Joy arrives quietly in Advent. It is not loud or hurried or forced. It rises like a melody beneath the surface of the heart—a music that plays when we remember that God is near.
As Christmas draws closer, we are reminded that this season is an invitation to encounter the love of God made flesh. Christ’s coming is the gift of peace not as the world gives. And it is from that peace, God’s own peace, that true joy blossoms.
But Advent joy is not the joy of glittering storefronts or twinkling lights. Those may delight for a moment, but they do not reach to true depths, they are just a temporary distraction.
The joy of Advent is deeper. It’s a gladness born of communion—communion with God, with one another, and with the humble Christ who listens, accompanies, and loves.
Spiritual writers through the ages remind us that joy is the overflow of love received and shared. It is the fruit of hearts stirred by grace—just as dough is lifted by its leaven, quietly rising and quietly transformed.
This is the joy that grows unseen at first, like a small warmth moving through cold places within us. It is the joy that deepens when we pause long enough to notice God’s nearness. It is the joy that emerges when we choose compassion, generosity, and openness of heart.
This third week of Advent, we light another candle and celebrate that quiet joy. Not the kind the world markets, but the kind that remains—the joy that no darkness can extinguish, because its source is Christ Himself.
As we light the rose candle, may its gentle glow remind us that joy is already taking root. The Lord is close. The Light is growing. And grace is quietly expanding our hearts from within.
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