There's a particular kind of joy that we're told
we're supposed to have at Christmas. It's cheerful,
it's well decorated, and it has cookies, which
apparently I'm supposed to be careful about the
chocolate covered bourbon balls. Just supposed
to have one a day. We'll see how that works.
It somehow requires energy at Christmas time
that we do not currently possess. And if we're
honest, many of us come into the season already
tired. You know, we're tired before the lights
go up. We're tired before the first carol plays.
We are tired before someone cheerfully says,
can you believe it's almost Christmas? Hush up.
And some of us, we nod politely. Some of us nod
impolitely. Some of us smile. Some of us quietly
wonder if it is acceptable to take a nap until
January. Into that reality, Scripture gives us
a strange pairing today. A desert in bloom and
a prophet in prison. Isaiah sings about joy.
John the Baptist asks if joy has missed him entirely.
And somehow right there in between, Jesus shows
us what real joy actually is. The wilderness
and the dry land shall be glad. The desert shall
rejoice and blossom. Isaiah starts with joy,
but not the kind you buy in Isle 7. This joy
is spoken over places that look nothing like
joy. Wilderness, dry land, desert. Isaiah does
not say once the desert blooms, then it will
rejoice. He says, it shall rejoice. God speaks
joy over barrenness before anything changes.
And that matters. Because joy does not begin
with circumstances improving. It begins with
God naming what is possible. Now hold that next
to John the Baptist. John is not in the wilderness
anymore. He's in prison. The man who once baptized
crowds and thundered truth is now sending a message
from a cell. Are you the one who is to come or
should we wait? for another. Yikes, John. This
is not a trick question, though. It's a tired
question. It's the question of someone who thought
that joy would look different by now. And if
we're honest, Christmas can feel like that. We
expect warmth, but we feel lonely. We expect
peace, but family gatherings feel like obstacle
courses. We expect joy, but all we feel is a
vague sense of pressure. Like joy is late and
we just keep checking our watch. Joy at first?
Well, it's not really a feeling, but rather a
longing. It's the quiet belief that the desert
is not the final chapter. Sometimes joy begins
with nothing more than just the thought, maybe
God. is not finished yet. Strengthen the weak
hands and make firm the feeble knees. Say to
those who are of a fearful heart, Be strong,
do not fear. Before Isaiah talks about singing,
he talks about trembling. Before joy erupts,
God addresses exhaustion. But this is good news.
Because many of us We don't need or want cheer.
We need support. We do not need someone to tell
us to smile more. We need someone to say, I see
how tired you are, but don't point out the bags.
John the Baptist does not receive a rebuke from
Jesus. Jesus does not say, come on John, where's
your faith? Jesus answers gently. He sends reassurance.
And then in front of the crowd, Jesus honors
John. Among those born of women, no one has arisen
greater than John the Baptist. Even in his doubt,
John is not discarded. He is still part of God's
story. often asks us to be strong when we're
already worn down. We carry responsibilities,
grief, expectations, and sometimes a little too
much credit card debt. All while humming carols.
Joy in this moment is not laughter. Joy is God
steadying, shaking hands. Joy is God saying,
you're not failing, you're human. Sometimes joy
feels like being held up rather than lifted away.
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened and
the ears of the deaf unstopped. Isaiah says,
then, not immediately, but surely. Joy becomes
visible in restoration. When Jesus answers John's
question, He's not trying to go into some theological
essay to make sure that he remembers all of the
prophecies in every other piece. He points. The
blind receive their sight. The lame walk. The
lepers are cleansed. The deaf hear. The dead
are raised. The poor have good news brought to
them. In other words, John, look around. This
is what joy is supposed to look like. It's not
sparkly, it's not perfect. It's redemption. Christmas
often tempts us to believe that joy must feel
magical, but Scripture tells us that joy often
looks ordinary and miraculous at the same time.
A relationship slowly healing. A burden shared.
a body cared for, a soul remembering it is loved.
See, real joy is not found in flawless moments.
We don't flip to the Hallmark Channel to find
it. It is found where something broken is being
made whole. If you are looking for joy this season,
look for places where love is repairing what
life has worn down. That's where Christ is. Waters
shall break forth in the wilderness, streams
in the desert, the burning sand shall become
a pool and the thirsty ground springs of water."
Isaiah's language suddenly becomes extravagant.
He is no longer talking about survival, just
getting by. He is talking about abundance, overflowing.
