When Lent Blushes: The Lost Joy of Rose Sunday
BY: The Rev. Dr. Rian Adams
There’s a Sunday in Lent when the church lightens up—literally. The vestments shift from deep violet to rose. The readings crack open a window to joy. And if you’re paying attention, the liturgy softens like a whispered promise: “Easter is coming.”
But if you’ve never heard of Rose Sunday, you’re not alone. Many Episcopalians haven’t. And that’s exactly the problem—and the opportunity.
So… why haven’t we heard of it?
Blame it on the Reformation, the 1979 Prayer Book, or our polite Protestant discomfort with anything that feels too… fancy. The truth is, Rose Sunday—also known as Laetare Sunday—is one of those deeply Anglican traditions that often gets filtered out in more “low church” settings.
The color rose? Optional. The tone shift? Subtle. The theological depth? Easily missed if no one’s explaining it. And so, in many parishes, this ancient tradition quietly faded like a flower in the desert.
But make no mistake—Rose Sunday is ours. It’s Anglican. It’s ancient. And it’s absolutely worth reclaiming.
What is Rose Sunday?
The fourth Sunday in Lent is called Laetare Sunday, from the Latin laetare, which means “rejoice.” It takes its name from the opening words of the traditional introit: “Laetare Jerusalem: Rejoice, O Jerusalem.” It’s meant to be a reprieve, a breath, a turning point.
Historically, this was the day when Lenten fasts were eased. Flowers returned to the altar. Music brightened. Priests wore rose—a liturgical color used only twice a year, here and on Gaudete Sunday in Advent (which also means “rejoice”).
In medieval England, Laetare was also called “Mothering Sunday.” It was the one day during Lent when people returned to their home church—their “mother church”—and often their actual mothers. It became a festival of homecoming, warmth, and refreshment.
That’s what this Sunday is: a sacred pause in the wilderness.
Is it “High Church”?
In a way, yes. Rose Sunday shows up most clearly in parishes that lean “High Church”—those that embrace vestments, seasonal color shifts, incense, candles, and the full beauty of the liturgical year. But it’s not exclusively High Church. It belongs to all of us.
In fact, part of our Anglican richness is this blending of the poetic and the pastoral, the visual and the theological. Rose Sunday is a perfect example. It’s a theological truth told through color and rhythm: Joy isn’t canceled during Lent. It’s just waiting to bloom.
What if we actually celebrated it?
Let’s bring it back. Let’s make it visible. Let’s embody the hope it offers.
This Sunday, wear pink. Wear it boldly. Wear it playfully. It doesn’t have to match the exact liturgical rose (good luck finding that), but it should say, “I see the joy peeking through.”
Parents, let your kids come to church in hot pink. Gentlemen, dig out that flamingo tie. Teens, rock those pastel sneakers. Let’s be a people who know how to rejoice even in Lent.
Because here’s the deep truth:
God meets us in the wilderness. But He also meets us in the flowers that bloom there.
Rose Sunday is that bloom. Not the full garden of Easter—just the first blush. But it’s enough to remind us that resurrection is coming. That even now, there’s joy.
So come this Sunday expecting something a little different, a little lighter, a little more radiant because Lent isn’t just about what we give up. It’s about what’s being born in us.
And joy? That’s part of it too.
