When Christmas is hard

"It's the most wonderful time of the year". Or so the 1960's crooner, Andy Williams would have us believe. And his tune - along with many others sharing the same sentiment - are being piped at us endlessly as we shop, commute and potter round the house. Wherever we turn, we are confronted with cheery melodies, tinsel and trimmings, party invitations and the expectation of some presents to remember.

Of course, there's some truth in the sentiment that it's a wonderful time of year. Remembering the moment when God took on human flesh to save us from our sins is undoubtedly awesome, profoundly life-changing. But that doesn't necessarily make Christmas fun. And, personally, I don't find it hard to think of people who are, quite frankly, dreading it:

There are those who are recently bereaved and the gaping hole that the deceased person has left makes it hard to want to carry on. There are those who are ill. Those whose relationships are crashing and burning. Those who know that, save a miracle, this will be their last Christmas. Those caring for loved ones who know they wont get a moment's rest. Those with certain disabilities who can't cope with the change of routine. Those who were depressed before December hit and things have just gone from to worse since... For some, Christmas is a dreadful time of the year where the pain of a fallen world seems to get magnified by the surrounding festivities.

Hopefully most church communities are aware of who's hurting. And in any functional church there will be a desire to support such people. Sadly, however, such support can all too often come in the form of wanting to jolly people along. "Oh, come round to ours" 'the invitation goes "we've got plenty of food, there'll be loads of people, we'll be playing games all afternoon - it'll be great fun". Sometimes such invitations are spot on ... but for others they result in nothing but a sinking heart ... people don't want to seem ungrateful, the kindness is genuinely appreciated, but if they're honest the thought of such a celebration is simply dreadful, wholly inappropriate, just plain wrong.

So this year - as well as passing out fun invitations to those who are able to party - let's quietly celebrate the value of the understated Christmas with those who aren't. What's important is spending some time thinking about Jesus. The rest is up for grabs. So, after church, let's be willing to switch off the radio or TV, put the games away for an hour and quietly go for a walk with someone who's hurting. Let's ditch the festive food one lunchtime after Christmas and eat cheese on toast with someone who just wants to talk about their hopes and fears for the coming year. Let's ask people how we can be praying for them rather than probing them about their festive gifts. Let's be willing to accompany someone to a gravestone and pass them tissues as they cry instead of assuming they'd like to play a 3-hour game of world domination. And let's babysit the children or sit by the bedside of someone infirm so their carer can have the nap they've been wanting for months.

That way, even if it doesn't feel like the most wonderful time of the year, those around us who are hurting can be confident that there are people who are willing to point them to the great, loving God incarnate who is worthy of our worship in ways that are tender and gentle, without the pressure of having to pretend to have fun.

Helen Thorne is the author of: Purity is Possible

This blog was originally posted on The Good Book Blog on 21st December 2012.