Gaudete, Gaudete Christus est natus. Ex Maria Virgine, Gaudete.Rejoice, rejoice! Christ is born of the Virgin Mary. Rejoice.Gaudete. Rejoice.The Messiah, the Christ is coming. He will come to be the light to lighten the gentiles and to be the glory of His people Israel. And as the Gaudete carol continues:Deus homo factus est natura Murante, mundus renovates est a Christo regnante.God has become man, with nature marvelling. The world has become renewed by the reigning Christ.Joy. Joy will come to the world. Joy will be ours.Advent is a penitential season – a time for reflection, penance and preparation for the coming Christ. The liturgical colour is purple, and our first two Advent candles are purple. But today is Gaudete Sunday, a day of joyful anticipation for the coming Christ. A day to shift away from the more sombre purple to a gentler joyful rose. And the third Advent candle, soon to be lit, reflects this too.At Advent 2, last Sunday, we heard about John the Baptist preaching in the Judean wilderness, preparing the way of the Lord. Baptising with water while the One who is coming will baptise with the Holy Spirit and with fire. He will clear the threshing floor, will gather the wheat unto Himself but the chaff He will burn with unquenchable fire. Strong stuff! A powerful Messiah who will defeat the Romans and restore the good of Isreal to glory. And John the Baptist, as his father Zechariah proclaims in the words of the Benedictus ‘will go before the Lord to prepare His way.’Clearly great things were ahead.John even knew, somehow, while he was still unborn when his Lord was near as he leapt in his mother’s womb when Mary paid Elizabeth, John’s mother, a visit.Great things were indeed ahead.But hang on; today we hear that John is in prison. He’d been imprisoned by King Herod for chastising him about marrying his ex sister in law. And where was this promised Messiah? Rome is still in power. Herod is still king – still as corrupt as ever. What’s going on? Is Jesus really who John thought He was? Is He truly the Messiah? John is beginning to doubt!Rather than being a man of fire, sweeping aside the wicked and corrupt, Jesus seems to be working from a different script. He’s befriending tax collectors and other sinners. He’s healing people. Gaining a great reputation but not for what John expected. It’s like a main character in a stage play had gone rogue and done something which the other characters had not expected. How do they handle it? How does John handle this possible disappointment? He needs to know what’s going on. ‘Are you the one who is to come or shall we look for another?’ He is doubting – something we really wouldn’t expect of John the Baptist. He is wondering if his life, his proclaiming in the wilderness for this man, this Jesus – was it all in vain? All for nought?John the Baptist doubted. And that’s OK. It’s OK to doubt. Doubt can be a virtue – a sort of failsafe because without it, without some measure of reservation on things we’d likely end up making one heck of a mess of things. But if, when, we do doubt, do we have the courage to admit it? Thomas certainly did when he was told of Jesus’ resurrection because he was elsewhere when Jesus appeared to His disciples after that first Easter morning. And we hear today that John the Baptist also begins to doubt – something which led to him asking, via his disciples, what has been described as perhaps one of the most poignant and heartfelt questions in the whole of scripture: ‘are you the one who is to come or shall we wait for another?’ Have I made a massive mistake all these years? And now I’m in prison am I going to miss the coming of the true Messiah? Can you even begin to imagine what was going on in John’s mind? Confusion? Disappointment?John doubted. And what did he do? He took his question to the Lord. And that’s what we must do, whenever we doubt. Take our doubts to the Lord in prayer. And oh so often, God will speak to our doubts through scripture. And that is just how Jesus responded to John. Not with a straightforward ‘Yes, I am He’. But He answers John by quoting the very scripture which inspired John to cry out in the wilderness, to prepare the way for the Lord. Jesus spoke words from the book of Isaiah – the very Old Testament reading we heard this morning.But why does Jesus take John to the Bible in His answer? I believe that the Bible, scripture, is the basis upon which everything else is built. Our traditions are essentially based upon our experiences and this, along with our reason, with regards to things theological, is driven by our assimilation of scripture. The Holy Spirit is working in us, through us and beyond us to guide our lives of faith and