Today we celebrate Gaudete Sunday, a moment in Advent where the mood shifts, where the purple of penitence softens into rose, and the pink candle flickers with the light of joy.The word Gaudete comes from St. Paul’s words: “Rejoice in the Lord always.” It’s a moment of joy breaking through the sombreness of the season, a reminder that Christ is near and that God’s promise is unfolding right before us. And yet, it might not always feel that way. Joy, after all, can seem elusive, particularly in times of challenge or uncertainty.The other day, I received a text that presented something of a dilemma. I’d been in touch with a customer services helpline to sort out a bill, and after the call, they sent me one of those feedback texts: “Based on your experience today, how much would you score the person who assisted you?” Many of us have been there, haven’t we? The person had been polite and efficient enough, but it all felt very scripted, even a bit frustrating at times. I started wondering how they might feel if they received my feedback of a “just OK” response. And then the thought struck me: What if someone gave me similar feedback on how I’d done in church on Sunday?This small, everyday moment reveals something much bigger. It’s not just about doing a job well or poorly. It’s about the heart behind what we do. Sometimes, we go through the motions in life, whether it’s in work, our roles or relationships. We tick the boxes, but our hearts aren’t fully engaged. The difference between a merely “sufficient” response and one that’s truly heartfelt is connection, and authenticity.Warmth and genuine care shine through. In the way people engage with us, we feel seen, valued, and appreciated. It’s not about doing the bare minimum; it’s about doing something with love and attention.In today’s Gospel, John the Baptist invites the people to a kind of engagement that goes beyond the surface. The crowds, sensing something important, come to him asking, “What then shall we do?” And John’s response isn’t abstract; it’s deeply practical. He tells them to share what they have, to act with justice, to avoid exploiting others. He calls them to a heartfelt way of living, where their inner transformation shapes their outward actions. It’s not enough to simply go through the motions. John’s message is clear: real repentance touches the heart and flows into how we treat one another.This kind of transformation is what Advent is all about. It’s not just about waiting; it’s about preparing, really preparing our hearts. Ancient Advent traditions, such as the O Antiphons, sung in the final days before Christmas, echo this call to preparation. These prayers, rich with titles for Christ like Wisdom, Emmanuel, and Key of David, give voice to the deep longings of God’s people. Each antiphon invites Christ to come into our lives, unlocking doors of justice and peace, bringing light to darkness, and drawing us into the fullness of His love.John’s call to repentance is not a harsh reprimand but a hopeful invitation. He’s not saying, “You’re not good enough.” He’s saying, “There’s more for you, a deeper joy, a fuller life, a truer way of being.” This is the joy of Gaudete Sunday. It’s the joy of knowing that Christ is coming and, with Him, the possibility of a new kind of life.For the early Christian communities, particularly those hearing Luke’s Gospel, this message would have resonated powerfully. They lived in anticipation, under the weight of persecution and hardship, yet clung to the promise that Christ’s return was near. The joy they felt wasn’t tied to the ease of their circumstances; it came from a deep sense that God’s Kingdom was breaking into the world, even in the midst of their struggles. They understood what John meant: joy isn’t something we wait passively for. It’s something we participate in, something we prepare for by opening our hearts and living with justice, kindness, and integrity.When the people came to John and asked, “What then shall we do?” they weren’t just looking for tasks to complete. They were searching for a way to prepare their hearts. And John gave them answers rooted in daily life. “Share with those who have none,” he said. “Don’t take advantage of others. Be content with what you have.” These are simple instructions, but they are profound. They remind us that our faith is not just about lofty ideals or abstract principles; it’s about how we live every day. The poetic cries of the O Antiphons, “O Wisdom,” “O Root of Jesse,” “O Emmanuel,” are active calls for God’s saving presence to break into our world. They remind us that joy isn’t abstract; it’s rooted in the nearness of Christ and the transformation He brings.For us, too, the call is the same. Advent isn’t just a time to prepare for the secular festivities of Christmas; it’s a time to prepare for Christ. And that preparation isn’t just about what we do externally, but about how we open our hearts to God’s presence. Like the difference between a perfunctory act of customer service and one filled with genuine care, our spiritual lives, too, can be transformed when we engage fully, when we live with an openness to God’s grace.Joy comes when we are united with God, when we live in harmony with His will. In our modern world, where so much of life can feel rushed and surface-level, John’s message speaks to us still. It invites us to slow down, to reflect, to ask ourselves, “What then shall we do?” And the answer, as it was for those who heard John’s voice in the wilderness, is found in the way we live: by caring for others, by acting justly, by opening our hearts to God’s transformative presence.Gaudete PrayerLord Jesus, source of our joy,draw near to our hearts this Advent.Turn our repentance into renewal,our waiting into wonder, and our lives into a reflection of Your love. Amen.
