3rd Sunday of Advent

Even in the Waiting, We Rejoice

Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:5-10 or Luke 1:46b-55; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11

Advent is not a season that rushes. It unfolds slowly, inviting us to pay attention, to hold both hope and sorrow at the same time. And today, on the third Sunday of Advent—Gaudete Sunday—we’re invited to rejoice. That’s what Gaudete means in Latin: “rejoice.” The candles on the Advent wreath shift in color today, from the deep purple of repentance and longing to a rose-tinted light of joy. It’s a visual reminder that even in the middle of waiting, God’s promises are breaking through.

But let’s be honest: joy in the middle of waiting can feel elusive.

This is especially true for many transgender Christians. Some of us are waiting for affirmation from our families. Some of us are waiting for healthcare, for safety, for stability, for churches that will see us as full participants in God’s kingdom. Others are simply trying to hold onto our faith when so many voices tell us we don’t belong.

This Gaudete Sunday, joy may not look like laughter or ease. But there is a joy that can hold space for our realities, our longings, and our dignity. A joy that doesn’t deny hardship—but persists in the face of it.

The Question in the Waiting (Matthew 11:2–11)

In Matthew 11, John the Baptist—once a bold and certain prophet—is now sitting in prison. His future is uncertain. He sends a message to Jesus, asking, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

That question is brave. It comes from someone who has already given everything to prepare the way for Jesus. But now John is unsure. Jesus isn’t meeting his expectations in the ways he thought. Things aren’t unfolding like he hoped. And maybe, just maybe, he wonders if he was wrong to believe.

If you’ve ever felt like that, you’re in good company. Maybe you’ve asked questions like:

Is this faith worth holding onto?

Does God really see me—me, as I am?

Am I still welcome at the table?

Is the good news actually good for me?

Jesus responds with compassion. He tells John’s messengers to go back and tell him what they see:

“The blind receive their sight, the lame walk… the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”

Jesus doesn’t scold John for asking the question. He doesn’t say, “Just have more faith.” Instead, he says: look at the evidence of life. Look at what is being restored. Look at what love is doing in the world. That’s how you’ll know I’m the One.

To my transgender siblings: your questions are sacred. Your faith is not diminished by doubt. And your life is already part of this holy restoration. When you choose to live into your truth, to speak with love, to care for your community, to seek healing—these are signs of the kingdom coming near. Even in seasons of waiting, even in the middle of questions, joy is possible because God is still moving.

Rejoicing with Mary (Luke 1:46b–55)

Today we also read the Magnificat, Mary’s bold, prophetic song. She sings it while she’s newly pregnant with Jesus, carrying divine life inside her but not yet seeing the fruit.

She is still a young woman in an occupied land, vulnerable and likely afraid. But even so, she sings:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…”

Mary’s joy is not naive. It comes from deep trust. She declares that God has scattered the proud, lifted up the lowly, filled the hungry, and remembered the promise of mercy. She sings not because everything is already perfect—but because she believes God is faithful.

This is queer joy. This is trans joy. It’s joy rooted in the reality of who we are, in the promises of a God who does not forget the marginalized, the misunderstood, or the misrepresented. Like Mary, we rejoice not because our stories are easy, but because God is in them. God is with us.

Sometimes, transgender joy is survival joy. It’s the joy of making it another day, the joy of a chosen family hug, the joy of singing with our full voice, the joy of being called by our real name. Sometimes, it’s quiet joy. Other times, it’s defiant joy. But always, it is holy.

Mary’s song invites all of us—cisgender, transgender, and nonbinary alike—to consider how God is still lifting up the lowly, still turning systems upside down, still speaking through unexpected voices. The Magnificat reminds us: God’s joy is for all people. That includes you.

Patient, Persistent Hope (James 5:7–10)

Then we turn to James. In these brief verses, we hear a call to patience. But it’s not the kind of patience that waits passively. It’s the kind that endures with purpose. James uses the image of a farmer waiting for the rain—something that can’t be forced, but must be trusted.

“Strengthen your hearts,” he says, “for the coming of the Lord is near.”

Transgender Christians are no strangers to this kind of patience. You may have waited for years to transition. Or waited for a name to feel right. Or waited for a community to love you openly. Maybe you’re still waiting.

James reminds us that waiting is not weakness. Waiting with hope is strength. And we don’t wait alone. We are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses—prophets, ancestors, and everyday saints—who also longed, who also struggled, who also rejoiced before the story was finished.

You are not behind in your journey. You are not too late for God’s promises. Joy is not something you have to earn. It’s a gift that comes right in the middle of uncertainty.

A Word for All of Us

This devotional is written with transgender Christians in mind—but its message is for everyone. Because the truth is, all of us have something we’re waiting for. All of us carry longing and doubt. And all of us are called to rejoice—not just when things are easy, but especially in the waiting.

To cisgender Christians reading this: your transgender siblings are not on the margins of God’s story. We are already part of it. The call of Advent is for all of us to prepare the way of the Lord—by lifting each other up, by dismantling injustice, by making space at the table. Joy multiplies when we live this way together.

To my trans siblings: you are good. Your life is a signpost of divine creativity. Your presence in the Church is a gift. God is not late to your story, and you are not lost in the waiting. Like John, like Mary, like the prophets of old—you are seen, known, and loved by the One who is coming and already here.

Rejoice, Beloved

On this Gaudete Sunday, may joy rise in you—not shallow or performative joy, but the kind of joy that knows your name, sees your struggle, and still says: you are beloved.

Rejoice, because Christ is coming. Rejoice, because you are not alone. Rejoice, because joy is your birthright, too. Amen.

Rev. Dr. Lawrence T. Richardson is a pastor, strategist, and communicator in the United Church of Christ whose ministry centers courage, covenant, and justice. He equips congregations and leaders through preaching, media training, and organizational coaching, with a special focus on clear communication, digital discipleship, and trauma-aware, LGBTQ+-affirming care. In the Michigan Conference, he is helping guide a five-year strategic planning effort and is advancing initiatives that strengthen connection and vitality across the state. Lawrence’s work consistently lifts up the divinity and dignity of every person and invites communities to flourish with clarity, compassion, and hope.