December 14, 2025, the Third Sunday of Advent – Gaudete Sunday

Today, on this Third Sunday of Advent, the tone shifts. We light the rose candle; we hear the word Gaudete — “Rejoice!”—and the church invites us to lift our eyes from the wilderness road and see the signs of hope breaking in. Advent begins with watchfulness, even solemnity. But today we are nudged toward joy—not a superficial joy, not forced cheerfulness, but the deep, steady joy that roots itself in the promises of God.

Isaiah paints one of Scripture’s most stunning visions of renewal: “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.”

It is a breathtaking promise—one spoken to people returning from exile, people whose lives had known loss, displacement, disappointment, and longing. Isaiah is speaking to people who wondered whether God still remembered them. People who had walked through wildernesses—literal and spiritual.

And to them Isaiah says: Yes. God is coming. God is making a way in the desert. There will be streams in the wasteland. Weak hands will be strengthened. Feeble knees made firm. The eyes of the blind will be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Isaiah draws a picture of the world the way God desires it: flourishing, redeemed, healed.

This is what Advent hope looks like—it blossoms in the desert.

But our Gospel brings us into a very different moment. John the Baptist, the fiery preacher of repentance, the one who proclaimed the coming judgment and the advent of God’s reign, is now sitting in prison. And from that dark cell comes a question that sounds almost like a crack in his faith: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

It is one of the most honest questions in the New Testament. John had staked everything on the conviction that Jesus was the one God had promised. John had lived with fierce devotion, with prophetic clarity. But prison can make anyone question what they thought they knew. Suffering has a way of testing faith. And the world did not look, from that cell, like Isaiah’s vision. It looked harsh, unjust, unfinished.

“Are you the one?”

It is a question many faithful people have whispered in the night.

And what does Jesus do? He does not condemn John for asking. He does not shame him for doubt or confusion. Instead, Jesus points to the signs springing up around him:

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”

Jesus essentially says: John, look again. Even from prison, even in the uncertainty, God’s future is already breaking in. The desert is beginning to blossom.

This is the heart of Gaudete Sunday: joy grounded not in wishful thinking but in signs of God’s kingdom already at work in the world.

Isaiah begins with the wilderness—where joy seems least likely. Many of us carry wildernesses within us: griefs that have not healed, relationships strained, disappointments that sit beneath the surface of our days. And the world around us often resembles a wilderness too: conflicts that will not cease, inequality, climate anxiety, injustice, and systems that often seem resistant to compassion.

Isaiah does not deny the wilderness; he speaks directly to it. But he announces that the desert—precisely this barren place—is the site of God’s coming joy. Advent joy is not the denial of sorrow. It is the conviction that sorrow is not the final word. Wildernesses become places of transformation.

This is why today’s colour is rose, not white. We are not yet at Christmas joy. But we are receiving traces of it—hints, glimpses, blossoms pushing up through dry ground.

Where do you see the blossoms?
Where have you seen kindness break through?
Where have you felt God’s presence in unexpected places?
Where has the Spirit strengthened your weak hands or steadied your trembling knees?

On Gaudete Sunday, we name those signs, we treasure them, and we let them sustain our hope.

With these signs of joy lifting our hearts, John the Baptist is also an important companion for us today. He shows us that even the most faithful may find themselves asking difficult questions. Faith is not certainty. Faith is trust—and trust sometimes trembles.

In prison, John had time to wonder: If Jesus is the Messiah, why has nothing changed for me? Why is injustice still flourishing? Why am I, the one who prepared the way, left to languish behind bars?

Those questions resonate today. We pray for healing—yet loved ones suffer. We pray for peace—yet wars continue. We pray for justice—yet inequality persists. We pray for joy—yet anxiety or loneliness returns.

John gives voice to all who cry out, “Lord, how long?”

And Jesus responds with compassion. He doesn’t offer an explanation; he offers evidence. “Go and tell John what you see.”

Jesus’s answer is essentially: Look for the signs of God’s kingdom—not in palaces or halls of power, but among the vulnerable, the overlooked, the wounded. Joy is springing up in unexpected places.

Sometimes we look for God in the dramatic and spectacular and miss the quiet blossom at our feet.

Where is God at work in your life right now—subtly, gently, steadily?

Isaiah’s vision ends with a promise:
“A highway shall be there… it shall be called the Holy Way… and the redeemed shall walk there… and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”

This is not just poetry; it is a roadmap.
God is leading us somewhere. Advent reminds us that we are people on a journey—a journey toward the fullness of God’s kingdom.

Joy is not the decoration on the journey.
Joy is the strength that gets us there.

Isaiah says to those with “weak hands” and “feeble knees”—courage. God is coming. God is with you. God is ahead of you. Joy is not something you must manufacture; it is something God gives.

And sometimes, joy comes in the form of the community around us—the people who pray with us, sing with us, stand beside us. Isaiah’s road is wide enough for all the redeemed to travel together. We do not walk alone.

If we were to answer Jesus’s question—“What do you see and hear?”—what would we say?

We might say we see compassion at work: people caring for neighbours, advocating for justice, welcoming the stranger, supporting those in crisis.

We might say we hear good news among the poor: in community ministries, in food programs, in shelters, in the small moments of dignity restored.

We might say we see the desert blooming:
—When reconciliation begins where there was division.
—When someone forgives a debt.
—When a child laughs freely.
—When a caregiver receives support after long exhaustion.
—When someone facing darkness finds light through the love of others.

These are not small things. They are Advent signs. They are blossoms of God’s kingdom.

Gaudete Sunday invites us to notice them—and to rejoice.

Jesus points to the signs of the kingdom breaking forth in his ministry. But he also commissions his followers to become signs of joy in the world.

Every act of mercy
Every word of encouragement
Every step toward reconciliation
Every choice to live generously
Every effort to serve the vulnerable
—these are ways we participate in Isaiah’s vision and Matthew’s Gospel.

We are not merely observers of joy.
We are bearers of joy.

Advent joy is not passive; it moves outward. It becomes visible. It becomes contagious. It draws others onto the Holy Way.

On this Gaudete Sunday, Isaiah and Jesus both speak to us.

Isaiah says: Rejoice. God is making the desert bloom.
Jesus says: Look. See what God is already doing.

And John, from prison, teaches us that joy is not dependent on circumstances. Joy is rooted in the presence of God—who comes to us in Christ, who opens blind eyes and unstops deaf ears, who lifts up the brokenhearted, who leads us home on the Holy Way.

So today:
Let the rose candle burn in your heart.
Let hope blossom in the dry places.
Let joy strengthen your steps.
Look for the signs of Christ’s kingdom.
Become a sign of Christ’s joy.

For “the ransomed of the Lord shall return… everlasting joy shall be upon their heads… and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” Amen.