Advent Joy

On the third Sunday of Advent, one of our congregation, Lee Williams, spoke of Advent Joy

• Isaiah 35:1-10

• James 5:7-10

•  Matthew 11:2-11

• Psalm 146:4-9

Today is the Sunday of Joy — the joy of God.         

Over the past two weeks, as we have prepared for the coming of Christ, we have been invited to keep alive the vision God gives us: the power of hope; and the call to seek the peace that only God can give — the peace that comes when we turn and walk the path Jesus has shown us.         

Joy, however, is not something that we can generate.

Joy is what finds us.          

Joy is what overtakes us when we keep that divine vision alive and stay faithful to the path before us. As we walk in Christ’s way, joy happens. We catch glimpses of what God is about. We witness the promises of God being fulfilled. And suddenly — unbidden — our hearts are filled with joy.          

Many traditions connect this candle of joy to the shepherds — those humble workers who, on the night of Jesus’ birth, heard the angels proclaim “good news of great joy.”          

Their joy overflowed as they ran to meet the newborn Christ.  

Joy is not the same as happiness. Happiness is a feeling of contentment or satisfaction — something we can influence by our circumstances, expectations, or choices. We often chase happiness through questions and answers: What should I do next? What will make me feel secure?          

Even in spiritual matters, we can become restless for certainty. But joy is deeper — quieter — and far less dependent on our questions and the answers we crave.          

This matters, especially in Advent.

We wait.          

We long for God to respond to the world’s pain. We wonder what word from heaven will bring peace to a troubled world, to troubled hearts. What kind of answer are we hoping for? A clear directive? A resolution to suffering? A sign that we have not waited in vain?          

In today’s Gospel, even John the Baptist has this kind of question:“Are you the one who is to come, or should we wait for another?”           

John has given everything — his whole being — to this promise of one who is to come. And now he is in prison. He knows his life is in danger. His question is not casual. It is urgent.          

Was his life’s work worthwhile? Was Jesus truly the One?      

Imagine John in his cell — the air heavy, and damp, the silence long — troubled by questions that won’t let him rest - resorting to sending messengers to ask the one question - Was Jesus truly the One?          

And imagine the moment those messengers return, bearing Jesus’ reply. 

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. Blessed are those who take no offense at me.”        

In that moment, something will have warmed in John’s spirit.          

All that he had hoped for — all that he had proclaimed — was indeed happening. God was at work through Jesus, just as Isaiah had foretold.      

And out of that recognition rises deep, holy joy.   

This is the great paradox of the Messiah: Jesus is the One we have waited for, and yet he confounds every expectation. He comes not with sweeping proclamations or displays of power, but with quiet acts of healing and hope.          

Even his answers are indirect — because truth, in the kingdom of God, is meant to be lived, not merely spoken. The proof of who he is - lies in what he does — and in what we are invited to do alongside him.        

So what does this mean for us?          

For we who still wait and wonder… who still long for clear answers amid confusion and uncertainty?          

It means we must reorient our search. The truths we seek are not hidden away for the rich or powerful; they are revealed in lives that embody love, mercy, and justice. We find our answers by doing what Jesus did: listening, healing, forgiving, feeding, liberating, giving thanks.          

And often, only later, we look back and realize: God’s answers were with us all along.        

It also means we must be cautious about any voice — political, religious, or otherwise — claiming to be the answer. Christ himself pointed beyond himself, urging those around him to discover their God-given dignity and to lift others into their own.  

         That humility is the true mark of divine authority.      

And finally, perhaps we can rest a little more easily in our waiting. Not because nothing matters…but because God is already at work.          

Instead of holding our breath for God’s thunderous reply, we can notice the quiet answers already blossoming around us — in the gleam of a candle, in an act of kindness, in the sharing of bread, in words of reconciliation. This is the sacramental life: the awareness that God’s grace shines through the ordinary.The answers have already come — like snow falling softly, like promises gently kept.          

Joy is not merely happiness — not the pursuit promised in constitutions or philosophies. It is what overwhelms us when we see God at work — in our families, in our church, in our community; in moments of healing, courage, and compassion.           Whenever we glimpse the works of God, joy arises. And when we allow God to work through us, we become bearers of joy for others.      

Today, as we light the candle of joy, we celebrate the good news that Christ’s coming brings deep, abiding joy into a dark and troubled world. This joy is rooted in his birth, his resurrection, and his promised return.          

It becomes visible whenever care is offered, whenever prayer is lifted, whenever the hand of God is revealed through us.          

Joy may come and go in this life, but Isaiah promises that one day it will last forever.

“The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom… The ransomed of the Lord shall come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads.”         

That day is coming.          

And even now, we are invited to taste it — to receive the joy that comes from seeing God at work, and to become instruments of that joy in the world.         

May we live this joy.          

May we dare to share it.       

And may it overtake us, again and again, as we walk in the path of Christ.