Stop and Smell the Roses

Happy Gaudete, Sunday. Pink Sunday!

At New Hope we use the 4 blue candles for advent, but many churches use 3 purples and a pink or 3 blues and pink.

Blue liturgically and symbolizes hope. And we ELCA Lutherans tend to think of Advent as a season of hope more that purple penitence. So we lean on that Advent 1 Hope for the entire season, and out of that hope comes last week's Peace, and today’s JOY!

Hold on one second. [puts pink rose behind ear] There we go… Perfect.

Joy!

“Stop and smell the roses,” they say. Sure, sure, yeah. Stop and smell the roses. I’ll stop later. I’m too busy. I’ve got too many things going on.

That seems to be the way of being these days. Technology has freed us up in so many ways. It’s made us so much more efficient than we used to be. Pastor Steve told me once, not long after he hired me, nearly 25 years ago, that when he started at New Hope he had 3 secretaries. THREE! Not because they were doing more than we do out of the office these days, in fact I think we probably do more than they did. But the fact of the matter is that it took three people to do the job of one today. That’s a lot of man hours that are freed up. But in our humanness, rather than make more time for us, for our families, for our lives; we just freed up more time to work. Productivity increasing year over year for 20 years. Busy, busy, busy.

And we certainly seem to have brought that busy spirit to the Holidays. [sung] It’s the most wonderful ti.… I’m sorry actually… [Sung] It’s the most busiest time of the year...

We run around and get stuff and party and buy presents and plan travel and by the time the holiday is over, we need a vacation from the vacation! That sounds about like life in general these days, doesn’t it? Hurry up and go, and do, and do more, and more, and faster and faster. And… [breaking the 4th wall] (now I realize, there are those of you out there looking at the me right now going “Pot… meet Kettle.” I know I’m about the busiest person there is. Physician heal thyself. I know I’m a work in progress just like us all but I promise I’ve been reflecting on this over the last 4 years a lot. So go with me here.

Stop and smell the roses. I love roses and if you have seen my Facebook feed recently you know that I love antique roses and that I now 11 bushes in my yard and they have been making some BEAUTIFUL flowers as of late. I wish I could show them to you. Find me after worship if you want to see.

My roses are BEUATIFUL and I’ve started to pay more attention to them; to take moments in the morning to check on them and sit among them with a cup of coffee and just be in the moment with them. It’s very peaceful. And you can’t rush them. There is a lot of love and time that goes into getting those beautiful blooms. But if you give them time and wait, with hope and anticipation, eventually, the blooms start coming and in all kinds of beautiful varieties. And then the birds and the insects and all the animals start to show up and you have this beautiful little world out there, this peaceful paradise, that every once in a while even a an alligator will come and visit for a while.

None of that happens with rush. The older I get, the more I realize that stopping is far harder than it sounds. Because when we stop… all the things we try to outrun—our doubts, our insecurities, our imperfections, our fear that we’re not doing life right—those things finally catch up to us.

And if we’re honest, sometimes it feels safer to keep moving, to keep controlling, to keep managing every detail, because if we stop—even for a moment—we might have to face the things we cannot fix.

I once heard of someone who bought a brand-new car. And he was determined—absolutely determined—to keep it perfect. He drove to a restaurant to have lunch with a friend and when he arrived, he didn’t park in the normal, crowded place. He parked way out at the very edge of the lot, all alone, far from everyone else, certain that he had found the safest spot to protect his prize.

His friend was waiting for him and the waiter set them at a table by a big picture window that looked out into the parking lot. The natural lighting was lovely. What a great spot to enjoy lunch and catchup with a friend. And then a sudden storm blew through. And he watched through that beautiful big picture window as the light pole right next to his carefully chosen space toppled over… and landed directly over the top of his new car.

If he had just parked with everyone else, the car would’ve been fine.

That story isn’t really about a good or bad parking decision. It’s about the illusion—the comfort—that comes from thinking we can control life. We cling to control when underneath everything sits a whisper we don’t like to admit:

“You’re not enough.”

“What if you fail?”

“What if things fall apart?”

“What if you fall apart?”

Gaudete Sunday—the Sunday of Joy—shows up every Advent to tell us the truth: Joy has never depended on our control or our perfection. Joy depends on God’s presence.

Joy is what happens when we loosen our grip and trust that God is already working—even in places we cannot manage.

Our readings today tell us this again and again.

Isaiah says that “the wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom.”

The Hebrew word is yismeḥu—the land itself shouts with joy. The blooming happens before the exiles return home, before their circumstances improve, before they feel ready or whole.

Joy comes in the middle of the desert.

And isn’t that exactly where we struggle to see joy? We feel like we have to wait until the crisis ends… until the job settles… until the family situation smooths out… until we feel less broken… until we feel more worthy.

But Isaiah tells us the opposite:

God makes the desert bloom while God’s people are still wandering.

God plants roses where life feels barren—long before we think we deserve them or even think to look for them.

Then James speaks to a scattered, struggling church and says, “Be patient, strengthen your hearts.”

The Greek word translated as patience, makrothymia doesn’t mean grit your teeth and wait. It means long trust, quiet confidence. The patience of the farmer who cannot control the rains but plants anyway.

James is talking to people who feel inadequate, uncertain, and worried. People who doubt themselves. People who are worn down and imperfect.

And James says, “Strengthen your hearts”—not, “Fix yourselves.”

Not, “Perfect yourselves.”

Not, “Control everything around you.”

Strengthen your hearts by trusting that God is near.

Joy grows in hearts that release the need to manage every outcome.

And then we meet John the Baptist—fiery, bold, faithful John—now sitting in a prison cell.

He sends word to Jesus: “Are you the One? Or should we wait for another?”

Do you hear the doubt?

Do you hear the weariness?

Do you hear the imperfection in him?

John—greatest of the prophets—now questions everything he once shouted from the riverbank.

And Jesus does not rebuke him.

Jesus does not shame him.

Jesus does not say, “John, how dare you doubt?”

Instead, Jesus sends a message:

“Tell John what you see—

the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed,

the poor receive good news.”

In other words:

Roses are blooming, John.

Even here.

Even now.

Even while you wait.

So what is Gaudete Joy?

It is not happiness without hardship.

It is not the joy of perfect people living perfect lives.

It is not a joy we manufacture by trying harder or controlling more.

It is not the feeling of the endorphins we build up as we run around like crazy people.

Gaudete Joy is trust.

It is paying attention.

It is the courage to stop running, stop gripping, stop griping, stop pretending we’re in control…

and notice the roses God has already planted in our desert.

Joy is a gift blooming all around us, long before we think to look for it.

So today, on this Rose Sunday, maybe God is inviting us to do the thing we avoid:

to stop, to breathe, to let go…

and to smell the roses.

Because God is already here, already working, already faithful—

and that is enough.

Amen.