Weird (and possibly heretical!) Advent Calendars

It's been a long time since I've offered a survey of some of the stranger Advent Calendars out

there. But, as Advent is a season of waiting and anticipation, your patience has paid off.

This is tough going as nearly every company offers some sort of Advent Calendar as part of their contribution to the Christmas Industrial Complex. We know all about the whisky Advent Calendars (I'm happy to send you my mailing address) and the various foodie offerings out there. But think of this as a curated list (with commentary!) of a few calendars you may not have seen before.

Here we have some of the best and worst (okay, the worst and even worse) of what's out there this season. Some are cringe-worthy, some border on the heretical. But in the end, Advent Calendars are a wonderful way to mark down the shopping days until Christmas. Er, I mean the days before we welcome the Christ-Child anew into our hearts and minds.

So enjoy, friends. And know that while these calendars may entirely miss the point of keeping this holy season, I do bid you a very happy and hopeful Advent.

1. Gruesome Christmas Anti-Advent Calendar

Are there people on your list who hate Christmas? Enjoy a daily "misfortune cookie" with the Gruesome Christmas Anti-Advent Calendar. Each of the 24 vegan black wheat cookies (yuck!) are individually wrapped with messages like, "I hope you've got pets. Because you haven't got any friends." This is the perfect calendar for misanthropes and those counting down to Christmas during what they would consider to be the most awful time of the year.

2. Jelly Belly 12 Days of Christmas Advent Calendar

Hey, Jelly Belly! Get clear on the concept! There's no such thing as a "12 Days of Christmas Advent Calendar." You can either do the four weeks leading up to Christmas (that's Advent!) OR the 12 Days of Christmas which start on Christmas Day (that's Christmas!). In fairness, this calendar effectively ruins both Advent and Christmas. So if that was your intention, you win! Oh, and you can keep that disgusting popcorn-flavored jelly bean for Lent.

3. Beanies Flavoured Coffee Advent Calendar

Okay, it's one thing to ruin Advent. But Beanies, a British coffee company, has also ruined coffee with the Beanies Flavored Coffee Advent Calendar (full disclosure: I'm a coffee snob -- I literally wrote the book on it). I mean, orange-chocolate coffee? Gingerbread coffee? Coconut? With "coffee" like this, who wouldn't be waiting expectantly for the promised End of Days?

4. 12 Days of Beauty Advent Calendar

It's not just that they get the 12 Days of Christmas confused with Advent -- see #2. It's the whole notion of making Advent "all about me" that irks me about the 12 Days of Beauty Advent Calendar. And believe me, it's not rare -- it seems as if every cosmetics company has some form of Advent-inspired promotion. But can you really see that major figure of the season, John the Baptist, getting jazzed about flavored bath soaps? Maybe wild honey-scented exfoliating cream...

5. Lovehoney Best Sex of Your Life Couples' Sex Toy Countdown Calendar

I can't even. And while the English word "Advent" is derived from the Latin "Adventus," meaning "coming," I still can't even. If John the Baptist yelling "You brood of vipers!" can't spice up your sex life, it may be a lost cause. Again with the locusts and wild Lovehoney. And you thought "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" was a yuletide bridge too far.

6. Very, Very Tiffany Advent Calendar

When we were kids, we were lucky if the LAST window on our Advent Calendars had a tiny, stale piece of chocolate inside. Fortunately for the 1%, Tiffany & Co. has solved this problem with their $112,000 Very, Very Tiffany Advent Calendar. Two "Verys" are apparently needed because the whole thing is just not decadent enough in itself. If only Joseph had access to this during Mary's third trimester.

7. 24 Days of Beard Treats Advent Calendar

Now, I'm not exactly sure what qualifies as a "beard treat," but this is an essential purchase for the special Old Testament prophet on your Christmas list. Imagine what this 24 Days of Beard Treats Advent Calendar could do for Malachi and Zephaniah? The scented beard oils are the perfect complement to finding one's prophetic voice -- and likely getting beheaded in the process.

8. Purple Ladybug Novelty Dinosaur Toys Advent Calendar

The only reason the Dinosaur Toys Advent Calendar made the list is for the Creationist on your shopping list. Don't believe in dinosaurs? Perfect! Here are 24 days of pre-packaged heresy. Keep opening those windows because, who knows? Maybe Adam and Eve are actually hiding in there. Nope. Sorry. That's triceratops.

