Last Sunday, many of us celebrated the Transfiguration of Our Lord, and the closing Sunday of the Epiphany season. Septuagesima, approaching this Sunday, sees us say farewell to the Alleluia and to the Gloria in excelsis, recalling to our minds the seventy-year exile of the people of God in Babylon and our own exile from Paradise. For more details on the symbolism of Septuagesima and the liturgical practices associated with it, see this blog post from last year and this subsequent interview.

But apart from the seventy days of Septuagesima and the shadows of Saints Peter, Paul, and Lawrence lurking in the background of these three Sundays (see the podcast for more details), what exactly does this season look like? It's a strange, abrupt season, sandwiched in between Epiphany and Lent, not even a full three weeks, just 2.5, as Quinquagesima week is interrupted halfway through by Ash Wednesday.

The season of Septuagesima begins preparing us for Lent at the outset. The Epistle from 1 Corinthians 9:24ff. reminds us that we are to be like athletes, as those who discipline our bodies and bring them into subjection in order to obtain an imperishable crown. The Gospel for Septuagesima, Matthew 20:1-16, carries with it some of these same ideas. The kingdom of heaven, Our Lord says, is like a landowner who goes out to hire laborers for his vineyard. The kingdom of heaven, then, requires work. It shouldn't surprise us, because the first task of man in Paradise was to tend to a garden. In the Gospel for Septuagesima, Our Lord indicates to us that the kingdom of heaven in which we are called to labor is not so different.

The mass readings for Septuagesima also coincide with the matins lectionary as it begins its annual course once again with the first chapter of Genesis, which underlines this theme still further (If you’re not so familiar with the traditional form of Matins as it existed at the close of the Middle Ages and the first generations of Lutherans, see this chart). In one particularly striking moment, St. Gregory the Great’s comments on Matthew 20 are juxtaposed with the Responsory Dum deambularet (Genesis 3:8-10; Habakkuk 3:2a), setting the landowner seeking laborers alongside God, walking in the garden and seeking Adam, even as he hides himself.

On Sexagesima, we see just what can result from the work we were called to on the Sunday previous. St. Paul's words from 2 Corinthians give us a vivid image of what it looks like to be a laborer called by God: in many perils; “in weariness and toil, in sleeplessness often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.” This labor is not easy. The Gospel paints a similar picture: the seed is scattered every which way, but there's no telling just what will happen to it. Like the ministry of St. Paul, the scattering of the seed requires us to throw ourselves entirely on divine providence.

Again, the matins lectionary shades the picture still further. On Sexagesima, the account of Noah and the Flood, a second creation account, is begun. To use the imagery of the gospel, the entire world seems to have been filled with stones and thorns. The seed has not taken root everywhere, and has been almost entirely choked out. But Noah and his family represent those few seeds that fell on good ground, and bore fruit a hundredfold and more: the entirety of the human race. But first, they are left to depend entirely on divine providence as the whole world is submerged under the uncreated chaos of the waves. But after the Flood, the story takes on a familiar shape: the ruach passes over the waters, the dry land emerges, the plants spring to life, the birds of the air fly across the waters, and, at long last, animals and men set foot once again on the ground from which they were taken — and Noah plants a vineyard.

On Quinquagesima, we hear St. Paul’s famous words on the nature of love in the Epistle. “Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own…” In the Gospel for the day, we are told quite clearly what this love looks like: “The Son of Man will be delivered to the Gentiles and will be mocked and insulted and spit upon. They will scourge Him and kill Him. And the third day He will rise again.” We find that the toils and tribulations for which the these weeks have been preparing us are not just our own, but also the toils and tribulations of God Himself. This is the first Sunday in the Church’s year that the Passion comes into clear view, though it is also referenced in the Gospels for the Wednesday and Friday of Septuagesima.

The matins lectionary begins the account of Abraham on Quinquagesima. While the readings themselves don’t go farther than Genesis 12, the later responsories jump directly to Genesis 22. And so, as on Septuagesima, St. Gregory the Great’s commentary on the Gospel is juxtaposed with a text drawn from Genesis. As Gregory speaks about Our Lord’s passion prediction, his commentary is interrupted by the responsory Temptavit Deus Abraham:

God did tempt Abraham, and said unto him
Take thy son Isaac, whom thou lovest
and offer him there for a burnt offering
upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.
V: Offer unto God a sacrifice of praise;
and pay thy vows unto the Most High.

After three weeks of preparation during the season of Septuagesima, we have prepared for the rigors of Lent and are finally ready to see with clarity the place that we are going. And, of course, the seeds of resurrection have already been planted - each of the three Old Testament parallels that so strikingly resonate with the mass propers for these three Sundays will be heard once again at the Vigil of Easter.