Husbands, You Will Benefit From Your Wife's (and Other Women's) Theology

Lottie Moon
Baptist Missionary
Egalitarian Icon?

Some odd stuff is going on over at the SBC and within fundamentalist circles. There's the ongoing struggle over "Calvinism" (by which they mean only a Calvinist view of Divine Election) between Southern Baptist seminaries and leaders. There's the debate over eternal subordination within the Trinity. And then there's the odd move within the circle of ESV translators to say that Eve's desire will be "contrary" to Adam (a translation choice they moved to make permanent before backtracking).  So many of these debates have taken aim at a single issue: feminism. Women's rights are in the crosshairs. Even in the debate over subordinationism, the issue isn't the Son's obedience to the Father; rather, it's an attempt to make an argument from the inner workings of the immanent Trinity to the inner workings of human marriage (more on this in a later post).

Many of these odd debates and massive breaks from tradition are part of an attempt to argue that women are lesser than men. For the likes of Grudem, Piper, and Mohler, it is no longer enough to claim that Scripture forbids women from preaching or serving as elders and deacons; rather, they are attempting to reshape all of theology in the image of 1950s suburban America. In the new Fundamentalist understanding of gender, men are men only when they rule over the household, and women are women only when they stay at home to produce dinner and children.


The Fundamentalists are playing a dangerous game. While they confess with their lips that men and women are created as equal, their theology undermines this at every turn. In turn, their theology gives way to rampant abuse. With all of their language of men as protectors, they fail to stand up to the abusers hiding in their congregations. Look no further than CJ Mahaney and Sovereign Grace Ministries. Mahaney refused to take action to protect women and children in his parishes, and he is welcomed with open arms -- and a quick dismissal of his critics -- to address Together for the Gospel. This wasn't some tiny, no-name congregation with an "under-the-radar" scandal; that would have been despicable enough. Rather, this was a scandal at the heart of the complementarian movement, and it was largely ignored.

Consider The Gospel Coalition's attempt to argue for male superiority from the first three chapters of Genesis:

In Genesis 2:15-17 he speaks to Adam, commanding him to “cultivate” and “keep/guard” the Garden of Eden (v. 15). God forbids Adam from eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (v. 17) and warns him that disobedience leads to judgment. The word of God comes to Adam before Eve is even created (v. 22). This suggests that Adam, as Eve's leader, was tasked with conveying God's commands to her.

The article goes on to suggest that God interacts with women (Eve) through men (Adam), while the serpent attacks men (Adam) through women (Eve). This convoluted argument has led some theologians in these circles to argue that Adam's original sin was listening to Eve rather than eating the forbidden fruit:

Adam as head must take responsibility for the fall. God commissioned him to rule and subdue all creation. Ironically, a reptilian creature and a piece of fruit brought down the man who was meant to rule them. In the process he failed at leading his wife.

And then the reverse must also be true: that Eve's sin was her failure to submit to Adam's authority. Grudem himself makes a similar argument in Biblical Foundations for Manhood and Womanhood, suggesting that independent women become "usurpers" (cf. p 39). While self-styled "complementarians" say that Adam is at fault for failing to fully lead, their arguments arrive at the logical conclusion that Eve's sin was to disregard her husband's authority rather than acting contrary to the command of God.

Building on this complex understanding of pre-original sin within the Fall, the SBC Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission's Ronni Kurz boldly proclaims: "Husband, your wife will benefit from your theology." His gist:

Imagine Adam standing up at the beginning of the dialogue and saying, “Eve, no. We know that God, who gave us each other and the garden, is our satisfaction and delight. We lack nothing when we have him.” While we’ll never know if this hypothetical situation would have changed the outcome, the moral of the story remains: husbands should seek theological awareness—and obedience to that knowledge—for the good of their marriages.
...
Husbands, your wives need you to deeply know the Lord and his ways. She needs you to have thought critically about the gospel. She needs you to have sat in awe at the depth of Christ and be ready with all your might to show and lead her to the truth. She needs your theology.