Well, that's it for this year. If you find others you'd like to share (and there are many!), please do share them in the comments section. Your fellow Star gazers will thank you. Or not.

Happy Advent!

In Good Faith: Wait For It

In my December In Good Faith column, I reflect on household nativity set wars of the not-so-distant past, and share what they can reveal about theology.

Wait For It

In the not-so-distant past, great wars erupted over baby Jesus in our house. Not the actual, living, breathing baby Jesus who burst into the world on that first Christmas Day, but the small figurine that accompanied our crèche. Our household was evenly split on whether baby Jesus should be placed in the manger before Christmas or on Christmas. 

The argument for putting him into the nativity set earlier in December revolved around his being an

integral part of the scene. What’s a crèche without Jesus? It’s just a bunch of shepherds and wise men standing around a cold stable for no apparent reason. Not to mention the accusations flying around about not being in the proper Christmas spirit. What’s next? Not hanging a wreath on the front door?

The other side of the debate held that Advent, the liturgical season that precedes Christmas, is all about anticipation and waiting. Be patient! Jesus is on the way, but has not yet arrived. If you can wait until the 25th to open your presents, you can wait a couple more weeks to complete the nativity tableau. 

Once the boys got involved and started taking sides — opposing ones, naturally — baby Jesus ended up in a few tug-of-wars. In the absence of Jesus, the empty manger would invariably be filled with someone: Spiderman. Mrs. Incredible. A stray army man. Though, the Hulk was too big and knocked the whole thing over. And there was that one year, someone hid baby Jesus so well that he didn’t turn up until after Easter. 

In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor issue with which to contend. In a world where famine and persecution and natural disasters and crushing poverty is encountered every day, Jesus himself wouldn’t be overly concerned with precious nativity sets placed on mantle places, often more for decoration than devotion. 

But theologically speaking, both responses to the baby Jesus figurine conundrum are correct. Jesus is always present — that’s the Incarnational promise of Christmas, after all. That the Son of God entered the world in human form and abides with us through whatever we encounter in this mortal life. Yet that sense of anticipation is an integral part of our spiritual lives this season. It gives us the space to fully prepare ourselves to receive him anew each year. 

There are all sorts of nativity sets available on Amazon. In recent years I’ve seen one featuring Star Wars characters and another that’s comprised entirely of dogs. My favorite, though, is the Hipster Nativity Set ($59.95 on Amazon) complete with Mary and Joseph taking a selfie with baby Jesus, the Three Wisemen on Segways carrying Amazon Prime boxes, solar panels on the roof of the stable, and a shepherd in skinny jeans Snap-chatting the whole scene. 

In the end, if you’re setting up a crèche in the weeks before Christmas, I hope you’ll think deeply about the significance of it. Reflect on the characters, think about the story from their varying perspectives, and whatever you decide to do with baby Jesus, know that you are deeply and profoundly loved by God.

The O Antiphons...deciphered!

If you’ve spent any time in church this Advent, you’ve likely sung the popular seasonal hymn “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” If your parish used it as a processional hymn, as we did on the Third Sunday of Advent this year at St. John’s, you may have noticed that it’s very loooooooong (note the eight O’s that match the eight verses). 

You may also have noticed that the verses are all assigned a date — beginning with December 17 and ending with December 23rd. So of course it’s long! It’s meant to be sung over a full week! Sort of.

You see, this hymn is based upon the so-called “O Antiphons,” an ancient devotion and rich spiritual tradition used during the waning days of Advent.

Confused? Fear Not! (as we churchy types like to say this time of year). For behold I bring you the key to cracking the O Antiphon code. 

The O Antiphons have been used as an Advent devotion as early as the 5th century. Benedictine monasteries provide some of the earliest evidence of their usage and by the 8th century they were commonly used in Roman churches. There are seven “O's” (the name simply derives from the start of each antiphon — “O Sapienta, O Adonai, etc) and each one recalls a Scriptural reference to Jesus. 

Thus, the following antiphons are appointed for the corresponding days:

December 17: O Sapientia (O Wisdom)

O come, thou Wisdom from on high, who orderest all things mightily, 

to us the path of knowledge show, and teach us in her ways to go.

