OUR LORD COMETH: THE THIRD SUNDAY OF ADVENT

The Parable of the Fig Tree, the Blessed Virgin as the New Ark, St. Lucy, Shining Forth as the New Menorah, St. John the Baptist Aflame with the Holy Spirit, as a New Burning Bush. All These Types and Figures are Found in the Readings of the Scriptures for the Blessed Season of Advent! 

By Bp. Joseph (Ancient Church of the West) 

INTRODUCTION

Our Church now stands at a quiet threshold. Advent has not yet given way to Christmas joy, yet neither does it remain wholly austere. We have learned how to wait, and now we are taught how to wait rightly… to wait and pray. This Third Sunday of Advent, called “Gaudete Sunday,” interrupts the stillness with a gentle command: “Rejoice! Rejoice! For Christ is Born of a Virgin!” Not because the waiting is over, but because the One for whom we wait is near at hand. 

Holy Scripture places before us today a profound and searching question. From the depths of a prison cell, the Great Forerunner St. John the Baptist asks, “Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another?” It is not the question of doubt alone, but of faithful longing stretched thin by darkness and delay. Alongside this, the Apostle Paul exhorts us to be faithful stewards of mysteries, refusing to judge before the appointed time, until the Lord Himself comes to bring hidden things to light. Advent, then, is not merely about chronology or calendars; it is about discernment, patience, and hope held under tension.

In these readings, hymns and traditions, the Ancient Church invites us to examine not only what we await, but how we wait. Are we watching with fear, or with trust? With distraction, or with devotion? With forgetfulness, or with wonder? Advent trains the heart to recognize the true Christ when He comes; not the false Christ of Judaism or Islam, which seeks the Antichrist and heralds the Apocalypse, but the true Christ of Scripture - Gentle, Lowly, Born in a Manger, and coming back with all the losers of history, the virgins, the martyrs, the beaten and oppressed - to rule and reign forever! And we rejoice, even before this great Second Coming, this “Perousia” occurs! We prophetically rejoice in it as a promise! 

SCRIPTURE

1 Corinthians 4:1–5

Let a man so account of us, as of the ministers of Christ, and stewards of the mysteries of God. Moreover it is required in stewards, that a man be found faithful. But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged of you, or of man’s judgment: yea, I judge not mine own self. For I know nothing by myself; yet am I not hereby justified: but he that judgeth me is the Lord. Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come, who both will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts: and then shall every man have praise of God.

Matthew 11:2–10

Now when John had heard in the prison the works of Christ, he sent two of his disciples, and said unto him: Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another? Jesus answered and said unto them: Go and show John again those things which ye do hear and see: The blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them. And blessed is he whosoever shall not be offended in me. And as they departed, Jesus began to say unto the multitudes concerning John: What went ye out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken with the wind? But what went ye out for to see?

A man clothed in soft raiment? Behold, they that wear soft clothing are in kings’ houses. But what went ye out for to see? A prophet? Yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet. For this is he, of whom it is written: Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.

SERMON 

I will say these things to you now in the Name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. 

Beloved in Christ, there is a peculiar feeling in the air during these days, which is a kind of holy electricity. The light fades earlier. The cold sharpens the senses. In many places, shops glow warmly against the dark. Windows are trimmed with candles and pine, and the faint scent of cinnamon, clove, and orange peel seems to follow us everywhere. Children grow restless, not with anxiety, but with expectation. They count days. They rehearse lines. They peek at wrapped gifts and shake them gently, as if sound itself might reveal mystery.

This, dear friends, is our experience of Advent.

Not merely a season, but a posture of the soul.

The Ancient Church, wiser than we often realize, does not rush us to Bethlehem. She makes us wait. She makes us watch. She trains our attention. As St. Augustine once observed, desire expands the heart, and what is expanded can receive more fully. Advent stretches us. It lengthens the longing. It slows the steps, even as the world accelerates toward Christmas morning.

“Rejoice in the Lord alway,” cries the Introit. “And again I say, Rejoice.” This is Gaudete Sunday: the rose candle flickering gently among the purples or blues. Not the end of fasting, but a smile in the midst of it. Not indulgence, but encouragement. A wink, as it were, from Holy Mother Church: Yes, it is hard… but He is near.

Anticipation as Holy Practice

From the beginning, God has taught His people through anticipation. Israel waited centuries for the Messiah. Patriarch Moses stood between fire and cloud. The Law was bound upon hands, written upon doorposts, spoken morning and night, and not merely as information, but as formation. “Thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children,” says Deuteronomy, not as abstract theology, but as a lived rhythm.

The Fathers noticed this. St. Gregory of Nazianzus tells us that God educates humanity slowly, like a wise tutor who gives milk before solid food. He didn’t drop all truth onto all of humanity at once, but, instead, He allowed us an IV-drip of prophets and patriarchs, until the coming of Christ. Advent belongs to that divine pedagogy. The waiting is the lesson. It is not a crime to have to wait and pray. We must, as my grandmother always reminded me, learn to “bloom where we are planted.” 

This is why ritual matters. Candles lit, one by one. Hymns sung again and again. The same Scriptures returning, year after year, like familiar friends knocking at our door.s T.S. Eliot, in Little Gidding, reminds us that through repetition, we arrive “where we started and know the place for the first time.” Advent does not bore or sterilize the soul, but tunes it to the ringing of the Christmas Bell, the beautiful resonance of the Incarnation. 

