Christmas. Allegedly the most wonderful time of the year.
And, of course, there is plenty to celebrate: a chance to focus specifically on the wonder of the incarnation and the glorious promises that prepared us for God to come down. There is an abundance of opportunities to share the Good News with people who, the rest of the year, may not be willing to give his claims a second glance. And many of us enjoy the chance to see family and friends, and eat just a little more than we usually would.
Dismal for many...
For many, however, Christmas is a dismal time. For those bereaved, the festive season brings new poignancy to the loss. For those estranged, the pain of separation runs especially deep. For those in financial crisis, the choice faced is either further debt or presents for family that are far from what people would want.
Alcoholics and those struggling with eating disorders dread the temptations that appear at every turn – those with social anxiety sob quietly as they search for yet another plausible excuse to get them out of the party to come. Even those whose experience of pain is not as profound can be acutely aware that above-average contact with family often brings tensions – barbed comments, or a sense of not measuring up to what others would like us to be. Truth be told, on Christmas day, there is a dissonance between the dream and the reality for very many of us.
...even in church
And, for some, church itself is an extraordinarily hard place to be. Eyes well with tears as the lost loved-one’s favourite carol is played and stomachs knot as yet another sermon illustration presupposes that Christmas always involves love, presents and a sumptuous meal. Even the most well-intentioned invitations to lunch can simultaneously elicit feelings of thankfulness and loneliness – being the visitor in someone else’s Christmas may be appreciated, but it’s often very far from home and the traditions and love for which many people yearn.
How can we help?
So, how can we help people in the congregation who find Christmas hard? Maybe the place to start is a comment recently heard: ‘I want my church to help me to join in with what’s important while allowing me to be sad. I just don’t think it’s helpful for me – or them – to put on the façade that Christmas often seems to require’.
On an organisational level, that might mean a quiet, reflective, midweek service amid all the events that sport candles and energetic all-age fun – a service where the theme looks at the difference the incarnation makes to the brokenness of this world, where mince pies are noticeable by their absence and gentle carols are listened to rather than sung.
It might involve a strategy for Christmas Day that involves people being offered a place to go to should they wish, but making it clear that it’s OK to leave straight after lunch if people need a quieter afternoon (or to arrive after lunch if festive food and drink is temptation too far). Are there people in the congregation who are able to host ‘dry’ Christmas lunches (not unbasted turkey but an absence of drink)? Can festive meals be dropped round to carers whose duties don’t abate over the holiday week? Can gift packs (food, a Christian book, a promise of a phonecall) be given to those who choose to spend Christmas alone?
Listening
But on a more relational level, there is immeasurable benefit in listening to the stories of why people find Christmas hard. The call to weep with those who weep does not disappear in Advent. As we listen, we get to understand our brothers and sisters well, we learn how to pray for them more intelligently and can bring to bear the wonderful truths of the God who loves so wholeheartedly that he was willing to send his Son to earth. As we let our conversation shift from full stomachs to life in all its fullness; from presents to the gift of hope, and from party invitations to the call to sacrifice all for our Lord, the dread of Christmas can be replaced by delight – not in tinsel but in the truth of the one whose birth changes everything.