December 18: O Adonai (O Lord)

O come, O come, thou Lord of might, who to thy tribes on Sinai's height, 

in ancient times didst give the law, in cloud, and majesty, and awe.

December 19: O Radix Jesse (O Root of Jesse)

O come, thou Branch of Jesse's tree, free them from Satan's tyranny 
that trust thy mighty power to save, and give them victory o'er the grave.

December 20: O Clavis David (O Key of David)                                                  

O come, thou Key of David, come, and open wide our heavenly make safe the way that leads on high, and close the path to misery.

December 21: O Oriens (O Dayspring)

O come, thou Dayspring from on high, and cheer us by thy drawing nigh;

disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death's dark shadows put to flight.

December 22: O Rex Gentium (O King of the Nations)  

O come, Desire of nations, bind in one the hearts of all mankind;                          

bid thou our sad divisions cease, and be thyself our King of Peace.

December 23: O Emmanuel (O God-With-Us)      

O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel,                                    

that mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appear.

In Anglican usage the O Antiphons are traditionally used before and after the Magnificat at Evening Prayer (sung at Evensong) or as the Alleluia verse before the gospel reading during the appointed days.

Adding to the intrigue, if you take the first letter of each antiphon starting from the last one, it spells "ERO CRAS" which translates as "Tomorrow, I will be there" -- clearly the theme of "adventus" (coming). Although there's controversy surrounding the Latin translation (a bit of poetic license?) and intentionality (coincidence?), I like it.

For many, the O Antiphons are still used as private devotions and it is in this way that I'd encourage you to engage them over the next week. (If you're a Latin enthusiast, you may want to check out New Zealander Bosco Peters' terrific post on the subject on his Liturgy blog, as he includes all the Latin texts, Scriptural references, and a reflection on each one).

Anyway, as a devotion, take the corresponding verse in the familiar hymn and reflect on it for a few minutes each day. How do you experience Jesus through the particular verse? What is happening in your own life that might be a parallel? How might you be inspired by the verse as you draw nearer to the Incarnational event on Christmas Day?

Then don't forget to end each session with the refrain -- Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

What's up with the pink candle in the Advent wreath?

Few things get church folks more riled up than a conversation about what color candles to use in the Advent wreath. All purple, all white, all blue, all red, three blue and one pink, three purple and one pink, or some other color combination thereof. 

And that's even before the discussion over whether or not to add a white Christ Candle in the middle on Christmas Eve. 

I know of one cleric who was even accused of "ruining Advent" for using the "wrong" color of candles one year (Spoiler Alert: Jesus still came). 

And let's not get started on those liturgical factions crusading for either blue or purple vestments and altar hangings during Advent. I'm not even going to touch that holy war.

Of course this is all very high on Jesus' list. Fortunately, I'm confident that when he returns to judge the world at the Second Coming (cue Lo, He Comes with Clouds Descending), all will be revealed.

But back to the issue at hand: the pink candle (and, yes, I know it's technically a "rose" candle, so relax).

At my parish, we use three purple candles with a pink candle lit on the Third Sunday of Advent. This is the traditional practice in most, but by no means all, liturgical churches. We don’t do this for aesthetics — we’re not trying to add an "accent" candle. No, that third candle is pink because it’s Gaudete Sunday. 

Huh? 

Okay, let me back up and do some explaining here. First of all, we refer to the Third Sunday 

of Advent as Gaudete Sunday (pronounced gow-day-tay) because the introit for the mass in Latin begins “Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete” meaning “Rejoice in the Lord always: again I say rejoice.” 

While much of the penitential nature of the season has been lost in favor of hopeful expectation, some of the readings still do sound this note -- something retained in the seasonal collects (which my archenemesis, Scott Gunn, once memorably blogged about). The Third Sunday has traditionally been a respite from the penitential themes of Advent emphasizing instead the joy of the coming of the Lord.

Thus, many view the pink candle as emphasizing joy. As with most things liturgical, however, there is not consensus here. Some associate the candle with Mary and perhaps there’s confusion because “Mothering Sunday” — the Fourth Sunday in Lent (aka Laetare Sunday) — is the other occasion for rose-colored vestments. 