to bring us closer to God – through scripture. Faith – our lives of faith. Jesus’ answer to John give him hope. We are not told that the disciples actually took Jesus’ answer back to John, but we can hope that they did. And if so, John can die knowing that he was right in doing what he has been doing. And that’s what true faith is all about. And true faith gives us hope – true hope. Faith may not change our circumstances, but it gives us hope. Unwavering hope carried deep within the heart of all Christians who know that Christ goes with them and before them. Heaven is in the heart of the Christian who hopes.Faith seeking understanding (fides quaerens intellectum) is the motto of St Anselm of Canterbury, 11th century Benedictine monk. We need to admit that we don’t understand it all but by faith we strive towards that goal, towards that understanding. And to doubt? Well doubt can be an important lens through which we can see what God is really doing in the world.John doubted; Jesus’ direction towards scripture will have strengthened John’s faith and given him hope.Whenever we doubt, we must pray. Take a breath. Look around at our beautiful world. See God’s work – trust Him, trust His timing (because God’s timing is perfect). As we approach the nativity, on this Gaudete Sunday let us have faith, hope, joy. And let us kneel in wonder and adoration at the child in the manger. Believe in the Saviour born for us who grew up to heal, to teach, to proclaim the good news. He did not grow up to be a mighty warrior and great political leader but a gentle, suffering servant.John did not live to see the crucifixion and the resurrection. But we live in a post Easter world. We know how the story develops – not ends, because it has not ended yet. We believe what we have been told about how the story progresses because we have faith. And we are called to share that faith and to answer, whenever asked, is Jesus the one or are we to wait for another, that yes – Jesus is the one, the world’s Saviour, the resurrection and the life.Gaudete, Gaudete Christus est natus. Ex Maria Virgine, Gaudete.Rejoice, rejoice! Christ is born of the Virgin Mary. Rejoice.
If we are to live fully as human beings, we have to acknowledge our mortality, our joys, our faults and our internal pain. All these things together make us who and what we are, and they combine into the song of never-ending love that we can sing with certainty and joy – when that song is sad and when it is full of life, it is still our song and speaks of who we are. So we need to sing, and to remember the songs of those who we come here to mourn today, because they also live still, in us and in the life which is yet to come.We are here to celebrate the gift of love, but love is risky. To love is to enter into the certainty of loss. And what a loss those of us here have suffered. So much of life is beyond our control. Cancer emerges; tumours grow. Death is still at work in our world. People find themselves in situations where they can see no way out. Our mental or physical health may decline and none of this means that there is no love, and none of this means that there is no love from God. We may grieve the future that could have been, with trips not taken, meals not shared, songs not sung. But if love is risky, it is worth the risk, for who would have not known love?So tonight, we are acknowledging a fact that is sometimes lost on many people during the celebration of this season—the reality that not everyone’s Christmas is a merry one. There are people for whom this time is one of sadness because a sense of loss in their lives becomes magnified. There are feelings of emptiness because of the absence of loved ones who have passed away.Jesus’ birthplace, a stable, was actually a cave. His burial-place, his tomb, was a cave as well. The first cave was prepared by Joseph, the poor carpenter from Nazareth. The second cave was also prepared by a Joseph, a rich man from Arimathea. At his birth, Mary wrapped Jesus’ body tightly in cloths for swaddling clothes. At his death, Mary also wrapped Jesus’ body, in linen cloth, for a burial shroud. She placed his body in a manger, a feed box for grain. He would give his own body as food, feeding his flock with his flesh and blood. Who first heard the news of Jesus’ birth? It was shepherds in the fields outside Bethlehem – the light of the world, the source of love, calls us all at all stages of our lives and offers a final call as well, which requires the courage to answer and the faith to hope.It is for and through those who are hurting, though, that the real meaning of Christmas comes through. In fact, only a deeply “sanitized” reading of the Christmas Story