Sunday, December 14, 2025
Isaiah 35:1-10
James 5:7-10
Matthew 11:2-11
The Third Sunday of Advent is historically known as Gaudete Sunday (pronounced gow-day-tay). Or we might call this “Joy Sunday.” This is because the introit for the mass in Latin begins “Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete” which means “Rejoice in the Lord always: again I say rejoice.” So imagine if you will an early church procession back in the day when Latin was still used at times like this and all would stand and sing “Rejoice, Rejoice.”
We may not worship that way anymore, but we long to feel joyful. Still, many of us struggle to catch that feeling of joy this time of year. Or, maybe, this particular year. Christmases of the past may have always been filled with joy but perhaps this year is challenging you for one reason or another. I talked about having a “blue Christmas” in my sermon two Sundays ago. We know this challenge and we try to love on each other a little extra because of it
So we are either too busy in Advent, or we face the melancholy of the season. In both our collective celebrations and our individual prayer times, we often try too hard to engage God. We try too hard to feel joyful. We try too hard to find peace. And we end up discouraged or frazzled.
I wonder why we do that. I wonder if we can change and I wonder if getting better at living in the moment might help. Some moments are full of joy, others are full of despair. Either way. The Spirit of God is always there.
This particular day of the Church calendar, this “Joy Sunday,” helps us to pause and consider the challenge we find in our search for the balance between our longing to experience the joy of Christmas and our intention to also sit quietly with God. I hope to bring to these few moments this morning some encouragement about that.
We long simultaneously for joy and peace. We want to be part of the merry making and we want to feel God’s gentle tug at our hears. I think both ends of this spectrum come from our best efforts to render our hearts open to welcome the Christ child. But I also think we tend to miss opportunities to engage God in our efforts to engage God. I think this is because either we really are too busy or, in our quiet prayer times we are just trying too hard to wrangle God in.
On Friday, I was invited by the Spiritual Care department at the hospital to lead a time of what they call “share and prayer”. It was a lovely moment around the Christmas tree in the main lobby at Bristol Regional.
The tree had hand written prayer requests along side the ornaments, which is lovely. The attendance was small but sweet. And I really felt the Holy Spirit moving among our little awkward gathering.
There were two chaplains, a hosptial volunteer who played the piano, one or two staff members and two police officers. I realized later that they were escorting that one person in scrubs. The scrubs she wore were likely leant after some tragedy that was none of our business. But it seemed this young woman was on the way to jail. She was weeping. Everyone else was stone faced.
I thought of the many prisoners I have worked with in different ministries. They are lonely, most are trying to better themselves, all are hoping for freedom.
But for the sharing part of my little talk, I felt moved by the Spirit to talk about Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist. I pointed out that even though we love the nativity passage from the second chapter of Luke, you know, the one Linus recites in the old Charlie Brown special, the first chapter of Luke begins with the birth narrative of John the Baptist. We’ve been working our way through Matthew’s version of that this Advent.
And here we are now, this 3rd Sunday of Advent pondering the meaning of this odd prophet who prepared the way for the messiah and then landed in jail. I imagine John was not weeping in jail. I imagine, like St. Paul, that his time in jail was actually filled with joy - that odd joy which is the true meaning of all this reveling.
But John’s father was struck mute, you will remember. Because he doubted the angel Gabriel who came to the old priest in the holy of holies and announced the birth of a son to this aged couple. I told our odd gathering at the hospital that what we have to learn from the story of Zechariah is not so much about avoiding doubt but about the blessing of being shut up. For if we were forced like Zechariah to be quiet, we might get better at listening - to each other as much as God.
Each of us lives in one type of jail or another at some point in life. I wonder if we can live joyfully, even in our limitations, in our confinement.
This past Wednesday, in our weekday Advent service, I shared a reflection that I want to share again this morning. I’m sorry if you’ve been unable to make it to these and I understand the many challenges of this time of year, the weather and, for some, driving after dark. So I want to bring this little gem forward.
It was a reflection from the Lutheran liturgical planner we use called Sundays and Seasons. The way that source works often leaves out the name of the author of the reflection. Perhaps this author chose to remain anonymous. But it is about being in prison. That person shared this:
I began collecting “waiting stories” in the prison where I was living. When I asked several inmates the question “What do you wait for?” nearly every one of them gave me a puzzled look of disinterested mockery, signaling irritation. “What kind of stupid question is that? It’s all about waiting. Prison is all about waiting. That’s what we do here.” But I persisted.