This is a slight misnomer, however, because Mothering Sunday refers not to Our Lady but to an old practice in England where the rich gave their servants the Sunday off to go home and visit their mothers. Indeed, Mary appears in the readings for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, not the third. And, yes, some parishes light a pink candle on the Fourth Sunday of Advent rather than the Third, further muddying the rose-colored waters.

And just ignore, for now, the fact that many colloquially refer to the Third Sunday of Advent as "Stir-Up" Sunday, based on the Collect of the Day:

Stir up thy power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let thy bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with thee and the Holy Ghost, be honor and glory, world without end. Amen.

Stir-Up Sunday also refers to the fact that in England this marked the day when Brits made (or "stirred up") their Christmas puddings. In the first Book of Common Prayer of 1549, this collect (prayer) was appointed for the last Sunday before Advent. In the 1979 American BCP, this was moved to the Third Sunday of Advent. Those who still make the traditional Christmas pudding tell me that if you wait until that close to Christmas, the pudding will be a disaster. Oh, fine. Here's a link to some Christmas pudding recipes. 

To go even further back, it’s worth looking at the history of Advent wreaths themselves. There is evidence that some pre-Christian Germanic people placed candles on wreaths in the middle of winter as symbols of hope that the warm weather of spring would return. And ancient Scandinavians placed candles on wheels in “the bleak mid-winter” as an anticipatory devotion to the sun god. It wasn’t until the Middle Ages that Christians adopted the practice of the Advent wreath as a pre-Christmas devotion.

Headless Horseman celebrating on Guadete Sunday

So when we get our garland all twisted up in knots over such liturgical practices, it's helpful to remember that we're really arguing over coopted pagan rituals. Isn't perspective great?

As I mentioned, some churches use rose-colored vestments twice a year — on the Fourth Sunday in Lent and the Third Sunday of Advent. Both days are seen as times of refreshment, feasting, and joy amid penitential seasons. I know a priest who, back when he was a curate, always celebrated the Eucharist on these two days. It seems the parish owned a rose set and the rector declared he never, ever wanted to wear pink at the altar (no comment on being secure in one's masculinity and/or issues of ecclesiastical patriarchy).

So there you have it — a brief explanation about the pink, er rose, candle that will be lit on the Third Sunday of Advent. At least in some parishes. 

And if any of this gives you pause, remember that there's also an old tradition that believes the four candles represent the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. Which, I'm sure, leads to some pretty fun dinnertime conversation.

However you decide to approach the symbols of Advent and incorporate them into your spiritual life, may this season bring you ever nearer to the joy of our Lord's impending birth. 

In Good Faith: Fallen Angels

In my latest In Good Faith column, I write about Christmas pageants and why they're so awesome.

Fallen Angels

Perfection is overrated. In general, yes, but specifically when it comes to Christmas pageants. I mean, who doesn’t love bloopers at the Christmas Eve pageant service? I don’t mean a Clark Griswold blow-up-the-Christmas-tree disaster but Mary dropping the “holy doll” or one of the shepherds going off script never fails to bring a smile.

I’ve witnessed my fair share of extra curricular pageant activity over the years. One of my favorites involved my youngest son who played one of the Three Kings when he was five or six. Before the pageant he warned us (foretold?) that in the middle of the proceedings he was going to “leap into the stands” like a Packers player following a touchdown in Green Bay. His godparents are from Green Bay so that might have played a role here -- plus there’s no such thing as an idle “dare” involving an active young boy.

And, by God, he did. After the Magi presented their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, he turned around with a twinkle in his eye and jumped into my wife’s arms in the front pew. Following the mad dash, he went right back into character kneeling before the manger.

It’s not that pageant directors write such mishaps into the script. But when you gather a group of kids together, put them in costumes, and get them all amped up on candy canes right before Christmas, things rarely go according to plan. 

And you know what? That’s okay. In many ways, an imperfect pageant is a much more genuine reflection of faith than that hand-painted china nativity set on the mantle above your great aunt’s fireplace. Because that pageant with Cheerios-spewing sheep and the angel that trips down the stairs (the original fallen angel), is real. In fancy theological terms these moments are truly Incarnational since God is right in the thick of things, rather than remote or distant or up on a shelf.