would lead anyone to think that Christmas is “just only” about joy. Christmas is all about real life and God coming to us so that He can give us that real life. When we realize this, we receive the comfort we need that brings us the hope that we want and that gives us the joy that want to feel.Yet one problem with this is that there are some who often wonder: Does God knows my pain, does He know what I’m feeling, is He able to appreciate what I am going through in this life and living that seems to be all too often tempest-tossed? And Christmas holds the answer to these questions: Yes He does. In the person of Jesus Christ, the One who came to be Immanuel—God with us—God Himself entered into our world and became one with us by being one of us. In Jesus, God knows the hurt and pain of our lives because He shared in it. We have a God who knows our pain and grief, who has gone through our sufferings, and who knows what we need to heal broken, torn, and wounded lives.And this comfort that God brings to us gives us hope—a hope that we must have in this life that we live day by day. We need hope because we look around us and see and know that things are still “less than perfect”, including ourselves. Just the very fact that we are here tonight to acknowledge grief, suffering, sorrow, and pain makes this point clearly. Yet, why we are also here tonight is to acknowledge that there is hope, that there is a Source for this hope.Tonight, each of us knows the hurt, the pain, the grief, the suffering that we are going through. What each of us feels is real and no one can deny or convince us that this isn’t so. Yet, even though our feelings will be with us and will even be a part of our Christmas, what needs to be even greater than our feelings is the sure and certain knowledge that you still have a song to sing that is beautiful, that is your own and which unites you with the ones you have loved and still love. No matter how we live and no matter how we die, the love that we have is manifest here tonight, by the manger, under the tree, in your song, in your heart and in this building which is built to say one thing – love wins, and even death has been defeated. Fear not, Jesus says, I have overcome the world. Have a happy Christmas and keep on singing with love and hope.
Some years ago, I spent Advent in the Manchester Royal Infirmary as a patient. I’d been in hospital since October, by Advent I was recovering from surgery and waiting for test results. Miles from home, barrier-nursed in a side room, uncertain and anxious of what might lie ahead, it was a strange Advent... not the kind with candlelight services and carols, but one of ward life, the smell of disinfectant, and long nights broken only by the soft sounds of nurses’ footsteps.During those long nights I often played, again and again, Aled Jones singing O come, O come Emmanuel. The words became a lifeline. They filled that sterile little room with hope and comfort, as though the ancient longing of Israel had reached across the centuries and found me there, in Manchester. Something in that haunting melody sustained me... a reminder that even here, in weakness and waiting, Emmanuel... God with us, was near.And yet, I learned a great deal that Advent about waiting… and about the nearness of Christ in it. I came to recognise the sound of my mother’s footsteps coming down the ward at visiting time, long before I could see her. That sound brought peace before a single word was spoken. I welcomed, more than ever, the simple gift of a hand to hold. the reassurance of another person’s presence, the kindness that speaks without words.Waiting, I discovered, is not empty time. It is not something to be endured until life begins again. It is, in its own way, holy ground. Time itself can become sacramental… moments filled with grace and presence. Advent invites us to see that time is not just something that passes, but something through which God draws near.This morning, the violet vestments return. The Gloria falls silent. One candle burns on the Advent wreath. The Church’s rhythm changes… the mood deepens. A holy waiting begins. But Advent is not simply a countdown to Christmas, it is a season of depth, of longing, of quiet anticipation. It reminds us that the most important things in life are not instant but slow-growing… like healing, or forgiveness, or love that matures through time.Advent dares us to ask… What are we waiting for? We all wait… whether in hospital corridors, in checkout queues, in traffic jams, for phone calls, for letters, for news. We wait for reconciliation after an argument, for the courage to face a diagnosis, for the pain to ease, for love to begin again. We wait with