The Quiet Yes
December 21, 2025
Opening Thought
It is fitting that the Fourth Sunday of Advent falls on December 21 this year. Today is the Winter Solstice—the longest night of the year. In the Northern Hemisphere, nature has fully retreated into the "bleak midwinter." The darkness is at its peak.
And yet, right here, in the deepest part of the shadow, we light the fourth candle on our wreath.
While the world around us is frantic with last-minute preparations—the noise of a busy city and busy lives, the stress of travel, the pressure to make everything "perfect"—our liturgy turns our attention to a figure of profound silence: Joseph. In the Gospels, Joseph never speaks a word. He listens. He dreams. And he acts.
Joseph’s life was upended by a scandal he didn't ask for. He had a plan for a respectable, predictable life, and God interrupted it with a messy, impossible miracle. I find myself wondering if Joseph ever laid awake during those long nights thinking, "I have dreams of my own. I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Why do I have to stop everything I planned because of this? Why did this have to happen to me?"
It is a question many of us have asked when life throws us a curveball. Why this? Why now? We want to do other things; we want the life we imagined for ourselves. It is incredibly difficult to put our faith in a path we can't foresee, especially when it requires sacrificing the path we chose. Joseph could have walked away. He could have left Mary to fend for herself, washed his hands of the mess, mocked her, and preserved his own reputation.
But he didn't. He stayed. He stuck with it and did the best he could, trusting that maybe—just maybe—he was meant to be on this exact, difficult path all along.
I'm not sure I would have had that strength. Life has definitely thrown me some curveballs in the past. I think of my father’s cancer and his death when I was just ten years old, leaving a void that felt impossible to fill. I think of my mother’s own battle with cancer, the heartbreaking suicides of dear friends, and my own profound personal struggles that sometimes felt like they would swallow me whole. When I look back on those trials now, I honestly wonder, "How did I ever get through that?" But looking back, the answer is clear. It wasn't my own strength that carried me through; it was the grace and mercy of God.
Today, we are invited to sit in the silence with Joseph, to face the "longest nights" of our own lives, and to realize that when our plans fall apart, God's plan is just beginning. We are invited to trust that even when we cannot see the way forward, Emmanuel—God is with us.
Engaging the Word
Our readings today focus on signs, lineage, and the impossible becoming possible.
Matthew (1:18-25) tells the story of the Nativity from Joseph’s perspective. He is described as a "righteous man." When he finds out Mary is pregnant, he faces a heartbreaking choice between the law (which demanded public shame) and mercy. He chooses to dismiss her quietly. But then, God speaks to him in a dream. "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid." He is given the name that changes history: Emmanuel, which means "God is with us." Joseph wakes up and does exactly what the angel commanded. His "quiet yes" is just as vital to our salvation as Mary’s.
The prophet Isaiah (7:10-16) provides the ancient context for this dream. King Ahaz is terrified by approaching armies, but Isaiah tells him to ask for a sign. The sign God gives is a young woman who shall bear a son and call him Immanuel. It is a promise that God does not abandon his people in the face of fear.
Romans (1:1-7) connects the dots. Paul identifies Jesus not just as the Son of God in power, but as a descendant of David "according to the flesh." This is where Joseph’s role is crucial—he provides the lineage, the earthly anchor for the divine entry.
Finally, Psalm 80 is the cry of the heart on this longest night: "Restore us, O God of hosts; show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved." It is the prayer of a people tired of the dark, ready for the sunrise.
A Journey in Song: Our Musical Guides
Our music today balances the majesty of the coming King with the tenderness of the "Rose" blooming in the cold.
Entrance Hymn: We begin with "O day of radiant gladness" (#48). On the darkest day of the year, we sing of "radiant gladness," claiming the light of Christ even before the sun returns.Sequence Hymn: "Savior of the nations, come" (#54) is a translation of a hymn by St. Ambrose, later adapted by Martin Luther. It expresses the cosmic awe of the Incarnation: "Marvel now, O heaven and earth, / that the Lord chose such a birth."
Anthem at the Offertory: We feature one of the most beloved treasures of the choral repertoire: "Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming" by Michael Praetorius. The text is pure poetry, perfectly suited for the Winter Solstice. It speaks of a tender flower springing up "amid the cold of winter / when half-gone was the night." It identifies Jesus as both "true man, yet very God," who arrives not with an army, but with a fragrance that "lightens every load."
Presentation Hymn: We reach the climax of our Advent journey with the final verse of "O come, O come, Emmanuel" (#56). We sing verse 7, which addresses Christ by the name revealed in today’s Gospel: "O Come, Desire of nations, bind / in one the hearts of all mankind."
Communion Hymn: We move to the mystery of the evening with "Creator of the stars of night" (#60). This ancient Sarum plainsong melody (dating back to the 9th century) reminds us that the One who flung the stars into space is the same One now coming to heal us.
Post-Communion Hymn: We conclude with "The King shall come when morning dawns" (#73). As we leave the church, we look not only to the manger but to the final victory, when "beauty gilds the eastern hills / and life to joy awakes."
A Closing Note on our Journey
In the anthem "Lo, how a Rose," there is a line that says the Rose blooms "when half-gone was the night." Joseph must have felt like he was in the middle of a very long, dark night. Yet, in that darkness, he accepted a role he hadn't planned for: to be a father to a child who was not his by blood, but who became his by love and duty.
I know the profound impact of that kind of love. Even though my father died when I was 10, I was surrounded by it. Of course, I had the fierce love of my mother, but God also provided father figures who stepped into the gap with caring souls—men like my uncles Phil and Ski, and dear family friends like Tal Jobe, who loved my daddy and considered him a best friend.
Perhaps most importantly to me was Brooks Gardner, my scoutmaster. Brooks was there for me for more years than I can count. He pushed me to earn my Eagle Scout award and taught me the importance of becoming a man and a leader. He was a pillar in our community, serving as mayor of our city for many years, loved and respected by all. I miss him, but I will never forget the role he took on to help guide me on the right path.
These men were "Josephs" to me. They were lights when the night was half-gone.
I invite you to ask yourself today: Who are the "Josephs" in your life? Who stepped in to guide you when the path was dark? How did they persevere through their own trials to show you the way?
As we approach Christmas Eve, you might feel like you are in the middle of your own winter night. You might be carrying grief, anxiety, or exhaustion. Joseph’s witness—and the witness of the mentors in our own lives—invites us to stop trying to fix everything with noise and activity. It invites us to rest, to listen, and to trust that even in the cold of winter, God is providing the guidance we need. The Rose is already blooming. The night is almost over.
A Prayer for the Week Ahead
Let us pray for the trust to say "yes" to God.
For the grace to listen to God in the silence, and for the courage to trust when the way forward seems impossible,
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For all fathers and guardians, that they may follow the example of Joseph in protecting and nurturing those entrusted to their care,
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For those for whom this "longest night" is a time of loneliness or sorrow, that they may feel the comfort of Emmanuel, God with us,
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For the renewal of the earth and the coming of the King, that the light of his countenance may shine upon us and save us,
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
Amen.
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