Now let me be perfectly clear: I affirm the title, that wives benefit from theologically sound husbands. But I also affirm that husbands benefit from theologically sound wives, and parents benefit from theologically sound children.

Fundamentalists in the complementarian camp would have us believe that women have little to offer to the Church, that they need defending and guidance because God did not bless them with the full imago Dei. Somehow, in the complementarian world, women lack something that men have. The complementarian position is, to paraphrase Orwell, that all people are equal, but some are more equal than others.

This could not be further from the truth.

First, they apply a twisted heremeneutic. They ignore Genesis 1, in which male and female are created together on the sixth day, in the image of God, as equals and the capstone of all creation. This poor exegetical method also assumes that by being created at the end, from Adam, that Eve is somehow inferior rather than seeing men and women as bookends of creation. And, lest we forget, Adam is formed from such mundane material as dirt, whereas Eve is created from something as noble as Adam.

(There is plenty more to say about scriptural arguments, and written by people far more experienced than I. As a starting point, head over to the Christians for Biblical Equality website.)

Secondly, though, and more importantly, let us consider the real, lived value of women in the community of faith. And since Kurz is playing fanciful games of "What if the Fall didn't happen?" let me propose my own sceneario: Imagine if, rather than Adam standing up (as Kurz suggests), Eve had said to the serpent, "Uh. No. Nice try, but the Lord has commanded that I not eat of this tree. The Lord has provided a garden for my beloved and I, and I will put my faith in God the Creator rather than in a creature." Boom, problem solved. No Adam necessary.

But since, hypotheticals aside, sin has entered the world, let us consider the role of women in Scripture: Miriam and Deborah led the people of Israel. The Blessed Virgin Mary brought Christ into the world -- and without asking her betrothed for permission. Mary Magdalene was the apostle to the Apostles. Phoebe and Junia led the early Church.

Saint Clare of Assisi

Throughout history, women have been vitally important to the Church. Helena and Monica shaped the thoughts and devotion of their sons, Constantine and Augustine. Consider the import of Clare and Julian and Teresa. Where would the Church of England be without the reign of Elizabeth I? Think about Lottie Moon and Mother Teresa.

From personal experience, I cannot tell you how important the voices of women have been in shaping my thought. Women in ministry -- professors, seminarians, and clergy -- have brought forward issues I never would have considered. Even in areas of disagreement, women have pushed me to clarify my own thought and, in cases, convinced me of my own shortcomings. Some of the most innovative parishes are those being led by women in clerical collars. The entire Church catholic has benefited from their vocation.

My wife, through her own inquisitiveness, research, insight, and brilliance, has pushed me to deeply wrestle with issues I would have never given a second thought without her prodding. She is my most valued sounding board, editor, and reviewer; my preaching would suffer were it not for her. My wife, a dedicated and faithful laywoman, points out issues that I, after a decade of education in religion and theology and work in ministry, have never considered.

I have benefited from her theology, and I have benefited from the theology of women across the ages. Women are leading the Church, from the Pulpit and the Altar and from in the pews. Women have much to offer -- not just for the benefit of men, but for the entire Church. This argument isn't just about what women can do for men. Men most certainly do benefit from strong women. Rather, this is about what God is doing through Creation and the Church. It's about the vital role women have in the Body of Christ and the role of the Church as an in-breaking of the restored Creation.

The Holy Spirit is at work across the Church, sending us to call all people to God; and She has given women a strong voice.

Russell Moore and SBC Infighting

Shortly after the election, I mentioned, in passing, the Fundamentalist failure to decry Donald Trump's racism and religious bigotry. One name stood out among the rest: Russell Moore, the president of the Southern Baptist Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission. Think of him as the SBC's chief lobbyist.