And this really gets to the heart of both the Christmas story and our own spiritual lives. Faith is not

neat and tidy and sterile but messy and complicated and engaged — true relationship always is. Yet even in the midst of the chaos and muck of the stable, God’s light shines brightly forth. 

If you think about it, God certainly went “off script” in sending Jesus into the world. Those waiting for the messiah naturally assumed he would be born in a palace, not a stable; that he would be born to a queen, not to a poor, unwed teenage mother; that he’d ride in on a white steed, not a donkey. So our entire faith is based on surprises.

I hope you’ll attend a Christmas pageant this year or at least think about ones you’ve either participated in as a child or attended as an adult. If the microphone cuts in and out so you can’t hear everything or Joseph gets sick at the last minute or the star falls on the manger, it’s okay. Just smile, be kind to the frazzled director, and reflect on the miracle unfolding before your eyes.

Quite Contrary

Googling "Virgin Mary Kitsch" as part of your sermon preparation for the Fourth Sunday of Advent

is not for the faint of heart. The text appointed for tomorrow is the Annunciation (Luke 1:26-38) where the Angel Gabriel shares the shocking news that not only is Mary pregnant but she will bear God's son.

I doubt it was at this precise moment that Mary thought, "Perfect! Now there will finally be a market for that Zombie Virgin Mary Necklace."

But I thought I'd share a few of the "gems" I ran across. You know, to help everybody prepare spiritually for the last Sunday before Christmas Day. If you are easily offended, perhaps you should go watch cat videos on Youtube. Some of these are, well, pretty offensive. Yet with awesome all rolled into one.

If simply being the the God-Bearer (or Theotokos in fancy theological language) isn't enough, perhaps Mary needs extra super powers or even The Force to more effectively carry out her calling.

If you're worried about Mary having unsightly stretch marks, fear not. The Mary Barbie is perfect -- inwardly and outwardly.

Holy Toast, Batman! Start your day off with miracle -- every day!

ly Toast, Batman! Start your day off with miracle -- every day!

Try handing over the Virgin Mary $7 bill the next time you visit your local coffee shop.

If you really love Mary why not show with this festive back tattoo? It's a little awkward taking your shirt off in church but it will add a bit more drama to exchanging the Peace.

Show your Mary pride at the ballpark. Or the your neighbor's backyard barbecue.

Interested in keeping your daughter a perpetual virgin? Here's the perfect outfit for school.

This needs no comment since there really are no words.

The O Antiphons -- Decoded!

Maybe you've heard something about these so-called O Antiphons but were too embarrassed to ask? Or perhaps your Google is broken? Fear Not! (as we churchy types like to say this time of year). For behold I bring you the key to cracking the O Antiphon code. 

But first I want to clear up several pre-conceived notions. The O Antiphons do NOT  have anything to do with Oprah. Nor are they related to other songs beginning with “O” like O Susanna, O Christmas Tree, or O-bla-di-O-bla-da.

They are, however, a rich tradition during the waning days of Advent. If you're not familiar with them per se, you likely know the hymn O Come, O Come Emmanuel which is based upon them. 

The “O Antiphons” have been used as an Advent devotion as early as the 5th century. Benedictine monasteries provide some of the earliest evidence of their usage and by the 8th century they were commonly used in Roman churches. There are seven “O's” (the name simply derives from the start of each antiphon — “O Sapienta, O Adonai, etc.) and each one recalls a Scriptural reference to Jesus. 

There is one appointed for every day between December 17 and 23rd. Thus:

December 17: O Sapientia (O Wisdom)

O come, thou Wisdom from on high, who orderest all things mightily, 

to us the path of knowledge show, and teach us in her ways to go.

December 18: O Adonai (O Lord)

O come, O come, thou Lord of might, who to thy tribes on Sinai's height,                       

in ancient times didst give the law, in cloud, and majesty, and awe.

December 19: O Radix Jesse (O Root of Jesse)

O come, thou Branch of Jesse's tree, free them from Satan's tyranny

that trust thy mighty power to save, and give them victory o'er the grave.

December 20: O Clavis David (O Key of David)                                                  

O come, thou Key of David, come, and open wide our heavenly home;                         

make safe the way that leads on high, and close the path to misery.

