Exultation of the Cross

 Homily

The Third Sunday of Advent

December 14, 2025

 

Happy Advent! Grace and peace be with you on this Third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday—the day the Church lights the rose candle and tells us to rejoice. This is why our presider and I are wearing rose colored vestments. Tell me please – be honest; who wears it better; me or the candle? The Church drapes herself in the color rose to remind us that joy is breaking through the purple of penance, like the rays of dawn piercing the darkness of night. Yet true joy is not the superficial and fleeting happiness of a good meal or a festive song; it is the deep, unshakable confidence that God is near, that Emmanuel is coming.

 

We just spent the first two of four weeks in preparation for the coming of our Lord. Similar to Lent, we pray more fervently, we cut back on extras, we give generously to those we don’t know. This third Sunday of Advent is a time to rejoice as our preparations are beginning to pay off. We are halfway through and can begin to already see the lights. Really, I have a tree in my living room and it is covered in lights! And we realize that the Christ, the anointed One, is coming very soon. We have experienced hope in the first week of Advent, of the promise to come. We have experienced peace in our second week, knowing peace on earth is not just a thought, but a tangible reality, if we hold to our faith. Now, in this third week, we rejoice:

 

In our first reading from Isaiah, he paints a desert bursting into bloom: The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers and rejoice with joyful song.” (Is 35:1). Written to exiles far from home, these words promised that God would reverse every sorrow. The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the lame will leap like stags. More than just flowery poetry; it was the prophecy pointing to the Messiah who would make the impossible possible.

 

In today’s Gospel, John the Baptist—imprisoned, uncertain, perhaps even tempted to doubt—sends his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” (Mt 11:3). John had preached a fiery Messiah with winnowing fan and unquenchable fire. Now he sits in Herod’s dungeon, hearing reports of a healer who dines with tax collectors and touches lepers. The question is natural, honest, human. Have you ever asked it? In hospital rooms, unemployment lines, or quiet nights when prayer feels like shouting into the void; ‘Are you the one, Lord, or should we look elsewhere?’ When things have seemed most desolate and empty, I’ve asked God ‘why.’ I’ve begged God for help and understanding. I’ve demanded God to give me an answer and a solution. My spiritual director and I refer to this as the magic pill. Take it and all my problems will be solved; all my questions will be answered.  The magic pill doesn’t exist. It requires faith, patience, acceptance that sometimes the answer is ‘later’ or nothing at all. It’s normal to be scared when things go upside-down or sideways.

 

Jesus does not scold John for doubting. Instead, He points to the evidence: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them” (Mt 11:4-5). Notice the order. Jesus quotes Isaiah almost verbatim, but He adds one crucial line: the poor have the good news proclaimed to them. The Messiah’s credentials are not military triumphs or political reforms, but mercy made visible. The Kingdom arrives not with trumpet blast but with a gentle touch, with tenderness.

 

And then Jesus adds a beatitude for our age of skepticism: “Blessed is the one who takes no offense at me” (Mt 11:6). Blessed are those who do not stumble over a Savior who refuses to fit our expectations. (big sigh) John expected a sword; Jesus brings a healing touch. We expect instant answers; Jesus offers His presence in the chaos. The Greek word here is skandalon—a stumbling stone. Jesus Himself is the scandal: God in a manger, God on a cross, God in the Eucharist, humbled, under the appearance of simple bread and wine. To rejoice on Gaudete Sunday is to embrace the scandal of a God who heals by being wounded, who conquers by surrendering. It makes no sense until we realize the simplicity.

 

The letter from James urges patience: “See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You too must be patient” (Jas 5:7-8). Farmers do not curse the sky for withholding rain; they trust the rhythm of the seasons. So must we too must trust the rhythm of grace. The early rain of Christ’s first coming has fallen—His birth, His death, His resurrection, all in due course. The late rain of His return is still gathering in the clouds. Between these two rains, we live in the tension of the already and the not yet. Joy is the courage to plant seeds we may never harvest, to light Advent candles knowing the full light comes later. What does this mean for us, here, today?

 

First, name your desert. Where in our lives is the ground parched? Where are our relationships cracked like the desert clay, hope withered like the leaves of fall? We bring that desert to the Eucharist. We bring all our gifts, including our pain, before the Lord. We lay them before the rose candle. The same Jesus who made the desert bloom in Isaiah is present in this tabernacle, ready to irrigate our souls with living water.

 

Second, we must imitate the Messiah’s credentials. This week, perform one concrete act of mercy just as Jesus would: visit the sick, forgive a debt (even an emotional debt), speak good news to someone poor in spirit. When people ask, “Where is your God?” let them see the evidence in your hands, on your face, and in your heart.

 

Third, bless those who doubt. John’s question from prison sanctifies every honest question we bring to God. If someone near you is stumbling over the scandal of a silent God, don’t lecture them into faith. Has anyone ever lectured you to their side? Let them know what you have seen and heard: a healing, a miracle, a moment of grace. Testimony is the native language of joy. And if you are the one with a question, bring it to Jesus with a sincere and humble heart.

 

Finally, rejoice on purpose, with intention. Paul commands, “Rejoice… I say it again: rejoice!” (Phil 4:4). Joy is not a feeling; it is a decision. Choose it in traffic, when I need it the most; in hospital rooms, in funeral homes, in prison cells. Sing ‘Gaudete!’ even when it is difficult, especially when the heart is weak. The rose candle flickers, but it does not lie. The desert is blooming, even when we cannot yet see the flowers.