hope, with fear, with endurance. And if we allow it, waiting reveals what truly matters. It strips away the unnecessary and clarifies the heart.If you’ve ever waited for test results or sat by a hospital bed, you’ll know how time slows down. The minutes seem endless, yet strangely full. You begin to notice details you’d usually miss… the sunlight on the wall, the rhythm of breathing, the kindness of a nurse, the faithfulness of those who visit. Waiting, if we let it, becomes prayer.In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Stay awake. Be ready.” I see it not as a harsh command… it’s more like a gentle whisper, “Wake up… it’s time”. Time to live awake to God, alert to grace, open to love. The world around us begins December quite differently. Lights go up quickly, carols fill the supermarkets, and there’s pressure to be festive… as though joy were something we could switch on like fairy lights. But Advent asks something deeper. it asks us to slow down, to notice, to hope in the dark of winter.I recall someone once saying that Advent is the Church’s gift to a world that has forgotten how to wait. In a culture that prizes speed, productivity, instant gratification, and algorithms, Advent says, wait, be still, God is coming. It’s the rhythm of Mary, treasuring all things in her heart. It’s the faith of Simeon and Anna, waiting with tired but patient eyes for the Consolation of Israel. It’s even the steady rhythm of the little donkey, plodding faithfully on, not fast, not grand, but constant, bearing the hope of the world on his back.In our readings, Isaiah paints a vision of peace where swords become ploughshares and nations learn war no more. Paul calls us to wake from sleep, for “the night is far gone, the day is near.” And Jesus warns against living forgetfully… not that eating and drinking, marrying and working are wrong, but that we can do them without gratitude, without awareness, without wonder. Advent invites us to recover wonder… to see God breaking through into the ordinary… in the people we love, in the face of a stranger, in bread and wine, in the small mercies of each day.Our Anglo-Catholic spirituality understands this deeply… that God comes not only in glory, but in the nearness of the everyday, in what seems small and ordinary. Emmanuel, God with us, is not far away in splendour, but close at hand, quietly at work in bread and wine, in time and touch, in the hidden corners of our days. As the Eucharistic Prayer says, “You make all things holy and gather a people to yourself.” At every Eucharist, that promise is renewed… heaven bends toward earth, and the daily things of life are caught up in God’s love.That is what Advent reveals… that God is already at work in the stillness of our waiting. He senses our need, hears our longing, and draws near with compassion. Like the father who ran to meet his prodigal son while he was still far off, so too God comes to us in Christ. He understands our needs, and makes even our waiting holy.Advent has inspired some of the richest music in our tradition, O come, O come Emmanuel, that aching cry from exile… and also... Lo, he comes with clouds descending… These aren’t sentimental carols, they are hymns for hearts that know both darkness and hope, that wait for the morning, that believe in light even when it is not yet seen. And so, O come, O come Emmanuel is not only the cry of the ancient prophets, it’s our song too. It is the prayer of the Church, the sigh of the weary, the longing for healing and peace. Wherever you find yourself waiting in the days ahead, whether in hope, in weariness, or simply plodding on like that little donkey… O come, O come Emmanuel can be your prayer too.God waits with us. When we wait faithfully, compassionately, honestly, we share in the patience of God who longs for his creation to be whole. So, don’t be troubled if you feel unready today, none of us is. That’s why we have Advent… it’s God’s gentle gift to help us begin again. It stirs the soul softly… it rekindles the flame.Perhaps this week, in the stillness before sleep or in the quiet before dawn, you might whisper…Come, Lord Jesus.Not as a demand, but as a welcome. Come into the quiet, come into the tiredness, come into the questions, come into our waiting.O come, O come Emmanuel. Amen
