Scottish Catholic Observer

THIS coming Sunday, the Third in Advent, is sometimes referred to as ‘Gaudete Sunday.’ The name derives from the Latin Antiphon for the Mass ‘Gaudete in Domino semper,’ which is itself taken from St Paul’s encouraging words to the Philippians: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice,” (Gaudete in Domino semper; iterum dico, gaudete).

In place of the purple, or violet, vestments which are worn throughout the Advent season, this Sunday permits the use of rose. I say ‘permits’ but in my book it actually says ‘requires’: just as the third candle in the Advent wreath is rose, so too should Father’s vestments be of a similar colour.

Of course, this is not a view universally shared among clergy. I have had to set my face like flint against ridicule and insult from certain quarters, most of which centres on the mistaken belief—impervious to correction—that the colour is pink.

It pains me to say that some of this liturgical grief has also arisen in the sanctuary of St Joseph’s with our permanent deacon, Deacon Paul, joining in the pink-related mockery of his PP. Some months ago, I decided to silence this particular source of liturgical mischief by acquiring a fetching set of rose diaconal vestments. No longer would there be ‘clashing’ among the ministers of the Bow on the Third Sunday of Advent and the Fourth Sunday of Lent.

Sadly, as I have mentioned before, Paul has had a bit of a fight on his hands lately with cancer and he has stepped back from his duties since the end of September. I have been warning him for the past few weeks that he had better get back on his feet in time for Gaudete Sunday because there is no way I am letting him off without appearing in public arrayed in decidedly not-pink vestments.

As it stands, I’m not sure he will be able to honour that engagement but I am still determined that he will wear them—even if it’s to receive Holy Communion at home. And there will be photographic evidence on the parish Facebook page and Twitter feed to prove it. Not that I’m petty or anything.

The lighter hue of vestments is a reminder that the palette of the Roman Rite is often richer and more varied than our liturgical celebrations have let on. The wearing of rose instead of violet or purple in these great seasons of preparation is the embodiment of a command to be—not just feel—joyful. And there is a difference.

A cause of joy to me at this time is the treemendous (pun intended) generosity of my parishioners in response to our annual Giving Tree appeal. Like some other parishes, St Joseph’s has adopted this very practical way of focusing our Advent charity on members of our community. We have two trees bedecked with tags which correspond with a wish-list for local groups as well as our elderly and housebound parishioners.

Last year, since Greenock’s allocation of Syrian refugee families are housed in the parish and the children attend St Joseph’s Primary, I included our newest neighbours among the recipients of our tree gifts. I was especially gratified by the kindness extended to this particular group by our parishioners. I was advised, however, by the key worker liaising with the families that all gifts would be opened prior to distribution to ensure that they were appropriate. After all, the last thing you want to give a wee boy who has just fled the violent destruction of his homeland is a toy gun.

Overall the response to last year’s appeal was truly overwhelming and the chapel house was filled to overflowing, drawing the journalistic attention of The Greenock Telegraph, who came for a photoshoot and, perhaps as an unintended consequence of the photoshoot, catching the eye of some opportunistic criminals. They jemmied their way into my garage, thinking perhaps that the gifts were stashed there. All they found was my Vauxhall Corsa and a mound of industrial gritting salt. So they left empty-handed, God bless them.

This year’s gifts have begun to come in and it looks as though last year’s record will be under threat, so I’ll have to be on guard against unwanted visitors. My dog, Jasmine, isn’t much help on the security front: as soon as she sees a stranger (or anyone for that matter), she simply rolls over and demands tummy rubs.

An early Christmas present of my very own arrived this week in the form of the revised Order of Celebrating Matrimony which has just been published. This has been quite a long time coming but those who have worked on it deserve our thanks for a job well done. It gives a fresh translation of the marriage rites and offers the celebrant and the couple a wider choice of formats, prayers and blessings. I like the regular inclusion of the phrase ‘dearly beloved’: this might sound a little old-fashioned to some ears, but I think it chimes perfectly with the slightly more poetic rendering of the texts in this revised edition.

On a few occasions, I have met with a little disappointment on the part of couples who thought they would be allowed to write their own vows. This is mainly down to seeing this done during weddings on TV.

Whilst thanking them for their efforts, I have had to gently set aside these touching expressions of commitment. Promising to ‘walk hand-in-hand along life’s beach’ is a noble aspiration, but promising to be a ‘friend and cuddle monkey’ really adds nothing to the matrimonial bond as the Church understands it.

Thankfully this new Order offers two forms of Consent and, significantly, adds ‘to love and to cherish’ to the first option and ‘to love you and honour you’ to the second. It always struck me as a little odd that the translation used up until now omitted the word ‘love’ from what really amounts to the ‘words of consecration’ in this Sacrament.

Sadly, it will be well into next year before I have a chance to hear these words spoken in my presence by a couple ministering to each other in ‘the house of the Church.’ That lovely little phrase, another innovation (or should I say restoration) in this revised Order, translates the Latin ‘domus ecclesiae,’ which was also the term for ‘house churches’—meeting places of the Christian assembly in private dwellings in Rome and elsewhere. It’s a gentle reminder to us all that the family, established in its fullest sense by the sacrament of matrimony, is itself a domestic church.

In the meantime, with the wedding season in St Joseph’s a long way off, I shall have to content myself with the approach of the Bridegroom in our Advent liturgy and the other material preparations associated with it. I reckon ‘the house of the church’ is also a respectable term for presbytery: as mine begins to fill up with gifts from the generous hearts of my parishioners, I feel blessed to be ‘wedded’ to this community—till death (or the bishop) do us part.