Moore was the most prominent Fundamentalist voice criticizing Donald Trump -- and he was largely alone. Moore was among the few willing to criticize the president-elect not only for Trump's adultery but also for his verbal attacks on women, people of color, immigrants, and Muslims.

Moore stood alone as most of his colleagues caved in: Wayne Grudem, Jerry Fallwell, and Richard Land (Moore's predecessor at the helm of the ERLC).

Now Moore is facing the predictable back-lash.

The Religion News Service is reporting:

[...]The Wall Street Journal reported some of Moore’s critics are considering withdrawing support for the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, which Moore has led since 2013. 

The Journal quoted Robert Jeffress, senior pastor at First Baptist Dallas and a Trump supporter, who said members of his church don’t believe the ERLC “represents our church’s beliefs.” 

Some SBC members fear Moore’s stances will limit their access to the new administration. And Louisiana Baptists have asked their leaders to study recent actions of the ERLC, though the convention’s executive director, David Hankins, called defunding the agency “a last resort.”

Moore, for his part, is apologizing if Baptists thought he was attacking their faith (a marginal courtesy he has not extended to those of us who support LGBT rights).

Evangelical columnist Jonathan Merritt's take on the controversy is well worth reading in full, but here's the gist:

Apparently, funds should go toward mission efforts unless they can buy Baptists access to the president. 

Many Southern Baptists believe Trump represents their best hope at social dominance, or at least social renewal. They naturally want someone who is well-positioned to capitalize on their political agenda, not someone sitting in the bleachers watching it from afar. But unlike these Southern Baptists, Moore will not trade his principles and positions for a seat at the president’s table.

 I disagree with Russell Moore on no shortage of issues, but I applaud his bold willingness to stand up to the political hungry voices of his own denomination.

Lex Credendi: Liturgy is Not Enough

Last month, I wrote about the identity-bearing narratives used by white nationalists, especially co-opting certain elements of Romanticism, to build up a mythology of white male superiority. I suggested that the Church has a better narrative and better rituals which expose the violent lies of white nationalism:

The Church has better rituals than the racists. Ours are Good, True, and Beautiful. Our rituals are means of grace, by which God is present in our midst. The Holy Spirit hovers over the water in our baptismal font. Our Risen Lord meets us on the Altar Table. 

When the Church celebrates the Divine Service of the Holy Eucharist, we re-tell the grand narrative that God created the world and has redeemed humanity from our own demonic actions. We re-live our forgiveness and reconciliation, we greet each other as equals with a sign of God's peace, and we are re-membered into the one everlasting Body of Christ. And then we are sent forth in peace to serve the Lord.

I stand by what I said. The Sacraments, and the liturgy by which we celebrate them, are means of grace, and through them, God is continuing to redeem the cosmos.

Upon further reflection, though, I feel I must concede an ugly truth: racism lives on, even in liturgical traditions. The most pressing example is Dylan Roof, the terrorist who martyred nine black Christians in Charleston, SC. Roof was raised in a Lutheran (ELCA) congregation -- and one just a few miles from Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary.

More broadly, the Roman Catholic Church still has its dark corners. During the 2016 campaign, a leaked e-mail from a Democratic operative claimed that many GOP members were Catholics because they were "attracted to the systematic thought and severely backwards gender relations" and the Roman Church is "the most socially acceptable politically conservative religion." And while I know too many progressive faithful Catholics to believe that the Catholic Church is "politically conservative" (rather, like the entire Church, Catholicism defies human political binaries), there is a disturbing truth to the leaked letter.

Consider Rudy Giulliani and Newt Gingrich, Catholics who treat the Church as a useful political tool but seem to be unconcerned with any of the Church's teachings on fidelity in marriage, the death penalty, or care for the poor.

More to the point, though, consider Milo Yiannopolous, a leading voice against women's rights and Islam. (To the point of my previous post, he took on the name of the German composer Wagner.) Yiannopolous claims to be a practicing Catholic.