December 21: O Oriens (O Dayspring)

O come, thou Dayspring from on high, and cheer us by thy drawing nigh;                       

 disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death's dark shadows put to flight.

December 22: O Rex Gentium (O King of the Nations)  

O come, Desire of nations, bind in one the hearts of all mankind;                          

bid thou our sad divisions cease, and be thyself our King of Peace.

December 23: O Emmanuel (O God-With-Us)      

O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel,                                                       

that mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appear.

In Anglican usage the O Antiphons are traditionally used before and after the Magnificat at Evening

Prayer (sung at Evensong) or as the Alleluia verse before the gospel reading during the appointed days.

For many, they are still used as private devotions and it is in this way that I'd encourage you to engage them over the next week. (If you're a Latin enthusiast, you may want to check out New Zealander Bosco Peters' terrific post on the subject on his Liturgy blog, as he includes all the Latin texts).

Anyway, as a devotion, take the corresponding verse in the familiar hymn and reflect on it for a few minutes each day. How do you experience Jesus through the particular verse? What is happening in your own life that might be a parallel? How might you be inspired by the verse as you draw nearer to the Incarnational event on Christmas Day?

Then don't forget to end each session with the refrain -- Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

If you try it out as part of your spiritual preparation this year, I'd love to hear about your experience!

Smoking Bishop: The Definitive Recipe

Can you really offer Advent Lessons & Carols without serving Smoking Bishop at the candlelight reception that follows? I presume it happens but not on my watch. Smoking Bishop has become part of our L&C tradition at St. John's in Hingham -- people look forward to it at least as much as hearing the choir sing Posten's Jesus Christ the Apple Tree. 

What exactly is Smoking Bishop? Well, it has nothing to do with your bishop sneaking a cigarette in the parish cemetery before the opening procession. Nor is it to be confused with a flaming bishop — that’s something else entirely. Smoking Bishop is basically a warm version of sangria. It’s a drink so named for its purple color (brought about by red wine and port) and the fact that it’s served warm.

The best-known literary reference comes from the last page of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” After Scrooge has his conversion experience, we read this conversation with his long-suffering employee Bob Cratchit:

“A Merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I’ll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon over a bowl of Smoking Bishop, Bob!”

The earliest known recipe for the drink, which was originally called simply "Bishop," was published in an 1827 book called Oxford Nightcaps. It's not certain, at least to me, whether Dickens used "smoking" as an adjective or as the name of the drink but with the popularity of his 1843 classic, the moniker stuck.

My Advent gift to you is the recipe. I hope you’ll try it out and let me know what you think. Better yet, make some and drop it off at the rectory!

Smoking Bishop

5 unpeeled oranges
1 unpeeled grapefruit
36 cloves
1/4 pound of sugar
2 bottles of red wine
1 bottle of port

Wash the fruit and oven bake until brownish. Turn once. Put fruit into a warmed earthenware bowl with six cloves stuck into each. Add sugar and pour in wine — NOT the port. Cover and leave in a warm place for a day. Squeeze the fruit into the wine and strain. Add the port and heat. Do not boil! Serve “smoking” warm. Yield: 15 to 20 servings (serve in small wine glasses).

What's Up with the Pink Candle?

On the Third Sunday of Advent, many churches light a pink candle on the Advent Wreath. We don’t do this for mere aesthetics — we’re not inserting an "accent" candle to brighten things up. Nor is it because the powers that be secretly hope Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" will replace the opening hymn.

No, that third candle is pink (or technically rose-colored) because it’s Gaudete Sunday.

Huh?

Okay, let me back up and do some explaining here. First of all, we refer to the Third Sunday of Advent as Gaudete Sunday (pronounced gow-dey-tay) because the introit for the mass begins “Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete” meaning “Rejoice in the Lord always: again I say rejoice,” based on Philippians 4:4.

While much of the penitential nature of the season has been lost in favor of hopeful expectation, some of the readings still do sound this note, as do the seasonal collects, as Scott Gunn pointed out in a recent blog post. The Third Sunday has traditionally been a respite from the penitential themes of Advent emphasizing instead the joy of the coming of the Lord.

