3rd Sunday of Advent

Advent today teaches us how to wait without hardening, by learning to recognise God’s work in real and ordinary acts of healing and justice.

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, Gaudete, rejoice. The Church wears rose today not because life has suddenly become easy, but because the Lord is near, and because we are being trained to see that nearness even when life is heavy.

Hold two scenes together. One is open and busy. People gather around Jesus, bringing the sick, the troubled, the poor. The other is closed and silent. John the Baptist sits in prison. The Gospel tells us plainly that John is no longer in the wilderness. He is behind locked doors. From that place he sends messengers to Jesus with a single question: “Are you the one who is to come, or must we wait for another?” (Matthew 11:3).

This is not a casual question. John has given his whole life to preparing the way. If Jesus is not the one, then John’s life work begins to unravel. And yet there is something generous here. John may be asking as much for his disciples as for himself. He sends them to Jesus so that they can see and hear for themselves, and learn to trust him directly. A true prophet does not cling to followers. He knows when to step aside.

John is also a man under pressure. Prison removes distraction and sharpens fear. It brings questions to the surface. Many people know this experience. The long wait. The sense that you have done what you could, and now there is nothing to do but sit with uncertainty.

In South Africa today, waiting is part of daily life. People wait at clinics that are understaffed. They wait for work that does not come. They wait for transport that is unsafe or unreliable. They wait for electricity, for safer streets, for leaders who serve the common good. Waiting like this can harden the heart, or it can make a person attentive and truthful.

That is why the first reading from Isaiah 35:1–6a, 10 speaks so clearly. Isaiah addresses people broken by exile, people who have lost land, stability, and confidence. He does not offer vague comfort. He offers a vision that touches real life. Weak hands will be strengthened. Shaking knees will grow firm. Blind eyes will open. The lame will walk (Isaiah 35:3–6). Then he says, “They shall return with singing… sorrow and sighing shall flee away” (Isaiah 35:10).

In the Bible, the desert is not romantic. It is dangerous. It is where people run out of water and options. When Isaiah says the desert will bloom, he is saying that God does not avoid the hardest places. God works there. God’s saving work shows itself in restored strength, restored movement, restored dignity.

The responsorial psalm continues this picture. It tells us what God does. God gives bread to the hungry. God sets prisoners free. God lifts up those who are bowed down. God protects the stranger and upholds the orphan and the widow (Psalm 146:7–9). The psalm invites us to look honestly at how we live. Who is helped by our choices? Who is overlooked?

These questions arise in familiar settings. Townships where unemployment is widespread. Informal settlements where one fire can undo years of effort. Rural areas where young people leave because opportunities are scarce. Cities where migrants live cautiously because they are treated with suspicion. Psalm 146 insists that these lives matter to God.

Our second reading speaks about how to live while waiting. “Be patient… until the coming of the Lord” (James 5:7). James uses the image of a farmer waiting for rain. A farmer works the soil, plants the seed, and protects what he can, while accepting what he cannot control. Many farmers in South Africa know this rhythm well.

James adds a warning that deserves attention: “Do not grumble against one another” (James 5:9). When pressure builds, people can turn on each other. Families, communities, and churches can become tense and divided. James reminds us that waiting can erode relationships if we are not careful. Advent patience is active. It is the steady choice to remain faithful to one another over time.

With this in mind, return to the Gospel. John sends his question. Jesus does not respond with an argument. He responds with evidence. “Go and tell John what you hear and see” (Matthew 11:4). Then he lists what is happening:

The blind see. The lame walk. Lepers are cleansed. The deaf hear. The dead are raised. The poor have good news preached to them (Matthew 11:5).

This list echoes Isaiah 35. Jesus is saying, “This is what God’s kingdom looks like when it arrives.” Notice what Jesus does not emphasise. He does not speak about punishment or revenge. He speaks about people being restored. God’s justice begins as healing.

Jesus then adds a sentence that asks for trust: “Blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me” (Matthew 11:6). Blessed is the one who does not stumble because God acts in unexpected ways. John expected judgement and fire. Jesus brings mercy and restoration. This is not weakness. It is strength directed toward life.

This is the joy of Gaudete Sunday. It is not excitement or noise. It is steadiness. It is the joy of recognising that God is already at work, even when the work is quiet. Jesus does not begin among the powerful. He stays with the poor, the sick, and the excluded. That is where the kingdom grows.

We see this same pattern today. A clinic volunteer who remains patient and respectful in a long queue. A parish group that supports families who have nothing left at the end of the month. A teacher who refuses to give up on children who arrive hungry and distracted. A neighbour who accompanies an elderly person because the streets feel unsafe. These actions reflect the kingdom Jesus describes. The poor hear good news not only in words, but in deeds.

Ignatius of Loyola offers a simple practice to help us notice this. In the Examen, we ask where life was present in the day we have lived. Where did we notice generosity? Where did fear shape our choices? This practice is not about self-criticism. It is about learning to recognise where Christ is already active.

John’s time in prison also teaches us about desolation. In desolation, prayer feels dry and hope feels thin. Ignatius advises that when desolation comes, we should not make major changes. We should remain with what is faithful. Keep prayer simple. Keep doing the good that is possible. John does this. He does not withdraw. He sends his question to Jesus. He remains in relationship.

Jesus responds with respect and praise. John is not weak. He is not a reed shaken by the wind. He is a prophet who stood firm. And yet Jesus says something striking: “The least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he” (Matthew 11:11). This is not a dismissal of John. It is a statement about grace. The kingdom Jesus brings is not about rank or achievement. It is about participation. Anyone who receives this mercy is already sharing in what John announced.

So what follows from this? Not admiration, but response. The readings call us to a faith that is public and practical. Bread for the hungry. Respect for the stranger. Patience without grumbling. Attention to healing rather than revenge. In South Africa, this also means refusing the habits that weaken trust: everyday corruption, dishonesty that feels normal, contempt for the poor, indifference to violence, and the belief that nothing can change. These habits shape the society we become.

At this altar, Christ comes to us as food. We receive him, and then we return to ordinary life. Back to work and study. Back to family pressures and national uncertainty. John’s question becomes our question. Jesus’ answer becomes our way of living: pay attention to what gives life, and take part in it.

As we move into this week, carry these three Ignatian questions into prayer:

• Where am I tempted to be offended by God’s way because it is slower or gentler than I want, and what signs of healing am I being asked to trust? (Matthew 11:4–6)
• Who near me is hungry, bowed down, or easily overlooked, and what concrete act of care or respect will I offer them this week? (Psalm 146:7–9)
• When frustration or desolation rises, what faithful practice will I hold to, so that I remain patient and hopeful rather than bitter? (James 5:7–10)