More terrifying examples abound on the fringes of Rome, in movements that have been excommunicated. Antisemitism runs rampant in the "traditionalist" Latin-only organizations like the Society of Saint Pius X and its own break-away group, the Society of Saint Pius V.

Things get even weirder when you look at some of the Facebook pages dedicated to Eastern Orthodoxy. Mixed in with the videos of the Divine Liturgy and pictures of monks are dire warnings about the scourge of Islam, praises of Putin and the new Russian nationalism, and other troubling signs of European ethnic supremacy.

Certain groups embrace Catholicism and Orthodoxy not only because they are "socially acceptable" but because they play into the mythos of white nationalism. A small faction co-opts the beauty of the liturgical tradition and the violent medieval and Renaissance history of Rome and Constantinople.

Crusaders Entering Constantinople
Gustave Dore, 19th cent.

We've seen this before: 19th century British Romanticism saw both a recovery of the Catholic liturgy alongside a glorification of images of crusading knights, both as ways of bolstering British colonial attitudes. Neo-gothic parishes and cathedrals soared alongside stylized depictions of King Richard the Lionheart. Crusade language is not uncommon. They play up the imagery of Constantinople -- and Kiev and Moscow -- as the last lines of defense against the "Turks." They play up the imagery of a Holy Roman Empire fighting a holy war against invaders -- from Eastern Europe, from North Africa, from the Levant.

In short, there is a terrifying move to use the beautiful solemnity of the liturgy as a veneer for racism, to radicalize young men in the Church.

I have long been an advocate for the phrase lex orandi, lex credendi -- the law of prayer, the law of belief. What we say and do during the Mass shapes our faith. I still hold to this. But it is not enough -- or, more correctly, we need to follow through with the second half of the saying.

All too often, we settle for aesthetic liturgy devoid of any sense of orthodoxy. We leave our praxis at in the pews and at the Altar, rather than going out to live in the world as the Body of Christ.

To expose the powers and principalities that would corrupt the Church and its liturgy, we must be clear in our theology. We must be willing to label sin and evil, to point them out. We must be able to point to the Creeds and Scripture, do a doctrine of Creation, that dismantles racism. We must be able to explain what it means when we continually quote the First Epistle of Saint John, that "God is love." Those of us with the unenviable task of climbing into the pulpit must be willing to address the horror of sin, evil, and death -- not as obstacles to holistic living, but as forces that oppose God. Teachers must be catechists, willing to dissect what it means to "renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God" and to "put your whole trust in [Christ's] grace and love."

And then, we must be willing to actually go in peace and serve the Lord. The dismissal is not some polite suggestion. It's part of what makes us an apostolic Church: that we are sent out to prepare the way of the Lord. It's not vain repetition -- unless we fail to heed the commandment.

If we fail to believe what we do, we risk treating the Divine Service like a facade, a hollow structure used to hide the ugliness underneath. God has given us the Sacraments as means of grace to transform that ugliness, not hide it.

Pfatteicher's Dissent

Throughout my series, I've suggested that expressing continuity between Advent and Lent is desirable. Philip Pfatteicher, Lutheran liturgist extraordinaire and among my academic heroes, disagrees.  Here's his thinking from the Manual on the Liturgy for the Lutheran Book of Worship:

The traditional color of Advent purple, the royal color of the coming King. The preferred color in the Lutheran Book of Worship, however, is blue, which has a precedent in the Swedish Church and in the Mozarabic rite. Blue suggests hope, a primary theme of Advent. In any case, the Advent parakeets should not be the same as those used for Lent, for the character of the two seasons is quite different, and the only symbol common to both seasons is the Lamb of God.

No word on if his reasoning pertains exclusively to symbols embroider on the vestments and paraments (such as a Star of Bethlehem for Advent and the Spear of Longinus for Lent) or if his thinking extends to even simple vestments free of added emblems.