There is a time and a season to go back home – to return to some kind of beginning, whether this is to rediscover the reason we set out in the first place, or to scour the memory of the place we left from our minds, or to reevaluate where we have ended up. We do it all the time in our faith, we return to the source, and ask ‘how, now, are we doing?’ We don’t go back to find the past, because it is gone and we have, we would hope and expect, moved on as well and if we returned to find everything the same, we may well question those who maintained it thus. We move on, we grow and develop, thanks be to God. But now we find ourselves putting up trees, opening boxes of baubles and getting excited about a plastic baby and moving the statues of the wise men a little closer each week. It is, frankly, a little odd, and there is an unchanging familiarity about it which is both hypnotic and concerning at the same time. We don’t have to do any of it, but we do, and we enjoy it because it’s a little like going home to the place where our faith was born and finding that we have a home there as well. Advent is, among other things, about returning. In our first reading we witnessed the return of exiles to Jerusalem, to God’s city. From east and west, at God’s command, they return, carried back like royalty. God has removed every obstacle to their return, as though he had flattened mountains and hills and filled in the valleys, so Israel can return in safety, saved by the Lord. The endless wanderings of Israel this time bring them back to the place they loved, the place where God is with them.But more important is the fact that the people are accompanied by God in their return. He is present with them, escorting them, just as they had been escorted away into exile by their enemies. So when they return home, the Lord’s special presence among his people is also returning home. This is as much about the return of God as it is about the return of Israel, although like most apocryphal literature, there is a shady historical background to Baruch, but we will overlook it, because it’s Christmas, and we do not want to spoil it.In today’s Gospel, we see how these prophecies are more deeply fulfilled in the New Covenant. John the Baptist is that voice foretold by the prophets which calls for a straight road to be prepared for God, with valleys filled in and hills laid low. That return takes place definitively in Jesus, when he comes amongst us, and the salvation of God is made plain for all. He is God returning to be present in the most special way of all among his people, when God becomes human. And all this is done so that we too can return to him and be part of the city of God, the restless wanderings are about to end, and things will be ok again. It’s neat, and untrue, but we cannot possibly dwell on bad things when all our minds are focussed on a baby, can we.Scripture teaches us how we human beings turned away from God in our first ancestors, at the very beginning of human history. Now, as soon as we come into existence, each one of us, we share in that turning away from God. This is the mystery of original sin. But in baptism that sin is taken away: we are turned back to God by grace, and our return to him is underway, the arc of our salvation is about to find its home in the womb of the Virgin and the plan so long ago formed is to be made manifest. He is coming, he is coming back to us again.We read also in the prophets how the Lord declares, ‘Return to me, and I will return to you.’ But we can only return to God because he first returns in his grace to us. But when God returns to us, he enables us to return to him. This is as much about our returning to God as God’s returning to us.This good work has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Our returning to God has a beginning, a middle and an end. It is begun by the grace of God and becomes a stable reality in us through baptism. It is completed at Christ’s Second Coming when we are raised from the dead in glory. But in the meantime, that return is an ongoing journey of faith.Of course this is part of our Christian faith all year around. Perhaps in Lent we concentrate a great deal on our returning to God, on manifesting our repentance in prayer, fasting, almsgiving and other forms of penance. Perhaps in Advent we can turn our thoughts first to God’s return to us, that he has returned to us in Christ, that he has begun our return within us, and that we wait for the return of Christ at the end of time and in the celebration of Christmas. Last week we saw how our bodies have learned to stand erect, and to hold our heads high, and this week we see the immensity of the journey we must undertake to realise that redemption. But today, just for a little while, there is a return home, and the familiar things of Christmas. We don’t live there, but we can drop in to remind ourselves of where we are going and then get on with the journey, following quite quickly through Egypt into uncertainty and hope.
