A Third Sunday of Advent Reflection

The Third Sunday of Advent is called Gaudete—“Rejoice.”
It is the Sunday of joy, marked by the lighting of the rose-colored candle. Yet the joy of Advent is not shallow happiness or easy celebration. It is a joy that dares to exist alongside sorrow, waiting, and longing. It is a joy that survives the wilderness.

That kind of joy entered my life in a painful and unexpected way in the winter of 1974.

After several miscarriages, my wife and I were expecting our first child. She was in her seventh month of pregnancy when she told me she no longer felt the baby moving. What followed was a confusing and heartbreaking series of medical visits. Our obstetricians were twin brothers. One week we were told he could hear the heartbeat; the next week we were told there was none. This uncertainty went on for weeks until it was finally confirmed that our baby had died in the womb.

We were told my wife would have to carry the child to full term.

When labor began in the middle of the night, we went to the hospital. I was sent home and called back shortly afterward. When I stepped off the elevator onto the maternity ward, the doctor was waiting. He spoke briefly, confirmed what we already knew, stepped into the elevator, and left. There were no words of comfort.

I could not see my wife for some time. When she was finally placed in a room, it was shared with a teenage girl who did not want her baby. We, who had longed so deeply for ours, were surrounded by reminders of what we had lost.

We were told we had to make burial arrangements. No funeral was allowed. Our child was placed in a Styrofoam casket and buried in an unmarked grave. She was born on February 12 and buried on February 14—Valentine’s Day.

We had already chosen her name.

If she was a girl, she would be called Amanda Joy.

The Meaning of a Name

Amandа comes from the Latin amanda, meaning “worthy of being loved” or “she who must be loved.”
Joy—a word that felt almost unbearable to speak at the time.

Yet her name proclaimed a truth greater than my grief could grasp. Amanda Joy was worthy of love simply because she existed. Her life mattered. Her joy was not the joy of longevity, but the joy of being held forever in God’s care.

A Minister in the Wilderness

At the time, I was already a minister of the Church. I had preached about faith, offered comfort to others, and spoken confidently of God’s promises. But I was unprepared for this loss.

I did not know how to console my wife.
I did not know how to console myself.
And I did not know how to speak honestly to God.

My faith was shaken, not all at once, but slowly and deeply. I wandered in a spiritual wilderness for many years—still serving, still believing in some way, but lost.

In time, we were blessed with three healthy and wonderful children. They brought life, laughter, and meaning to our home. Yet even as a father and a pastor, I was still in the wilderness, still unable to give my wife what she needed emotionally and spiritually.

After nineteen years of marriage, we divorced.

That truth is painful, but it is part of the story. My wife is a good mother and now a loving grandmother. She found someone else who could give her what I could not at that time. I am deeply thankful for her and for her husband, and for the grace and care they have shown our family. Even in brokenness, God was still working love and mercy.

Forty Years Toward Joy

It took nearly forty years for me to come to a faith that rests not on explanations, but on trust. Like the children of Israel, I wandered for a long time—but God never stopped walking with me.

I have learned that faith is not certainty.
Joy is not denial of pain.
Grace is not quick healing.

The joy of Advent is the joy of knowing that God enters our darkness and stays. It is the joy of waiting with hope, even when the wilderness is long. It is the joy that comes from discovering, at last, that God has been patient with us all along.

Amanda Joy’s life changed me forever. Her name reminds me that love is never wasted, and that joy—true joy—can coexist with grief.

Her grave may be unmarked, but her life is held in God’s eternal remembrance.

A Prayer for the Third Sunday of Advent

Gracious and merciful God,
On this Sunday of joy, we bring you not only our songs,
but also our sorrows.

You know the wildernesses we walk,
the losses we carry,
the questions that have no easy answers.

We thank you for the gift of love—
for children born and children lost,
for relationships that bless us and those that break us open.

Teach us the joy that does not depend on circumstances,
the joy that waits,
the joy that trusts,
the joy that believes you are with us even in the dark.

As we light the candle of joy,
help us remember that your grace is patient,
Your mercy enduring,
and your love is worthy of trust.

Hold us, O God,
until joy becomes not just a promise,
But our home.

Amen.