Thus many view the pink candle as emphasizing joy. As with most things liturgical, however, there is not consensus here. Some associate the candle with Mary and perhaps there’s confusion because Laetare Sunday — the Fourth Sunday in Lent — is the other occasion for rose-colored vestments. This is a slight misnomer, however, because this so-called Mothering Sunday refers not to Our Lady but to an old practice in England where the rich gave their servants the Sunday off to go home and visit their mothers. Indeed, Mary appears in the readings for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, not the third.

To go even further back, it’s worth looking at the history of Advent wreaths themselves. There is evidence that some pre-Christian Germanic people placed candles on wreaths in the middle of winter as a symbol of hope that the warm weather of spring would return. And ancient Scandinavians placed candles on wheels in “the bleak mid-winter” as an anticipatory devotion to the sun god. It wasn’t until the Middle Ages that Christians adopted the practice of the Advent wreath as a pre-Christmas devotion.

As I mentioned, some churches use rose-colored vestments twice a year — on the Fourth Sunday in Lent and the Third Sunday of Advent. Both days are seen as times of refreshment, feasting, and joy amid a penitential season. As well as an opportunity to look silly in pink, I mean rose, colored vestments.

So there you have it — a brief explanation about the pink candle that will be lit this Sunday. And as the light continues to build on the Advent wreath, so may the hopeful anticipation of meeting Christ anew build in your heart during this holy season.

Why a Pink Candle in the Advent Wreath?

Few things get church folks more riled up than a conversation about what color candles to use in the parish Advent Wreath. All purple, all white, all blue, all red, three blue and one pink, three purple and one pink, or some other color combination. And that's even before the discussion over whether or not to add a Christ Candle in the middle on Christmas Eve. I know one rector who was even accused of "ruining Advent" for using the "wrong" color of candles one year. Of course this is all high on Jesus' list, I'm sure.

In my parish, we use three purple candles with a pink candle lit on the Third Sunday of Advent. This is the traditional practice in most, by by no means all, liturgical churches. We don’t do this for aesthetics — we’re not trying to prep out by getting our Talbots on (yes, I live in Hingham, Massachusetts, home of Talbots). Nor is it because the males among us need to demonstrate just how secure we are in our masculinity. No, that third candle is pink (or technically rose-colored) because it’s Gaudete Sunday. Huh?

Okay, let me back up and do some explaining here. First of all, we refer to the Third Sunday in Advent as Gaudete Sunday because the introit for the mass begins “Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete” meaning “Rejoice in the Lord always: again I say rejoice.” While much of the penitential nature of the season has been lost in favor of hopeful expectation, some of the readings still do sound this note. The Third Sunday has traditionally been a respite from the penitential themes of Advent emphasizing instead the joy of the coming of the Lord.

Thus many view the pink candle as emphasizing joy. As with most things liturgical, however, there is not consensus here. Some associate the candle with Mary and perhaps there’s confusion because “Mothering Sunday” — the Fourth Sunday in Lent — is the other occasion for rose-colored vestments. This is a slight misnomer, however, because Mothering Sunday refers not to Our Lady but to an old practice in England where the rich gave their servants the Sunday off to go home and visit their mothers. Indeed, Mary appears in the readings for the Fourth Sunday in Advent, not the third. And, yes, some parishes light a pink candle on the Fourth Sunday of Advent rather than the Third, further muddying the waters.

To go even further back, it’s worth looking at the history of Advent wreaths themselves. There is evidence that some pre-Christian Germanic people placed candles on wreaths in the middle of winter as a symbol of hope that the warm weather of spring would return. And ancient Scandinavians placed candles on wheels in “the bleak mid-winter” as an anticipatory devotion to the sun god. It wasn’t until the Middle Ages that Christians adopted the practice of the Advent wreath as a pre-Christmas devotion.

As I mentioned, some churches use rose-colored vestments twice a year — on the Fourth Sunday in Lent and the Third Sunday in Advent. Both days are seen as times of refreshment, feasting, and joy amid a penitential season. I know a priest who, back when he was a curate, always celebrated the Eucharist on these two days. It seems the parish owned a rose set and the rector declared he never, ever wanted to wear pink at the altar!

So there you have it — a brief explanation about the pink candle that will be lit this Sunday. A least in some parishes. May this season bring you the joy of Christ as we continue in hopeful anticipation.