c a n d l e : three
what the 3rd candle of advent teaches us
It’s now the third Sunday of Advent, and the first two candles are glowing. The gentle gold of Hope flickers softly, casting long shadows across the darkened room. Beside it, the Peace candle burns deep, calming, steady, and grounded, its light stretching outward. Together, they illuminate just enough to hint at the shapes of the unlit candles still waiting in the circle. The room is still mostly dark, yet the flames remind us that even in small measures, light has already begun its work.
It is the presence of the first two that allows the third candle, the candle of Joy, to emerge. Joy does not arrive in isolation; it is born from the foundation of Hope and the grounding of Peace. Hope reaches toward what might be, a flicker in the darkness that whispers, “There is more to come.” Peace anchors us in the midst of uncertainty, giving us the steadiness to be okay and endure the waiting.
Joy appears as the natural flowering of the soul that has practiced hope and cultivated peace, a light that cannot exist without the preparation of what has come before. Without Hope’s spark and Peace’s steadiness, Joy would have nowhere to take root, no room to illuminate. If you are looking for joy, it might serve you to adventure toward hope or peace.
This candle, like joy itself, is unique among the others. Pink. Radiant and almost unexpected. Real joy is like that. It surprises us, shifts the atmosphere, and marks a turning point on the journey. When one can experience peace and hope, letting the spark of joy flash, something changes. This is why the joy candle is the midpoint of Advent. Here, joy begins to overtake the darkness, and suddenly there is more light than shadow, three candles illuminated. It is a visual cue, a breathing space in the season, a gentle reminder that even amid uncertainty and struggle, joy keeps us going, often arriving in ways we would never have predicted.
Joy is more than a feeling, it’s a space-making force. After Hope has sparked and Peace has steadied us, Joy begins to open the room within our hearts for something greater to enter. Even when God feels far away, when the waiting has stretched long and our prayers feel like whispers into the dark, Joy shifts the narrative. It softens the tension of expectation, loosens the tight grip of worry, and allows the possibility of the Divine to move in. In the quiet radiance of the pink candle, we sense that God is not only near but already beginning to dance in the spaces we have made, waiting for us to notice. Joy makes room. Joy prepares us. Joy whispers that the Spirit is closer than we think, even when the journey still stretches ahead. Joy changes things.
A Reflection for Practice
This week, take a moment to light the third candle, real or imagined, and sit with it. Notice how its light interacts with the glow of the first two candles, how it begins to shift the room, even subtly. Breathe in deeply, and ask yourself: Where in my life could I allow joy to emerge, even in the midst of struggle or uncertainty? Where might I make space for delight, for the unexpected, for the gentle presence of the Divine?
As you watch the flame, repeat this mantra quietly:
“I open my heart to joy. I make space for the Spirit to enter. I welcome light where it has not yet fully arrived.”
Let this candle remind you that joy is not something to be forced, but something to notice, nurture, and allow. Even when the darkness lingers and most candles remain unlit, joy is a sign that the Spirit is already at work, transforming the room and your heart from within.