4th Candle of Advent

Fourth Sunday of Advent: When Love Draws Near

Advent always begins in the dark. Not the frightening kind of darkness, but the honest kind—the place where longing, weariness, and unanswered questions live. By the time we reach the Fourth Sunday of Advent, we’ve been sitting in that space for a while. Three candles have burned their way down, marking hope, peace, and joy. And now, just before Christmas breaks in, we light the candle of Love.

What strikes me every year is how quiet this moment is. The world around us is loud; rushing, consuming, insisting that everything must be merry and bright. But the Gospel for this Sunday is almost always a story whispered in the shadows: an angel visiting Mary, or Joseph wrestling with a dream. God’s love doesn’t arrive with spectacle. It arrives in vulnerability, in trust, in the trembling courage of ordinary people who say yes to something they can’t fully understand.

This is the love Advent asks us to notice: Not the love that fixes everything instantly, but the love that shows up.

The love that draws near, that takes on flesh, that chooses a manger instead of a throne.

In a rural parish like ours, where people carry their stories close and grief often sits beside hope at the same kitchen table, this Sunday feels especially tender. Many of us come to church in December with hearts that are both full and aching. We’re waiting for God, yes, but we’re also waiting for clarity, for healing, for reconciliation, for rest.

And into that waiting, Advent 4 whispers: Love is already on the way. Love is already closer than you think.

Mary didn’t know how everything would unfold and Joseph didn’t have all the answers. However, God entrusted the Incarnation to people who were still figuring things out. That alone is good news for anyone who feels unprepared, uncertain, or unfinished.

As we light the fourth candle, we stand on the threshold of Christmas, not rushing past the ache, not pretending everything is fine, but opening our hands to the God who comes to us as we are. The God who chooses to dwell with us in all the ordinary, fragile places of our lives.

May this final week of Advent be a gentle one. May love find you where you are, and may the approaching light of Christ meet every shadow with mercy.