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Here is a story about the Baal Shem Tov, the 18^th century Jewish spiritual teacher and founder of Hasidism. "Once, on the evening of the Day of Atonement, the moon was hidden behind the clouds and the Baal Shem Tov was unable to go out and say the required Blessing of the New Moon. This weighed heavily on his spirit, for now, as often before, he felt a tremendous responsibility had been laid upon him. For without his blessing, the celebration could not begin. And if he could not see the moon, he could not bless it. In vain he strained his soul in prayer to alter the state of the sky. But whenever he sent someone out, he was told that the clouds had grown even more impenetrable. Finally he gave up hope.

"Meanwhile, his followers, the Hasidim, who assumed that the blessing had taken place and knew nothing of the Baal Shem’s grief, had gathered in the front room of the house and begun to dance, for on this evening that was their way of celebrating the atonement for the year, brought about by the Baal Shem’s priestly service. When their holy delight mounted higher and higher, they invaded the Baal Shem’s chamber, still dancing. They found him seated there sunk in gloom. But overwhelmed in their own frenzy of happiness, they took him by the hands, and drew him into the circle. And at that very moment, someone outside called. The night had suddenly grown light; and in greater radiance than ever before, the moon shone forth in a miracle of flawless brilliance."

Sounds crazy, no? It’s a nice story. And it’s a mysterious story. Why? Because it turns upside down our logical and sensible ways. The reasonable pattern is: Things are bad. The times are in darkness. You pray for improvement, you work to make things better, you hope against hope, and if and when things eventually get better, you celebrate. That makes sense. And as a holy man to his people, that was what the Baal Shem Tov’s job entailed. You wait for the Day of Atonement. But you can’t celebrate until the moon first shines forth into the darkness. Then the moon is blessed and then the party begins. But on this occasion, it didn’t work that way at all. The process had ground to a halt. The holy man was helpless. But the people, who didn’t know any better, were swept up in joy, and they swept him up as well. And it was as if this celebration itself whisked away the clouds obscuring the light of the moon. The people’s determination to celebrate turned darkness into light.

I thought of this story in reflecting on the passage from the Prophet Isaiah. In last week’s scripture from Isaiah, he offered a word of comfort to those weary Hebrew exiles yearning to return home. In today’s lesson, the tone has changed. The prophet is now proclaiming the good news that their return is actually at hand. They are going home very, very soon. But his words are not simply about raising their hopes even higher. Now the prophet is saying "Go ahead and celebrate even though you are still in darkness. Celebrate wholeheartedly now, as if the light were here." Israel’s people celebrate the arrival of what has not yet come. Their rejoicing is an act of courage, a deed of daring.

In the traditional Christian calendar, this Sunday has been called Gaudete Sunday, which means, taken from the Latin, "dare to rejoice." "Dare to rejoice" Sunday! What does this mean? It means that we are so confident of the future that we can rejoice now with all our hearts. And our very act of rejoicing changes the present, and may well change the future.

It is a high calling to celebrate in the face of trouble, or loss, or oppression. It is not hard to hope for better things to come, but it takes courage to actually dance in the darkness. To dance in this way is to express an absolute confidence in what God has done and what God will do. This goes beyond simple hope. It goes to a daring to totally wrap ourselves in joy, indeed to wrap the whole world in joy, like a big Christmas present.

For the Jews in the story I began with, the Day of Atonement meant reconciliation and new life. In the darkness, we can hope for this. But to truly rejoice is to live right now in reconciliation and new life, to live as people who have already received it. To live that way completely changes the present. Even when we are in deep sorrow, if we can wrap ourselves in the joy that new life brings, that new life has already arrived.

Try this. What do you hope for? For what do you wholeheartedly yearn? For yourself. For others. For the world. Perhaps your hopes are sensible and realistic. Perhaps they are grand. What would you do if those hopes came true? What would you do if the phone rang, or a letter arrived, or a person appeared with the good news? How would you feel? Would you dance? Would you sing? I ask this because you can experience that right now. Right now. That wonderful good thing for which you long is like a fragment of God, a glimmer of the light, a taste of the glorious whole. But you already have the greatest possible wish come true. You already have a God who is so near to you that you’ve missed this God’s presence. You may be in darkness, but that doesn’t stop God at all. For God is there in the darkness as well as the light.

So you can dance now. You can dance whether the moon is visible or not. The moon is there and its light is there whether you can see it or not. And your dancing will clear away the clouds. AMEN.

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