There will be signs in the sun, the moon and the stars and on the earth distress among the nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.’ In the last couple of weeks many people’s lives in England have been disturbed by floods, bringing chaos to their lives. In the time of Jesus ‘the roaring of the sea and the waves’ symbolized the collapse of our ordered world, the unleashing of destruction, an allegory of the darkness and seas unregulated by days or time during the wild, savage creation narrative in Genesis when nobody but an omnipotent God could have brought order out of chaos. Our worlds may collapse for many reasons as well, and we can seem as impotent to stop that happening as we would be faced with the immensity of a half-created universe. Our marriage may break down; we may lose our jobs, discover that we have cancer, become estranged from our children. In all of these situations, we may feel overwhelmed by disaster, and that our lives have no meaning and the waters of the flood threaten to overwhelm us, as we contemplate being for some time alone in a nation which maybe does not appear to have a social security net anymore. Then, Jesus says, ‘Stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.’ When we feel bowed down, Jesus tells us to stand up erect, with our heads raised, because salvation is at hand and salvation comes from the Word first spoken once the Father had laid out the foundations of the universe – once the world had been made for us to live in, He spoke the Logos, the Word of the Son, who commands us sternly to stand up, and pay attention, because the dis-order of the world is once more to be turned to the order first ordained for us. We start a new year, this is Advent, and it is a time to put our own houses in order, because we are not waiting for a turkey or baubles, but we are waiting for our salvation, and our redemption – that’s why we hear the Johannine Prologue at the end of every Mass this month, it’s our reminder of the object of our preparations.There was a moment in the evolution of humanity when our ancestors stopped scuttling around on all fours and stood up on two feet. Homo erectus could look into the distance, and our hands were free to make tools, we were able to look further than our next meal and our own personal survival, we became able to care for that which we could not then perceive. Standing upright belongs to human dignity and human dignity is about care for all humanity, not just the bits in front of our nose, dignity is part of the Christian life. When life is hard, then we may let ourselves be bent down again, ‘weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life’, as Jesus says. And whenever tyrants have wished to destroy human dignity, they try to bring us down to the ground again, by imprisonment, forced labour, starvation and other methods of subjugation which bring us physically to exhaustion and collapse.So when our lives collapse and lose their meanings, when we feel flattened and bowed down, Jesus invites us to stand upright, and we can do this because, the Gospel says, we will see the Son of Man coming with power and glory. This refers to the end, God’s final triumph over chaos and all that destroys human life. But more than a triumph over chaos, it’s the last battle when the creation which came out of chaos once again becomes perfect, an allegorical and real return to the garden, wet with the dew of the morning of creation once again, but with no snake to contort our minds. And it also refers to Jesus enthroned on the cross in glory. Everything was done to crush Jesus, to humiliate and bring him low, but it became a moment of glory. He was lifted up high on the cross, upright on the cross. The most ancient representations of the cross do not show a broken man, but Jesus as a king in glory, the wood of the crib of Bethlehem held Him no more effectively than did the wood of the Cross, and the end will come when both woods are but a distant memory, for the final triumph of the Cross is the new heaven and the new earth.We can stand upright too, because in his death Christ embraced all that could crush us. He was overwhelmed by chaos; the sun was darkened, the world collapsed. But he stood upright for all of us. He brought humanity to its feet. The Lord has suffered every humiliation that flattens us, and he stands erect, lifted up by his and our Father. ‘Stand up and raise your heads’ sounds very like ‘Stand up on your own two feet’. But the English expression implies that being upright is an act of individual will-power, something we must do alone. But the Gospel invites to help each other to our feet. Peter heals the lame man outside the Temple: ‘”In the name of Jesus walk.” And he took him by the right hand and raised him up. And immediately his feet and ankles were made strong.’ Let us prepare for the coming of Christ this Advent by helping each other to our feet. The test of a true Christian love is that it makes those whom we love strong and we may share together once again, not the excuse for a party that Christmas has become, but the joy of the human dignity of standing erect, holding our heads high because once again, we have four weeks to remember that our liberation is near at hand. And that is the message the world needs to hear, and it will only hear it from you.