Children understand this all instinctively. They know that anticipation is half of our joy. Christmas plays rehearsed endlessly, the St. Matthew nativity lines memorized by heart. Carols sung off-key, but with great force, enthusiasm and delight. Wire halos slipping askew. Costumes of bathrobes, too big or too small. A St. Mary who forgets her line. An angel who waves to her parents mid-song. The little shepherd boy who inappropriately uses his grandfather’s cane to pull on another child’s leg or try to steal an angel’s halo. These things are not distractions from the mystery; they are incarnational echoes of it on every level. We enter into the mystery as we become as little children. 

God enters through the ordinary… through the broken… through the imperfect. Recently, the boys of the congregation have been talking about the Japanese concept of “Wabi Sabi.” This is exactly it: the perfect King of all, ruling heaven in absolute beauty, power, grace and love, came in such a way that He is continually celebrated by delightfully bad children’s plays! Christ delights in “perfect imperfection,” the Wabi Sabi of Christian discipleship and saintly transformation. 

Light in the Darkness

St. Paul calls us “children of light,” urging us to stay awake, and not with prohibitions and dread, but with light and hope. The coming of the Lord is not meant to terrify the faithful. It is meant to awaken us. The thief comes only to those who sleep in forgetfulness. But those who watch by candlelight, with those who pray, sing, decorate, prepare, all are already half-awake to the Kingdom.

This is why St. Lucy belongs so beautifully to this week. Her name means “light.” In the ancient Northern lands, her feast marked the turning of the year: the darkness deep, yet the promise of return already planted and springing up. Candles on little girls’ heads. Sweet bread shared. Songs sung in the long night. One generation passing their light to the next.

Our holy fathers, the Caroline Divines, loved such things, not as sentimentality, but as sacramentality and an opportunity to discover transformation. Blessed Lancelot Andrewes preached that Christ did not merely appear among us, but “took our days into Himself.” Time itself is sanctified. Seasons are redeemed by His life and suffering, His coming to sit with us in the potshards of our grief. Memory becomes a vessel of grace. Ritual becomes a pathway to holiness. 

Shakespeare knew this. He wrote of “patience on a monument, smiling at grief.” Advent smiles at us from all the candle wreaths and purple ribbons - not because suffering is gone, but because it is not final. Christ will return to comfort our souls. He smiles at us from His throne above. 

And so St. John the Baptist, languishing in prison, dares to ask the question we all ask in dark seasons: Art thou He? And Christ answers: not with argument, not with apologetics, not with internet screeds or diatribes, but with evidence. Sight is restored. Bodies are healed. Good news preached to the poor. Captivity is set free. Light passing from hand to hand.

The Build-Up

The world offers us a Christmas without Advent: feasting without fasting, joy without depth, gifts without Giver. The Church refuses this ridiculous convenience. All good gifts cost something. All beauty requires sacrifice. She insists that meaning grows through preparation. That beauty ripens through restraint. That the greatest joys are those we have learned how to receive through restraint. 

As the Inklings often reminded us in their novels, especially C.S. Lewis, longing itself is a signpost for Heaven, and a way to know we were created for other worlds. The cold ache we feel in Advent, the nostalgia stirred by childhood memories, past trauma, breathless PTSD, the sweetness tinged with melancholy… these are not mere accidents. They are the echoes of lost Eden and a foretastes of the glory that is to come.

Christ comes first in humility, then in great power and devastating majesty. First to a manger as a slave boy, then to the judgment seat as the Pantocrator. Advent holds both truths of Christ’s dichotomy together, like two hands cupping a single flame.

And that flame must be passed on. This, next to worshipping God and living in the theophoric light of the Creator, is the purpose of life, and the origin of Orthodoxy….

A Poem for St. Lucy

A child steps softly through the dark,

A candle crown upon her hair,

Small hands cupped close to borrowed flame,

A hush of reverence fills the air.

The night is long, the year is old,

The elders watch with tender eyes;

They see in her what once they were,

And what, by grace, shall yet arise.

Bread is broken, songs are sung,

This Gaudete light moves on from face to face;

Time itself bends, and briefly stilled,

As hope relearns its ancient place.

O Lucy, teach us how to keep

The fragile fire the faithful bear

To pass it on through love and loss,

Until the Christ return in the air.

SUMMARY

Let us remember the words from our first New Testament lesson, from 1 Thessalonians 5:1–11, 14–24, that we read this morning, now as our final exhortation. In it, St. Paul sums up the whole lived Gospel of the Ancient Faith. 

“But of the times and the seasons, brethren, ye have no need that I write unto you. For yourselves know perfectly that the day of the Lord so cometh as a thief in the night. For when they shall say: Peace and safety; then sudden destruction cometh upon them, as travail upon a woman with child; and they shall not escape.

“But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief. Ye are all the children of light, and the children of the day: we are not of the night, nor of darkness. Therefore let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober.

“For they that sleep sleep in the night; and they that be drunken are drunken in the night. But let us, who are of the day, be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love; and for an helmet, the hope of salvation. For God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to obtain salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, that, whether we wake or sleep, we should live together with him. Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another, even as also ye do.

“Now we exhort you, brethren: warn them that are unruly, comfort the feebleminded, support the weak, be patient toward all men. See that none render evil for evil unto any man; but ever follow that which is good, both among yourselves, and to all men.

“Rejoice evermore.

Pray without ceasing.

In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Quench not the Spirit.

Despise not prophesyings.

Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.

Abstain from all appearance of evil.

“And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. Faithful is he that calleth you, who also will do it.”

COLLECT

Let us pray…

ALMIGHTY and Everliving God, who hast taught Thy Church to watch and wait in hope, kindle, we beseech Thee, within our hearts the true light of Advent; that as we prepare our homes with beauty, and our lives with prayer and holy discipline, we may be made ready to receive Thy Son with joy, and to pass on His light to those who walk in darkness; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen.