Ten years ago, a few months after the horrific attacks on 9-11, a theologian who wrote a column for a religious magazine, said that he had a ―Prufrockian moment.‖ If you have no idea what in the world he meant, join the club. I didn’t either, until I read on.

The term Prufrockian entered the vocabulary after the 1917 publication of T. S. Eliot’s poem, ―The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.‖ Prufrock is an aging, inhibited man who is too afraid of life, of himself and what people would say, and too critical and careful and cautious to actually dare to live, to act on his desires. As Prufrock considers his unpursued ventures, he asks: ―Do I dare disturb the universe?‖ Of course, the universe is not looking, but still he asks: ―Do I dare? … Do I dare … With a bald spot in the middle of my hair?‖ And so, the figure of J. Alfred Prufrock came to stand for anyone who asks, ―Do I dare?‖ and who wonders, ―What will people say?‖ and a Prufrockian moment is the moment in which a person struggles with those questions.

The theologian’s Prufrockian moment came when his editor scheduled a light-hearted column he had written before 9-11 and which had been filed for a more appropriate time. But could such a time ever come? ―What will readers think?‖ the theologian wondered. ―Is it appropriate now to publish something that might look frivolous?‖ he asked himself. ―How can we best serve the memory of the dead, and have empathy for the frightened and sorrowing and express our own insecurities?‖ he wanted to know. ―By being henceforth, and always, grave?‖ he asked. ―Do I dare?‖ was what the theologian was really asking himself. ―Will I disturb the universe if I am light-hearted in such a time? Do I dare … With a bald spot in the middle of my hair?‖

Or to put it another way, does our rejoicing -- let alone being light-hearted -- mean that we are frivolous, shallow, really don’t care what others are going through? Does it mean that we care only about our little worlds? Is being grave the only way to show our concern? Even more, what if we are the ones who despair -- how can we possibly rejoice? Is the call to rejoice meant only for those times in which all is going well?

So, do we dare? Yes. Because the call to rejoice is the call to rejoice in the Lord. It is to rejoice in what God has done in Christ, what God is doing, and what God will do. The ability to rejoice rises out of faith -- the faith that believes in the impossible possibilities God can work, the faith that gives an invincible security in the face of all things, the faith that sees the hope beyond hope that God shall make things right in the end and all shall be well.

And yet, to follow the way of Christ is to take seriously the anguish and suffering of others, feel the deep sadness of what others go through and seek to bring help and healing to them. It is to live with grave concern for others, this world.

In truth, people of faith are to be ―grave-merry‖ people, people who are deeply caring and yet have a carefreeness about them, whose hearts are still capable of breaking at the sight of suffering and yet who are also light of heart. Because finally, their trust is in the Lord.

And so yes, let us dare to rejoice -- especially in grave and difficult times -- and be people of deep and abiding faith who believe in the God who can bring to birth things of wonder and work new life and great hope, who live the truth of the good new of the One born at Bethlehem.