I had a choice this morning, quite a choice. I could preach on the Gospel - "You brood of vipers, who warned you to flee from the wrath to come - even now he has his winnowing fork in his hand, and the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire", or the Epistle - "Rejoice in the Lord always, again I will say rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near, do not worry about anything, and the peace of God will keep your hearts and minds". Guess which one I prefer?

Now there is also a good liturgical reason for choosing the Epistle - that alone preserves the evidence of why this Sunday is different, this Rose Sunday - this lighter-than/brighter-than-purple Sunday. The Epistle preserves a shred of the old Introit, that old Psalm introducing Mass on this Rose Sunday: Gaudete! Rejoice!

Most people find the season of Advent an already confusing season and now we come upon one Sunday smack in the middle of Advent which is completely unlike all the other surrounding Sundays of Advent.

Hence the rose candle - the other three are purple, the color of Advent. But this one Sunday we light a rose-colored candle. We'll be back to a purple one next Sunday.

Not a huge change, but a noticeable change, a shift in emphasis if you will. Which is just what this Sunday asks us to consider.

As purple is the generally expected color of Advent, so the generally acknowledged theme of Advent is preparation, and a strong and challenging emphasis is laid upon our role in participating in salvation - an active, committed, vigorous role:

"Cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light"; heeding the warnings of the prophets, we are to "forsake our sins"; we are to "repent and return to the Lord".

But this Sunday puts the ball squarely back in God's court - "Stir up your power and come among us". You do something, God. We are, we finally admit, too sorely hindered by our sins to cast away anything, much less "all the works of darkness". We are unable to heed anyone's warning about the disastrous course we are on. We are incapable of forsaking our sins - so you do it, God: "let your grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us," we finally cry out, with a kind of belated modesty.

The Sundays of Advent are trumpet calls: Prepare, The time is short, The day of the Lord is at hand, The coming of Christ approaches quickly, Prepare, Repent, Get ready, There is not a moment to lose.

And then this Sunday's Epistle and Introit: Rejoice. Relax. Don't get carried away. This strikes me as the most Anglican of all the Sundays of Advent: "Yes we should do all this stuff, but if you don't ... well it's not the end of the world. God is sweeter than you imagine him to be."

The Sundays of Advent call us to a serious, solemn, even somber preparation for the birth of the Savior, for the end of our lives, for the coming of Christ at the end of time - ours and as well as all creation's. And yet this Sunday begins with the ancient Introit, "Rejoice!" - not "Prepare", not "Repent", but "Rejoice!"

I need to hear that injunction from time to time. Rejoice!

I need to hear that I should prepare, that I should repent, should cast away the works of darkness, should put on the armor of light, should prepare the way of the Lord, should heed the prophets ... sigh ... But I also so desperately need to hear Zephaniah's reassurances:

"Sing aloud O Daughter of Sion, rejoice and exult with all your heart ... the Lord has taken away the judgments against you, he is in your midst you shall fear evil no more, he will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love, he will exult over you with loud singing ... he will restore your fortunes before your very eyes"

Yes, of course I need to hear John the Baptist's harsh warning when he appeared in the wilderness, preaching repentance and shouting: "You brood of vipers, who warned you to flee from the wrath to come ... bear fruit that befits repentance."

But most of us spend most of our time listening to the voices of all various preachers of repentance, usually voices deep within our own hearts and souls.

Occasionally, just occasionally, maybe only every Rose Sunday, I also need to hear that God renews me in his love and restores my fortunes and sets aside the outstanding warrants and judgments against me.

I need to hear that there is some hope, there is in fact, plenty of hope. Yes, we are a brood of vipers, but God seems to like this little brood of vipers. I need to hear that.

We are human, we're sinful, of course we want the pardon without all that repentance business, the good result without the preparation on our part, without an abiding commitment on our part, without being held accountable, responsible. And when we get too caught up in that, we need some desert preacher to wag his finger at us and say "You vipers, do something that befits repentance." But when we get too caught up in that, we need a Rose Sunday that says, "There, there, everything is going to be all right, the Lord is in change and he will make it all right, he will stir up his power, and one day you will sing and rejoice and exult."

We need to hear and know and believe that the day comes when God himself stirs himself up, comes among us, and puts it all aside - all the hurt and the pain and the wrong and sin, puts it all aside and then restores our fortunes before our very eyes.

Maybe this Sunday, which I called slightly different is more than slightly different for the other Sundays, and from much of our religious lives. The other Sundays call us to repent for all that we have done wrong. The other Sundays of the year ask us to do so many things, as we should. But this Sunday, this one lovely tender perfect Sunday simply calls us to remember and rejoice - remember that God is going to forgive us, he just is. So do repent, but have no anxiety, just accept the peace of God which passes our understanding, and always, everywhere, Rejoice.