The Christmas Chronicles 2025 Fourth Sunday of Advent – Love

 The Christmas Chronicles 2025 Fourth Sunday of Advent – Love

“When Hearts Learn to Embrace Again”

Jacob Mascarenhas

Dear Readers,

The Fourth Sunday of Advent arrived with a kind of stillness that carried a promise. It felt like the world itself had paused, just long enough to listen, to listen to hearts that had been yearning, breaking, healing, and hoping. The Advent wreath was now ready to shine in full, every candle preparing to tell the greatest love story ever known to humanity. And today, the fourth candle would be lit: the Candle of Love.

The air outside was crisp, the kind that paints rooftops in dew and makes every exhaled breath visible like a small, personal cloud. As I made my way to the chapel, I noticed something I had not seen in weeks, not merely decorations or lights, but a quiet tenderness among people. Neighbours greet each other with kinder voices. Strangers offering smiles instead of hurried glances. Children holding their parents’ hands tighter. It was as if the entire town understood that Christmas was no longer around the corner; it was knocking gently at the door of our hearts.

When I stepped inside the chapel, the Advent wreath stood proudly near the altar. Three purple candles and one rose candle burned brightly, their flames dancing like tiny angels celebrating everything God had done in the past three weeks, awakening Hope, granting Peace, and stirring Joy. Now it was time for the greatest of all virtues to shine. As the priest lit the fourth candle, Love’s flame rose with a confidence that felt divine. The light reflected onto the stained-glass windows, scattering hues of crimson, blue, and gold across every face, like Heaven painting love upon humanity.

The priest spoke softly, yet every word reached me with unforgettable weight: “Love is why He came. Love is why He stayed. And love is why He still comes.” He paused and smiled, his voice almost trembling with emotion as he continued, “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. Not just for the saints. Not just for the pure. But for everyone who ever felt broken, forgotten, or unloved.” That sentence pierced my heart.

Because this year… I had felt each one of those things.

There were nights I questioned my purpose. There were moments when loneliness felt louder than prayer. There were days when surviving seemed like a miracle on its own. And yet… through all of it… Love had quietly carried me here, to this very moment.

After the Mass ended, I remained seated for a while. I stared at the nativity scene near the altar, the Holy Family together yet humble, surrounded by shepherds, waiting for the wise men. It didn’t look like royalty. There were no palaces, no crowns, no jewelled robes. Just a young mother, a faithful father, a newborn baby, and a manger filled with straw. But that simple scene was the greatest declaration of love ever written in history.

Love came small.

Love came fragile.

Love came as a child.

And suddenly I understood: sometimes love doesn’t make a grand entrance, sometimes it arrives quietly so we don’t feel scared to hold it.

When I stepped outside, the bells rang like joyful heralds. People gathered in the square, decorating the final Christmas touches. Teenagers helped hang stars across the main street. Little children giggled as they placed ornaments on the community tree, some too low, some one-sided, but all placed with pride. A group of volunteers distributed warm bread and blankets to anyone in need. Love was everywhere. Not in expensive gifts or grand gestures, but in simple kindness shared with pure intention.

I walked around the square and noticed an elderly man struggling to lift a box of decorations. Without thinking twice, I rushed to help him. His eyes, old but gentle, met mine, and he said, “Thank you, son. I used to have my children help me. But now… It’s just me.” I felt the ache in his words. At that very moment i remembered a memory from the past where I was decorating the house alone, it was my last Christmas home with my family.

It was like Deja Vu this very moment. As we placed the decorations where they belonged, I spoke with him for a while. We exchanged memories of past Christmases, both nostalgic and bittersweet. Before leaving, he touched my shoulder and said, “Love doesn’t leave a house just because the people change. Sometimes it waits for a new visitor to carry it inside.” His words lingered with me like a blessing.

My journey continued as I walked toward a small bakery that smelled like warmth itself. Inside, the baker was gifting extra pastries to families with children. Parents looked grateful, and children looked delighted. I bought a hot chocolate and thanked her for spreading kindness. She smiled and said, “If God could give His Son to the world, the least I can give is a chocolate bun.” Love doesn’t measure; it gives what it can.

Later that evening, I returned home and sat near my little crib. The MacBook Air box-turned-Bethlehem still glowed perfectly. Baby Jesus lay in the centre of it, small, quiet, radiant. I realised that the crib had become a reflection of my year. It started as something broken and unused, yet it was reshaped into a symbol of God’s love, just as He reshaped my life from moments of emptiness into a purpose that now carries hope for others.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through messages from readers, friends, and strangers. Some asked for prayers. Some shared their burdens. Some simply wanted someone to hear them. And I responded to each one with a full heart, understanding something deeply: Love is when you choose to show up, especially when someone needs you most.

Christmas is not a day.

It is a lesson.

A calling.

A gift.

God didn’t send an army.

He sent a child.

Because love wins through gentleness.

As night grew deeper, I lit my own candle of Love beside the crib. Its flame flickered softly, yet its meaning carried the weight of Heaven. I whispered a prayer:

“Lord… thank You for loving me even in the moments I didn’t love myself. Teach me to love others the way You love me, without conditions, without hesitation, without fear. Let my heart be a manger where Your love can rest.”

I sat for a long time just watching that candle glow. And in that quiet hour, I understood something life-changing: Love never leaves. Love never gives up. Love never forgets. Even when you think you are alone, Love is working, healing, waiting for you to turn around and see it standing right beside you.

Tonight, I make my final Advent promise:

I will love more boldly.

I will forgive without keeping score.

I will be present with the hurting.

I will say kinder words.

I will give more than I take.

I will be patient with others and with myself.

I will remember that Love is not just a feeling.

Love is a decision. Every single day.

The fourth candle now burns brightly… and with it, The Christmas Chronicles 2025 reach the door of Christmas itself. Tomorrow night, the fifth candle will be lit in my heart, Christ, the Light of the World.

Tonight, I rest knowing that Love has already come near.

May the Love of Christ embrace your home, soften old wounds, and fill every corner of your heart with warmth this Christmas. Let love be the language you speak and the gift you give freely because love is the reason God chose us. Love is the reason He came for us.

Love is everything.

May the Peace of Christ dwell with you, today and always. ✨🕊️

God Bless Us All…

— Jacob Mascarenhas 💓

Author | Storyteller | Founder of AWritersTip