Color and Adiaphora

I have repeatedly chalked liturgical colors up to a matter of adiaphora. At the end of the day, I'm not terribly concerned.

Have I spent the better part of a week researching and writing about liturgical colors? Yes. Because I'm a nerd.

Am I going to excommunicate anyone over it? No.

Still, I don't believe adiaphora is synonymous with "unimportant." Those charged with caring for sacred things should always think carefully about everything. The seemingly trivial decisions we make have resounding implications.

In the words of Paul Strodach, from his liturgical commentary A Manual on Worship:

Use of Liturgical Colors, and hangings and vestments in such colors, are not arbitrary or recent invention or innovation. They are the development of church sue and expression through many centuries. There is a definite purpose in their employment: it is to teach through the eye. They are symbolic, and by this means the worshiper receives constantly and silently an external comment or lesson which calls to mind the period of the Church Year through which he is passing, in which he is worshiping, and the great facts of redemption memorialized. Such a contribution is very helpful: it adds its individual not to the great harmony of the worship in which he is engaging.

Prepare the Way: Penitence in Advent

Perhaps the largest point of contention for the Great Blue/Purple Debate is the function of Advent. Is it a time of preparation or of hope?

I addressed this briefly in my post on Monday, but allow me to build on what I said.

If we consider the texts assigned in the RCL and the preceding lectionaries, we see a decided emphasis on penitence as part of preparation. Yes, Isaiah has a good deal to say about hope and renewal, but John the Baptist is there, too, calling us to repentance.

Furthermore, the origins of Advent -- shrouded in the fog of historical distance though they are -- hint at penitential origins. From Bishop J. Neil Alexander's entry on Advent in The New Westminster Dictionary of Liturgy and Worship:

Fifth- and sixth-century evidence shows a variety of penitential observances in Gaul and Spain lasting as many as six weeks. Some have sought the origin of Advent in the practice of Epiphany baptism by noting parallels to the shape of Lent. Others have called attention to sixth-century synodical documents and episcopal decrees that enjoin the faithful to penitence from the feast of Martin of Tours to the feast of Epiphany. Still others have taken note of the fast of the tenth month of pagan Rome and suggest that Advent may have begun as a response of the church in the continuing memory of the pagan winter fast.

Missing from Bp. Alexander's account is the parallel of the long season of fasting that leads to the Orthodox celebration of the Nativity. The good bishop goes on to remind us that there is no consensus concerning the origins of Advent. Still, their does appear to be unity among the theories -- and our Orthodox kindred's analogous fast -- of a penitential Advent.

Paul Strodach sums up the role of Advent -- and Lent -- beautifully in his brief explanation of the color:

Violet, the color of royal mourning, is scheduled for periods of preparation and penitence.

To reiterate my conclusion from Monday, I am less concerned about the color than the function behind it. Wear blue if you want. But please -- PLEASE -- do not neglect the dual function of both penitence and hope as we prepare for the Advent of our Lord.

Black, Violet, and Blue

Pope Cope

In digging around some of my liturgical textbooks, I came across Martin Dudley's entry on liturgical colors in The New Westminster Dictionary of Liturgy and Worship (which, in my humble opinion, should be a required text for anyone involved in liturgical planning). He remarks on the connection between blue, violet, and black vestments:

Black, violet, and blue seem to be interchangeable in the medieval palette, and black was used in Jerusalem in Advent and on Christmas Eve instead of violet and was also assigned to feasts of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This is perhaps part of the development of blue as Mary's colour, as found in Cologne.

Those who argue for certain Marian overtones -- or at least a connection between the colors of Advent and Marian feasts -- do have some room to argue from Tradition, my own misgivings notwithstanding.

Later in the entry, Dudley points to differences between purple: purpureus indicates the "red-purple" and violaceus a "blue-purple." Such distinction does survive today in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal, if memory serves.