Some years ago, sailing into Plymouth harbour, the boom vang on my yacht snapped. Boom Vangs are small things, but of crucial importance if you want the boat to move in the way you wish it to, because it connects the wheel to the sail, via a device known, amusingly, as a ‘tabernacle’. The snap came about fifty metres from the harbour wall, beyond which all was still and calm and the onboard motor would have been quite sufficient, with the sails down, to pootle into the marina and moor up to get the thing repaired. However, those fifty metres were the issue – it was a high wind and the boat could not be steered, the sail was flapping around uncontrollably and I thought I would have to allow it to scupper on the harbour wall, leap out and save myself. Instead, I reached up, caught the boom with my hand while attaching my belt to the wheel, steered with my feet and got to safety, where the boom slowly flapped overhead and banged me on the head, cracking my skull and making me quite dizzy. The Doctor in the hospital later on was fussing around in an irritating fashion, and I just thought ‘it’s not the end of the world’.“It’s not the end of the world!” Everywhere I’ve been, people say this. For our world to end would be a disaster: it would be the end of everything familiar, everything we know. The trouble is that when suffering comes to us – losing our job, relationship break up, illness, bereavement, being banged on the head by an errant boom – we can indeed feel it’s the end of our world. And in a way we’re right: the old certainties, the old comforts, have gone – perhaps forever, we have no idea if things will return to how they were – but then, they never do, we keep on growing and moving on.As Christians, we don’t try to explain suffering and change away. We don’t try to pretend either that it’s just not happening or frantically try to avoid it. We see Christ on the Cross, suffering with us, changing with us, the Old Covenant giving way to the New, through this most painful rebirth – the Gospel today is simply a beautiful picture of our own pilgrimage, in which we both suffer, turn to Christ and rise again.And we see more. In today’s Second Reading, St. Paul, perhaps quoting an early Christian hymn, gives us an essential insight into the cross. Jesus, who is “the Beginning, the first-born from the dead” reconciled “things in heaven and things on earth” on the Cross. Stretched between heaven (the invisible) and earth (the visible), between God and creation, and his arms wide to embrace the whole of time and space, Jesus embraces all that is good and all that is broken. And he makes peace: he makes it new, and He makes it new for us as an act of love, as a King would do, living for his people and caring for them – this is not the feast day of a King we can admire beyond a velvet rope, but a King who is part of us and us Him, there is no divide, just love.But how does he and therefore we make peace? I suggest Jesus offers us an understanding of suffering which is beginning to be appreciated by modern psychotherapy. Suffering is not good in itself. We should not seek it. But when it comes, we have to go through it – we can’t avoid it. And we will only get through it with the strength that comes from understanding more deeply what is behind our suffering. As Christians, we don’t need to do that on our own. Knowledge and love, bring us a larger view of reality. We start to see things more as they really are. This might bring us to make changes in our lives. An old world might come to an end and a new one start to come into being. “Today you will be with me in paradise,” says Jesus to the good thief, and that ‘today’ is ours to give as well, through Baptism and living authentically our Christian life.War and climate chaos are major causes of suffering, and I find the flagrant defence of either to be challenging, as though a nation can deserve suffering, and a major cause of that is human sin: exploiting and polluting nature and each other, and manipulating people, rather than tilling the garden and keeping it, as God directed Adam to do . And the brunt is borne by people who live far from us. We have forgotten we are part of creation, not its consumers. Changing our ways, living by the true knowledge of creation which comes from God is to reign from the Cross of creation’s suffering. It is to put to death the old world of power as tyranny and exploitation. It is to understand instead what it means for us to be baptised as priest, prophet and king. A good king is a wise king, one who serves justly in universal love. It may take suffering to open us to receive this insight. And to start to know and love as God knows and loves is for the Resurrection to begin in us.Christ the King is the feast of the end of a fallen world and its worldly ways. Next Sunday we begin Advent, as we long for the coming of the Risen Lord in glory. We long for the new heaven and new earth. And as we begin to live the Kingship of Christ, we will see that even in the smallest things, heaven begins now.So cheer up, it’s the end of the World! It only comes once a year.
