The Christmas Chronicles 2025 Third Sunday of Advent - Joy

 The Christmas Chronicles 2025 Third Sunday of Advent - Joy

“When Hearts Learn to Sing Again”

Jacob Mascarenhas

Dear Readers,

The Third Sunday of Advent arrived with a gentle reminder that even the smallest light can lead a weary heart into joy again. It was Gaudete Sunday, the Sunday that calls the world to rejoice. I woke up to the soft glow of a December morning, its sunlight slowly stretching across my room like warm fingers reaching out to me. The air carried a slight chill, but also something new, an invitation to smile a little deeper than yesterday.

As I prepared to go to the chapel, I felt a sense of anticipation I hadn’t felt in a long time. The journey through Advent had already begun stirring something inside me. Hope had given me courage. Peace had taught me to breathe. And now, joy was ready to visit a soul that had forgotten its own laughter for too long.

Inside the chapel, the Advent wreath waited like a compass guiding our hearts toward Christmas. Today, the rose candle stood proudly among the purple ones, the Candle of Joy. The priest smiled warmly as he began the Mass and said, “Rejoice, for the Lord is near.”

His voice was filled with a tenderness that made that one word feel like a healing balm. Rejoice. Not because every burden has disappeared, not because life suddenly became easy, but because God walks beside us through it all.

Children fidgeted in the pews, adjusting their Santa hats, whispering excitedly about Christmas gifts and holidays. Their innocence made me smile. There was a little girl tugging at her father’s beard, testing whether he might be Santa himself. The poor man struggled to contain his laughter, and the moment brought a lightness to my heart I hadn’t expected. With that, I remembered my daughter used to do the same.

It was as if their joy spilled over to anyone and everyone watching.

When the priest lit the Candle of Joy, its flame seemed brighter than the others, bold, warm, alive. Something inside me responded too. Not a loud happiness, but a quiet blooming, like sunlight warming a flower that almost forgot how to open. I closed my eyes and felt God whisper into my heart: “Joy is not lost. It was simply waiting for you to be ready again.”

After Mass, I decided to stroll through the Christmas market nearby. The square had transformed into a delight of twinkling lights, wooden stalls, and the comforting aroma of cinnamon, roasted nuts, and freshly baked bread. Carols filled the air. People gathered with smiles that seemed to rise from their souls. A little girl waved a card at me, shouting, “Joy for sale!” I laughed and asked, “How much for a big one?” With the most serious expression, she replied, “Joy doesn’t come in sizes. It comes from God.” I bought the card anyway, because sometimes children remind us of truths we forget as adults.

Further ahead, a street musician played “Joy to the World”, missing a few notes but never losing his enthusiasm. His singing wasn’t perfect, but it was sincere. As I listened, I realised that sometimes joy isn’t about flawless performance; it’s about the courage to keep singing despite imperfections. I dropped a small offering into his guitar case and whispered, “Thank you.” He looked up with a smile and said, “Music is how my heart prays.” That touched me more deeply than he knew.

The day continued with small, beautiful surprises. A couple sharing a hot chocolate because love was still young and money still tight. A group of teenagers decorating a Christmas tree in the town centre, laughing as they argued where the star should go. An elderly woman knitting scarves for children she would never meet, love woven into every thread. Everywhere I looked, I saw joy taking simple shapes. It wasn’t extravagant. It was humble, kind, and contagious.

As the afternoon gently shifted into evening, I felt a nudge to visit the old-age home nearby. I wasn’t sure why, but I followed the prompting. The caretaker welcomed me with gratitude and told me they were about to begin carol singing. Perfect timing again. I joined the residents in their dining hall. A Christmas tree glowed in the corner. Some clapped softly, others hummed, and a few simply closed their eyes, letting the music take them back in time, to memories of people, moments, and love that shaped their lives.

One elderly woman held my hand and asked if I could sit beside her. She shared stories of her childhood Christmases, the way her late husband would sneak gifts under the pillow, and how her children used to wake her up with carols by the bedside. Her voice shook at times, and tears shimmered in her eyes, but beneath those memories was a deep river of joy. Before I left, she pressed a peppermint into my palm and whispered, “Joy grows when we share it.” I felt a warmth inside, a recognition that she was right.

Walking home under the soft glow of streetlights, I thought to myself: Joy doesn’t erase pain. It teaches the heart to sing even when tears still exist. Joy doesn’t demand perfection. It simply asks for space.

When I entered my home, my tiny Christmas tree greeted me with its fairy lights twinkling like stars in a small universe. The nativity crib I created from the old MacBook Air box glowed softly in its corner, each little light exactly where God intended it to be. I sat on my couch, opened my journal, and wrote: “Today, I found joy in ordinary places, through people, through laughter, through shared stories, through peppermint hope. And maybe joy isn’t something that arrives, it’s something that awakens when God touches the heart.”

As I stared at the flickering light of the third candle, I felt something settle inside me. Not excitement. Not a celebration. But a gentle truth: “I am allowed to smile again.” Not because every wound is healed. Not because life is perfect. But because God’s love continues to find me, day after day, light after light.

Tonight, I make a new Advent promise: I will choose joy even when it feels small. I will let myself laugh without guilt. I will smile for no reason. I will thank God more and worry less. I will find joy in the tiny miracles that fill ordinary days. The world needs more joy, and God longs to pour it into open hearts.

The Candle of Joy burns bright now, and The Christmas Chronicles 2025 continues not with grand celebrations, but with hearts learning the sacred courage to sing again. And as we wait for the coming of the Saviour, may joy become a daily companion, a reminder that God is near, and life is still filled with beautiful reasons to rejoice.

May the Joy of Christ fill your home, your spirit, and every corner of your December days. May God turn every sigh into a soft smile, every tear into a quiet song, and every step into a dance of gratitude.

Rejoice. Christ is near. ✨🌹

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

God Bless Us All…

- Jacob Mascarenhas

Author | Storyteller | Founder of AWritersTip