Which brings me to a point of minutiae: I tend to call the liturgical color "purple," but properly it is called "violet." From Pfatteicher's Commentary on the Lutheran Book of Worship:

The drafters of the Commons Service Book  and the Service Book and Hymnal knew the tradition out of which they came and so specified "violet" as the proper color for Advent and Lent, translating  violaceus of the Roman rubrics. The name, in Latin and in English, was intended to describe a blue-purple. The editors of the Lutheran Book of Worship, bowing to prevailing popular practiced, used "purple" to describe the color rather than "violet," but the book encourages the use of blue, listing it first.

Work to Do While We Wait: In Praise and Defense of a Purple Advent

One of the fastest ways to start a light-hearted argument in a Lutheran church is to bring up the blue/purple debate around Advent.

Disclaimer: Results may vary. Author is not responsible for any threats of excommunication which may be incurred. Warning: Do not attempt on ELCA Clergy Facebook page as the debate may escalate quickly. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

Knowing that I'm treading into unduly controversial waters, let me throw a couple of cards on the table:

• My background is in the United Methodist tradition. Growing up in the 90s and 00s, purple was still the preferred color for Advent. Purple for Advent brings back a lot of nostalgia. (Also, good Lord, am I old enough to have nostalgia?)
• I'm convinced that the term adiaphora was coined specifically to resolve debates about liturgical colors. I can think of few things that matter less. Yes, colors have meanings attached to them, but these attachments are incredibly diverse. We'll come back to this, but suffice it to say that the liturgical colors aren't on the back side of the Ten Commandments. This is not a hill I'm willing to die on. In the end, if you want to send your altar guild on a shopping spree to buy a full set of blue vestments and paraments, go right ahead.
• It's adiaphor, but I'm still passionate about it.
• I favor simplicity when it comes to vestments and paraments. Which is to say, vestments and paraments should be free of large, elaborate illustrations and words. (Looking at you, Gaspard.) In the same line of thought, the fewer sets needed, the better. If you can get away with using one set for two seasons, do it.
• I'm not even going near the use of a rose candle and vestments for Gaudete Sunday. I don't know why some people detest the rose candle so much, but they do. They're wrong, but they do.

So...what color should we use for Advent?

My first instinct is to look at the Tradition. What colors have we used in the past, and why?

Unfortunately, this is not an easy question to answer -- partially because there wasn't a universal custom. Certain proponents of blue will point to the Sarum Rite, and some of the more liturgically savvy proponents of blue prefer to call it "Sarum Blue" -- but the Sarum Rite actually calls for black during Advent AND Lent (hints of a connection we'll revisit later on). I've also seen that the Swedish Church used blue, but I haven't found a firm source on this -- not that I've looked very hard.

As an aside, I have read that different dyes fade to different colors, and so the black vestments in common use may have faded to different colors based on what type of dye was used. Thus, in certain areas, the black Advent and Lent vestments faded to blue, and in other areas, where a different dye was in use, they faded to purple. I like this explanation, and you can read a variation of it here.

The one problem with the above explanation is that it fails to explain for the new-found distinction between Advent and Lent. Some parishes would use blue, others purple. Sure, that makes sense. But when and why did they start using different colors between seasons?

As far as I can tell, the primary color during the first half of the 20th century was purple. Across the board, in Roman Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran, and Methodist parishes. Across the US, and presumably Europe as well. And then, suddenly, the Lutheran Book of Worship tossed a hand grenade into the fray, listing blue as the preferred color for Advent. To be fair, I don't think they realized how passionate some parties would become about the liturgical color.

That timeline, by the way, is probably why it has become such a hot-button issue. Advent and Christmas are times when the liturgy gives way to nostalgia. For congregations that adopted the change quickly, they've been using it for nearly forty years. Even late adopters have been going on twenty. That means that we have two generations of people working in ministry who have firm associations of the blue Advent of their childhood, the same way I have firm memories of the purple from my own youth. Neither of us wants to admit that our childhood pastor could have been wrong.