A lot of what they told me was predictable: I wait for mail, for a visit, for count, for library time, recreation time, meal time, canteen time . . . for the lawyer to call, the judge to decide, the committee to meet . . . for anything that will break the wretched, numbing boredom. For release!
Still, the more I asked, and the longer the inmates talked about waiting, the more I heard unexpected, soulful words. Words like forgiveness, choices, worth, respect, meaning, hope, touch, love. They were words that, for all their different consonants and vowels and syllables, sounded like the word “mercy.”
Advent means “coming.” If one word or one mood describes Advent, it might well be waiting. But waiting for what? Waiting is one part hope and another part fear; it can be a measure of wanting and a dose of dread. . . .“What do you wait for?”
To look for a moment at that other great prophet we have read this morning, Isaiah 35 is full of joy. The desert, the wilderness and the dry land all rejoice and burst into flower. There is abundant water in formerly dry places. Not only is the landscape transformed and full of joy, but God’s people are also full of joy. Those who are blind, deaf, lame and mute are transformed and healed of their infirmities. And the exiles return to Zion on a safe and secure highway where they need fear no danger, or even the possibility of getting lost.
But why? What is causing their great joy? And why are we missing the point and either too depressed or too frantic to join our ancestors there?
Here’s the answer: The joy Isiah speaks of is the presence of God.
It is God’s presence that causes the desert and dry lands to be turned into beautiful and fruitful and blossoming places. God is turning the formerly barren landscape into a garden. Not only will God heal the land by providing abundant water, but God will also heal the physical bodies of God’s people - the blind will see, the deaf will be able to hear, the lame will leap like deer, and even the mute will be able to shout. God will provide a Sacred Way to help the exiles to return safely to Zion. God’s people will not have to be afraid. The travelers on the Way will not need to be concerned about being robbed or beaten or otherwise abused on their way, as the people who would do such things are not permitted to be there. In addition, God’s people will not need to be afraid of losing their way.
We do look forward to the coming of Jesus during the season of Advent, and we await his presence as best we can with joy and peace. We look forward to the day when we will, like the returning exiles, “obtain gladness and joy, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.” This is God’s promise to us: when we at last are with him and he is with us, we will have great joy.
In the mean time, we are called to practice living in the moment with hearts full of hope, hearts that are rendered open, hearts that were formed all along the way so far.
I always longed for a white Christmas as a child and rarely got one here in Southwestern Virginia. Except for that one magical Christmas when I was about 8-years-old when I romanticized everything.
We still had a midnight service back then at State Street Methodist and we were all warm and cozy in our church with the big clear windows. The pews were full and the choir had sung lots of beautiful music and then we lowered the lights and lit our candles to sing Silent Night. We all bowed our heads in prayer pose as we sang and I was focused on my own little light, the candle in my hand. But I looked up and realized that the change in the light caused the outside to become visible. And the ground was covered with a big fluffy snow that was still falling. I was awed. I was filled with joy. And I still think that it was that moment that caused me to fall in love with Christmas.
Ever since my 8th Christmas, nothing has compared. I have longed ever since to experience that particular Christmas Eve experience of my young heart strongly warmed that night. And each year I have felt a little disappointed.
That’s the problem with traditions. Sometimes we need to change them or let them go in order to really find the presence of God in the present moment.
It seems to me that every Christmas since I was 8 has been spent frantically running around like I’m riding a racehorse, over-doing and working too hard to recreate the setting that will bring that heart rending moment. If not for me, at least for those around me whom I love.
But today is not about memory. It is not even about the future. This is Joy Sunday, Gaudete Sunday, the Sunday of these four Advent Sundays when we step away from the penitent nature of Advent and focus on joy.
And that, my friends, is the answer. To step away for a moment from all the over-doing, the trying too hard, the fretting and the frenetic, and to just open our hearts and let God do the sorting.
If we can step into this practice, we will be freed from our prison. And that empty waiting manger will be filled once again. The love that comes at Christmas always surprises us, if we’ll just let go and let it.
Amen.
The Rev. Dr. Kathy Kelly