I was talking with a friend a few days ago and he said to me, “What a decade this year has been. I feel like I haven’t taken a full breath in the past 18 months.” And I get what he’s saying. It can seem like life has us by the throat. War, ethnic cleansing, climate disaster—each day brings new horrors and fresh despair. We are constantly bombarded with distressing news and images, leaving us traumatized and re-traumatized by this grim reality we face. Despite being more connected than ever through 24/7 news feeds and social media, we find ourselves in an epidemic of loneliness that threatens the very fabric of our society. We have yet to fully acknowledge the global PTSD that has emerged from the COVID pandemic. In just a few days, many of us will pile into cars, trains, or planes to gather with our fractured families and loved ones, singing "Joy to the World" as we check off yet another Christmas, trudging toward the new year—tired, fearful, and hopeless, bracing for the next wave of disillusionment.
We need a word of assurance, a balm in Gilead. We need a God who will wipe away our tears. What we don’t need is a wild-eyed prophet like John the Baptist shouting, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” You might be thinking, “I come to church to feel better, to find relief from the terrors of life. And you want me to listen to this? Can’t you just give me something to get through Christmas?” I can almost hear your frustration: “What then shall we do?”
This is precisely the question the crowd asks John. “What then should we do?” They, too, were living in an ancient world on fire—marked by Roman occupation, corruption, poverty, and despair. John’s response? Some of the most practical advice in scripture: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do the same.” Simple directions, but is this what they came to hear? These people came for baptism, for spiritual cleansing. So how is giving away clothes and food supposed to make them feel better or draw them closer to God?
In 12-step recovery programs, the 12th step emphasizes that after experiencing a spiritual awakening, one must carry the message of recovery to those still suffering. The only way to keep the gift is to give it away. John is teaching this scared, anxious, broken crowd that this kind of self-emptying—kenosis, or what Buddhists call the path to enlightenment—is the way forward. His call for repentance isn’t about guilt; it’s about transformation. It’s an invitation to authenticity, to true life. When John commands us to “bear fruit,” he means turning faith into action.
This is what John desperately wanted his followers to understand, no matter their status or station in life. So, what are we being called to in this season? How is God speaking to us in this fractured moment? And how will we answer? Maybe you’re thinking, “I’m too busy, too overwhelmed. There’s not enough time for anything extra.” I get it—I’ve used those same excuses, and they’re valid. We’re tired and depleted. But would you believe me if I said that allowing space for God to enter is exactly where the joy resides.
The Rev. Dr. Sonia Waters, a beloved professor at Princeton Seminary, embodied this kind of joy. Brilliant, funny, compassionate—she had a way of making everyone feel seen and heard. When she passed away last year at 51 years old from cancer, the seminary community was heartbroken. But her legacy of joy endures. In the very last line of her very last email to the seminary, she wrote: “I pray you choose joy. Anything else is a waste of time.” That, friends, is the kind of fruit-bearing I’m talking about. Sonia’s legacy of joy reminds us that even in the most challenging moments, even in death, there is hope and light. This is what Advent invites us to remember.
In your church this Advent season, you may notice the lighting of four Advent candles, one for each Sunday. Three are purple, but today’s candle—on Gaudete Sunday—is pink, symbolizing joy. The Latin word gaudete means “rejoice.” Advent is a time of waiting and preparation, but today, we are reminded to rejoice even as we prepare for the coming of Christ.
Paul’s words in Philippians encourage us: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your softness be known to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”
Now I don’t know whose idea it was to pair John the Baptist’s warnings with Paul’s letter in today’s lectionary, but the juxtaposition is striking. While the crowds ask John, “What then should we do?” Paul’s answer is subversive and countercultural: “Rejoice in the Lord. Let your softness be known. Don’t worry. God’s peace will guard you.”
Sometimes I think that Paul’s teaching here is even more challenging than John’s. Growing up in the South as a queer Black boy in the 1970s, “letting my softness be known” was anything but safe. Family and systemic dysfunction made “do not worry” sound impossible, and peace felt out of reach. Yet, I remember the people and places that protected me—my grandparents, my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. Royal, and my big sister, Marrea. Just two years older than me, Marrea fiercely defended me, whether the threat was a bully or an adult. Her love was life-saving.
Marrea was and is a John the Baptist figure, crying out, calling for transformation and a turning from suffering to blessing. She likely didn’t know the impact of her love, but our God works through unexpected sources. Thanks be to God for that.
We all have a Marrea—someone who ensured that we not only survived but thrived. Think of your own childhood prophets, angels who gifted you safety and encouragement. Remembering these gifts reminds us of John’s call to share what we have, to pass on what we’ve received. Just as my big sister’s love offered a beacon of hope and safety in my life, so too does the season of Advent remind us that, even in our darkest times, we are invited to anticipate joy and light. And so today, on Gaudete Sunday, we pause to celebrate that joy.
James Baldwin, whose 100th birthday we celebrate this year, wrote, “To be with God is to really be involved with some enormous, overwhelming desire and joy and power which you cannot control, which controls you. I conceive of my own life as a journey toward something I do not understand, which in the going toward makes me better. I conceive of God, in fact, as a means of liberation and not a means to control others. Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle; love is a war; love is a growing up.”
Baldwin’s vision of love as a force of liberation mirrors this message of hope that Advent brings. It’s a reminder that, even in the battle and the journey, there is a profound joy waiting for us.
Friends, Jesus is coming. Liberation, joy, power, and love are coming—and they are already here because Christ lives and moves and has His being in us. We are overwhelmed with God’s grace, time and time again, as if for the very first time. This is the good, great news of the Gospel.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your softness be known to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”
AMEN.