Tradition struck out. What about the colors themselves, can light can they offer?

Colors and their meanings are remarkably fluid. Green, the color we associate with new life and growth, is also associated with envy. You rarely hear about a blue blood with a blue collar job. Pink and blue, the "traditional" distinctions for baby girls and boys, were reversed not long ago.

The main point I hear is that blue is the color of hope.

Prove it.

No, seriously, I want someone to show me an article from the history of art or theology that connects blue and hope -- and before the great Purple/Blue Advent shift. I've seen and heard this article numerous times, but nobody has ever backed up the claim with anything. What makes blue the color of hope? Do we only think this because it was a way to make sense of the new, blue frontal on the pulpit?

If blue is the color of hope, sure, fine, we have a place to start a conversation. But saying it's so does not make it so. It's okay if you want to start a new tradition, but don't make up facts to support your position.

A smaller group points to the connection between blue and the Blessed Virgin Mary. Fair enough, I'll buy that as a foundation, but I have two points of contention. First, given the prevalence of the Lutheran Book of Worship in starting this debate, I would find it difficult to believe that Marian devotion played a significant role. Believe me, as an Evangelische Catholic, I would love to see a renewed devotion to the Blessed Mother, but I doubt that it was a driving force for Lutheran liturgical decisions. Secondly, Mary plays only a small part in Advent; she doesn't show up until Week IV.

Both sides lay claim to the royal connections to their colors, and both sides are correct. From Rev. David Hansen's blog, linked above:

Yes, blue is the color of royalty -- but so is purple. Both colors of fabric were very expensive in the days before chemical dyes, because they required such deep, rich colored berries. If you lived around the Mediterranean, chances are your royalty wore purple -- because those were the berries (or other natural dyes) in wide use. If you lived in Northern Europe, chances are your royalty wore blue -- because those were the berries available.

Purple and blue have royal associations, and thus both are appropriate for our expectation of Christ's advent.

Advocates for a blue Advent this year also point to the penitential implications behind purple. And they're right! We use purple during Lent, and priests and pastors wear purple when visiting the hospital and hearing confession.

So really, it comes down to this: Do Advent and Lent have anything in common? Does Advent have a penitential aspect to it?

Yes. Absolutely, yes.

The liturgical calendar has a sort of symmetry about it. We mark two seasons of purple, in which we wait with proleptic anticipation for that which has happened and will happen, in penitence and hope, for Christ to show up -- in Bethlehem and Jerusalem and at the Resurrection of the Dead. The two purple seasons are followed by the two white and gold seasons, when we celebrate Christ's triumph -- his birth, and then when he returns as the First Born from among the dead. And then each of those seasons are followed by the green of ordinary time.

As we anticipate both the Nativity and the Parousia, we are called to reflect on our own shortcomings. Christ came as a savior and redeemer, and will return as a savior and redeemer. As we await both the Triduum and the Resurrection of the Dead, we are called to reflect on our own shortcomings.

Our Orthodox sisters and brothers understand this; they mark their equivalent of Advent with a full fast.

Using purple for Advent reminds us of the inherent connection between the seasons of the Church year while also reminding us that there is work to be done while we wait.

If our only goal is to differentiate between Advent and Lent, then we are going down the wrong path. Some would dismiss the penitential aspect of Advent -- as though that's the only meaning purple has -- while insisting that Advent is about hopeful preparation. But this misses the mark. Both seasons are about preparation, and preparation requires both penitence and hope. Both seasons call us to an introspective penitence while also joining in the hopeful expectation of Christ's coming in glory. In Advent, we prepare for the Feast of the Nativity, when Christ entered our world, and for Christ's return. In Lent, we prepare for Holy Week, the Triumphal Entry, the Passion, and the Resurrection, and for our Lord's return.

Put up blue, if you want. But please, don't deny the essential connection between Advent and Lent.