Advent Week 3: Rejoicing
Joy does something holy in the human heart, something almost unexplainable. It reaches into places we do not always have words for. Neuroscience tells us that joy is one of the few emotional states that strengthens the brain’s capacity to endure hardship. When joy is present, our amygdala, the part of us that panics or prepares for the worst, begins to grow quiet. Fear loosens its grip. Our thoughts clear. Our nervous system gently rewires itself toward safety, toward hope, toward life again. Brain imaging studies show that joy activates the prefrontal cortex, the part of the mind responsible for decision making, emotional regulation, and perspective taking. Joy stabilizes the limbic system, allowing us to interpret life through a lens of possibility instead of threat. It increases the release of serotonin and dopamine, chemicals that support connection, resilience, and a felt sense of well being.
Yet Scripture spoke this truth long before science. The joy of the Lord is your strength. Not a surface level happiness. Not a forced smile. But a deep and steady joy that comes from knowing you are held by God. A joy that puts breath back into tired lungs. A joy that whispers, even in the darkest places, You are not alone. God is here.
Mary’s song is a testimony of that strength. Her circumstances were overwhelming, filled with social judgment, an uncertain future, and a story she did not control. Yet her soul magnified the Lord. This reveals something profound about joy. It is not born from ideal conditions. It is born from divine presence. Emotionally, it means joy can rise in the very places where we feel stretched, weary, or afraid. Joy is not a replacement for sorrow. It is God’s companionship within it. Joy does not erase reality. It transforms how our heart and brain hold reality, making space for courage and hope even when nothing externally changes.
As leaders, we often carry invisible weights, unspoken anxieties, compassion fatigue, and private prayers we are still waiting for God to answer. We know what it feels like to pour out while feeling empty ourselves. But Advent invites us to a joy that does not depend on our emotional weather. A joy that begins in the nervous system and is completed in the Spirit. A joy that reminds our bodies and our communities that we are not alone, that God is here, and that God is moving. When we allow joy to take root, even in small and quiet ways, our emotional capacity expands. Neural pathways that were shaped by fear and stress begin to soften. Our body learns again what safety feels like.
This week, let your rejoicing be both an act of faith and an act of healing. Rejoice not because everything has resolved, but because Christ is forming strength in the very places that feel fragile. Let joy become a sacred resistance, a quiet declaration that darkness does not win. And may those you lead feel the safety, hope, and nearness of God through a joy that is honest, embodied, and deeply rooted in His presence. And as joy begins its quiet work, may it meet the parts of us that feel wounded or forgotten, especially the tender places of the wounded soul that long to feel whole again. May it remind us that healing often begins not in sudden change but in the gentle realization that God has been holding us all along.
