The Third Sunday of Advent carries a note of joy, yet it isn’t the shallow cheer of tinsel and glitter. Advent joy is something deeper, born not of circumstance but of promise. The prophet Isaiah cries out, The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Joy bursts forth in unlikely places, just as it did when Mary, a young woman in Nazareth, received the angel’s word and sang of God’s faithfulness. This joy doesn’t deny sorrow or struggle; it wells up within them, a sign that God’s kingdom is near.

Paul, writing to the Philippians, urges: Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! These words weren’t penned in ease but from prison. His joy didn’t rest on freedom or comfort but on the presence of Christ who was with him even there. Advent joy, then, isn’t about waiting for everything to be perfect before we rejoice. It’s about recognising the nearness of the Lord in the middle of imperfection, trusting that even in barrenness, God makes new life blossom.

John the Baptist, still in the wilderness, points beyond himself: Among you stands one you do not know. Even in his stark call to repentance, there is joy, because the Messiah is close at hand. Advent joy invites us to look for Christ’s presence in unexpected faces, in moments of kindness, in the whisper of the Spirit that meets us in our waiting.

This Sunday, a rose-coloured candle can be lit, softening the season’s sombreness with the warmth of joy. Its flame reminds us that joy is not naïve optimism but fierce hope – hope that God keeps his promises, hope that light breaks into darkness, hope that love will have the last word.

As we move closer to Bethlehem, may joy find us not only in carols and candles, but in the small, hidden ways Christ is at work. May it take root in us, steady and unshaken, so that even in a weary world we may rejoice, and our lives may shine with the gladness of the one who comes.