All through his life Jesus showed that he was no pushover, he was his own man, if you like. No one controlled him. No one manipulated him or used him. He moves through the landscapes of Galilee and Samaria with a sovereign freedom and a more-than-royal vigour, breaking every custom with a fresh ease which must have been exhilarating to watch – in many people, it would come across as arrogance, but he does not even pause to explain himself. Time is limited, he is the king and there is work to be done. He acts with power. He speaks with authority. He is a source of awe and amazement in encounter after encounter. He commands obedience even in those who have hitherto never seen or heard of him. He demands discipleship — no one can serve two masters, he said. With an absolute self-assurance, he cuts across all parties and programmes and treats the rulers of the world with disdain:‘Tell that fox Herod.’ he says of the Tetrarch of Galilee’ . ‘Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God?’ ‘the earth and all its fullness, the world and all its peoples’ He forgives sins by divine right, even on the cross — especially on the cross: ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,’ says the thief on the cross and the king replies, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.’ He is sure of his Kingdom and his kingship, and his certainty never slips.It is with Pontius Pilate, agent of the Emperor, that Jesus has that strange debate about kingship and truth. It is you who say that I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice. (Jn 18:37)The rich, the powerful, do not snatch his life from him. He lays down his life at the time and place He chooses, having walked into the great city and prophesised its fall, effectively closing down the temple and then, in the other great imperial building, the praetorium, refusing to bow to their assumed authority. It is, frankly, staggering and awesome to see His earthly ministry through the lens of divine right. He never gives anyone an inch unless he wishes to, and he is unbending in his actions. King Trump and King Putin have to keep their people happy, to one degree or another, but the King of a Kingdom greater than the whole world has no such need, no such temptation.I lay down my life for my friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. Love one another as I have loved you. (Jn 10, 15) This is his teaching, and it is as awesome, difficult and apparently simple as all His statements, yet it also binds us in the light and binds us in the darkness, where we can drop other allegiances, other loyalties.It is this kingdom of truth and love which triumphs on Calvary. We do not live under the shadow of the cross but in its light as the power and the glory of the kingdom. The kingdom now coming on earth as it is in heaven is no mere restoration of a fallen world, no mere repair job on damaged humanity. It is a new creation. Jesus has seized power on earth. It is a coup d’état. A bloody, violent revolution, though His is the cup of the blood of the new commonwealth, and we are washed in his blood, as a royal people, a holy nation, a collective set apart from this world to declare His mighty acts, and bear witness to His Kingship, His reign and His power alone, amidst all the noise and clamour and filth of this world.And the manifesto and agenda of this new fellowship is not that we should endure the evils of the world like Stoics, or that we should be indifferent to politics, society, trade, education, injustice and poverty. There is a transformative agenda in this kingdom. All things — family, society, culture and community — are to be stamped with his image like coins bearing the images of Caesars. All that we do should bear the hallmark of the King, who has incorporated us into His body, not like an earthy King in his castle, but as the one true King, whose body we share.Jesus is the ‘Yes’ of God to the promises of heaven and the cries of the earth. And we who share in his kingship are to be like those early Christians we read about in the Acts of the Apostles who terrified the powers-that-be in northern Greece as they willingly went to suffer and die and found in their discipleship an iron resolve that made anything else – torture, imprisonment, death, hatred, of no importance at all.And what of us who call Lord, Lord? Will we enter the kingdom? We often accuse ourselves of the sin of pride but perhaps we are not being proud enough. Proud and courageous in the royal dignity he has given us, in sharing his kingship, his power and his glory. Instead of sovereignty in doing good we are tyrannised by caution, meekness and mildness. Sluggishness and slothfulness, apathy and indifference undermine the dynamism of grace at work within us, we have lost dominion over ourselves because we have lost the freedom and the joy of our King.But here, at the Mass, at this one sacrifice of Calvary, there is healing medicine for feeble souls, nourishing food and drink for the daily journey of taking up the cross. Here is the wine of the kingdom and the bread of heaven to put fire in our bellies, the Pentecostal fire of the kingdom.Do not be afraid, little flock. It has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom. (Lk 12:32)In the world you will have trouble. But take courage, I have conquered the world. (Jn 16:33)
