers were all talkative and exceedingly friendly and welcoming.  They were drinking beer, and one of them ended up at the piano banging out tunes with his sister (who happened to be a nun) as we, the monks, and other family members in attendance clapped and merrily sang along.

         That was the night I learned about Laetare:  “Rejoice, O Jerusalem!”  Laetare – and Laetare Sunday – is a not particularly well-known church tradition, but it is over 1000 years old.  It is celebrated most often in Catholic and Anglican circles – though some Protestant traditions have begun to recognize it as well. 

         The day of Laetare falls on the Thursday before the fourth Sunday in Lent.  In short, it is the midpoint of the Lenten season, but is now mostly recognized on that Sunday following - which is, of course, exactly 21 days before Easter – and which is, of course, today. 

         The word “Laetare” means “rejoice” and is reflected in the introit – or song of preparation – traditionally used that day: 

"Rejoice, O Jerusalem: and come together all you that love her: rejoice with joy, you that have been in sorrow: that you may exult and be filled from the breasts of your consolation.”

         And why would anyone need this time to rejoice in the middle of Lent?  Well, imagine yourself a Christian in the 4^th century when the custom of this 40-day Lenten period of abstinence was spreading throughout all of Christendom.  You would have been fasting and on your knees in prayer a good part of that time, and so I suspect that you would be all too ready to rejoice!  

         As theology teacher Michael Heinlein noted, “Laetare Sunday is the Church’s way of giving us a ‘shot in the arm’ as we approach the darkness and horror of the days through Good Friday and Holy Saturday.  It’s an opportunity to savor and keep in the back of our minds what awaits us on Easter Sunday — the reality that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead, and that our hearts will always be filled with joy!”

        And so Laetare Sunday is a day of relaxation from the usual Lenten rigors.  It is a day of hope because Easter, at last, is within sight.  It is meant to encourage the faithful to keep plodding along and stay the course through this season of penance. 

         Meant to deepen and enrich our Lenten experience and our understanding of the season, it oozes bittersweet-ness. Laetare juxtaposes the sadness and somberness of the encroaching Holy Week with the joy of Easter.  Interestingly enough, weddings, which were traditionally forbidden during Lent, were allowed on Laetare Sunday.

         The color for Laetare Sunday is not the penitential purple of the rest of the Lenten season.  Like the Sunday of Joy during Advent, the color is pink, or more precisely, rose.  And so we have a pink candle on our Lenten candelabra, a stark symbol of rejoicing comingled with the sadness we know is coming during Holy Week.  

         This change in color then is a glimpse of the joy that awaits us at Easter just before we begin the somber days of Passiontide.  It keeps us going – both on our Lenten journey, but perhaps also in our own non-church lives when we confront difficult or nearly hopeless situations any time of the year.

         Laetare Sunday is also known by other names.  It is sometimes called Refreshment Sunday because we are refreshed for a day from the strict discipline of Lent.  It is also called mid-Lent Sunday for the obvious reason. 

         Another name is Mothering Sunday.  Servants and apprentices in Britain were released that day to go and visit their mothers.  Likewise, pilgrims traveled to their parish’s respective cathedral to make their offerings to the mother church.  Finally, that particular name recalls that we are all children – sons and daughters – of God.  From that final perspective, how interesting that the day is called Mothering (rather than Fathering) Sunday!  The Church proclaiming – if even discreetly – that God has female as well as male qualities?  Who knows?

         Laetare Sunday is also known at the Sunday of the Five Loaves, a reference to the abundance of the miracle of the loaves and fishes.  Finally, it is called Rose Sunday – for the color of the day, to be sure, but also because it was the day that golden roses were blessed before the Pope sent them to Catholic sovereigns.  

         We Protestants should be glad that Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony, in the early 1500’s was not swayed by the Pope’s gift of a golden rose You see, it had been sent primarily as a bribe in the hope that Martin Luther, who had sought asylum in Saxony, would be extradited to lands where he could be tried for blasphemy and undoubtedly burned at the stake.

         For us here today, then, Laetare Sunday is a day to, for the most part, put aside our worship series about listening to God through quiet prayer and meditation.  Instead, we are openly glad that Easter – and springtime – are almost here. 

         And so we go a bit Hawaiian this morning - and we rejoice.  We wear bright colors and sandals and shell necklaces and leis.  And we sing, trusting always that God can speak to us not only in silence, but also in the midst of what?  As the Psalmist notes, trumpet, harp, lyre, clashing and resounding cymbals, and yes, ukuleles!