The desert does not just get a water bottle and
a shade umbrella. It turns into a landscape with
springs. This is important because many of us
secretly believe God's goal is just to help us
barely make it. We imagine faith as learning
to manage disappointment with better manners.
But Isaiah insists that when God shows up, God
doesn't ration out life. He overflows with it
for us. Now put that next to John the Baptist,
the one who has struggled in preaching that the
captives will be freed, the one who is wondering
what is going on. But you see, John expected
fire. He preached fire. He announced an axe at
the root of the tree, and he imagined the Messiah
arriving with judgment and clarity and swift
resolution, and instead... Jesus shows up healing
people, forgiving sinners, eating with the wrong
crowd, telling stories that take a while to make
sense. I know how that goes. In other words,
Jesus does not meet John's expectations, rather
He exceeds Isaiah's promises. And this is where
many of us get stuck at Christmas. We pray For
one thing, and God gives another. We expect joy
to arrive as relief, and God brings transformation
into our lives. We expect joy to mean everything
gets easier, and instead, God brings depth to
us instead. Sometimes our disappointment is not
that God failed to act. It's that God acted differently
than we imagined. But here's what's hidden in
the truth. Many of us treat God like a customer
service department at Kohl's where the line is
way too long. When all we wanted to do was come
in and take back the present we didn't want and
get what we did. You see, we submit our request
and we wait for the exact outcome that we selected.
When it does not arrive, we assume something
must have gone wrong. But y 'all, God is not
Amazon Prime. He doesn't offer a free video subscription.
He doesn't do overnight shipping once you pay
over 25 bucks. He does not end up taking spiritual
formation and turning it into a commodity. Thank
God for that. Because what He is delivering is
heavier than we could carry all at once. Joy
begins to overflow when we release our tight
grip on expectations and open our hands to the
surprise of joy. Because real joy is discovering
that God's mercy is wider than our categories,
and His generosity is deeper than our plans.
A highway shall be there, and it shall be called
the Holy Way. The ransomed of the Lord shall
return and come to Zion with singing. Everlasting
joy shall be upon their heads. Isaiah ends not
with a party, but with a road. That detail matters.
Parties are fun. But are those the things that
last? Are those the things that get us anywhere?
Roads, they're not moments in time. They're journeys.
They require walking, travel. They imply time,
direction, companionship. No one ever expects
to get to Florida in half an hour. This is not
joy as some emotional high. This is joy as direction
and orienting ourselves. There is a way through
the wilderness now. There's a way forward that
does not depend on getting lost and hoping that
maybe you find yourself on accident. John the
Baptist, He prepared the way, but He does not
walk it fully. We know that His time was cut
short, but that does not mean that the way He
prepared was wrong. See, He stands at the threshold,
but Jesus Himself is the way itself. John's life
reminds us that even faithful people do not always
experience the fullness of joy that they point
toward. Not everyone who proclaims the joy of
the Lord always gets to feel it in its fullness.
That's not failure. That's calling. Some of us,
we're still in the preparing stage of joy. We
believe it's coming, even if we cannot feel it
just yet. Christmas tempts us to think that joy
should arrive all at once, preferably on a schedule
somewhere between the first present on December
24th and the rest of them on December 25th, wrapped
neatly with the right bow. But Isaiah gives us
something more honest. Joy does not arrive as
a single experience. It's a direction. It's a
process. It's a path. Notice what disappears
at the end of the passage. Sorrow and groaning
are fleeing. They don't disappear and evaporate
immediately. But rather, they lose their authority.
They lose their control. Joy does not mean that
you're never going to groan again. Joy means
that the groaning no longer defines where your
life is headed. everlasting joy rests on our
heads. Not because life is easy, but because
God is faithful. So if you leave this season
tired, still grieving, still unsure, that does
not mean that joy has failed. It may mean you're
just on a different part of the road. And if
you're walking that road with Christ, even slowly,
even imperfectly, then joy is not behind you.
It's beneath your feet. So John waits in prison.
Israel waits in the wilderness. And so many of
us wait in our own ways. And joy is still coming.
Not as we deny the pain. Not as we force the
cheer. But as Christ entering the desert, the
prison, the waiting with us, and saying to us,
with me because real joy it's not something we
manufacture it is someone who meets us on the
road leads us home and that joy quietly and faithfully
is already on the way thanks be to God