A Joyous Christmas | A Grieving Christmas

This is the time of year that the secular world considers the ‘most wonderful’ and the Church often considers to be a highlight (alongside Easter). And it is certainly a beautiful and special time of year for sure. It is, if nothing else, the reminder of a Christ child in the manger, a savior born to save a broken and weary world – a weary world that rejoices at the news. This is one of the heaviest blogs I have ever written, but if you stick with it until the end I pray that its words may encourage you in your walk through the next few weeks, and the year ahead – whether the days be filled with joy, grief, or a mixture of both.

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If you have not yet gotten into the Christmas season, or are curious about my own favorite traditions, I will gladly share them (one highlight is Handel’s Messiah, and another is going out driving to look at Christmas lights with my family) but lately, I have been thinking a lot about the concept of grief and Christmas… is it really necessary for each of us to consider this the ‘most wonderful time of the year?’ Is it biblically acceptable to be grieving, even as so many hymns remind us to come and adore Him, rejoice, sing with heaven and angels, and of course, be joyful and triumphant? 

Earlier this week a young couple I met in college, lost their infant daughter. Though I have not stayed in good contact with the couple over the years, I have always looked up to them – finding their relationship with each other and with Christ to be inspiring in my walk with the Lord. It broke my heart to hear of their little girl passing, even as it breaks my heart for so many others I know who have lost their children (including my parents, who lost my older brother to stillbirth, before I was born). Many more have lost other dear loved ones this past year. One particular dear friend is grieving the first Christmas without her precious mother, a mentor of mine whom I also loved dearly. Another close family friend of ours passed away suddenly in the middle of the summer and her family, and mine, are grieving the loss of her presence in our lives. In short, … grief abounds, even in the Advent season. 

What then, do we do with Christmas? Must we face the holiday from a secular perspective, celebrating the lovelight that gleams, and whispering good tidings, with eyes all aglow? Or should we avoid the chestnuts roasting on open fires, and mistletoe hung where we can see? For sure, maybe we relate more in times of grief to secular Christmas songs like “Blue Christmas,” (cheesy as it may be) or “Grown-up Christmas List,” than we do to “Jingle Bells,” or “Haul out the Holly.” 

However, I think we find within the Scriptures and sacred Christmas hymns, permission to grieve, even during this holiday (or rather, Holy-day) season. 

For proof, come along with me to chapter 2 of the book of Matthew. If, like me, you need a reminder, of the context, sometime after Jesus was born – scholars believe it was at some point within the first two years of His life – Magi from the East came to pay homage to Him. They were following a star they had spent their lives on the watch for, which had risen in the sky, settling over the town of Bethlehem, where the baby Jesus lay. 

En route to the infant, the weary travelers had stopped at what I can only imagine must have been akin to the ancient version of airport security – King Herod’s palace. For those of you who love history as I do, I’ll add that King Herod had been placed in leadership over Judea by the Romans, who used him to maintain peace and goodwill (ironic choice of words…) among the Jews living in the land. For this reason, he was known as the “King of the Jews.” While he did help to bring about some economic prosperity, he was also an extremely brutal man, with a long list of deaths to his name. 

Back to Matthew – as the Magi entered into Jerusalem, they asked King Herod’s household “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews?” Unbeknownst to them, this question lit a fire in Herod’s heart that burned with anger against the Christ child, for Herod was already known to kill anyone whom he felt was threatening his throne. Indeed, as the Magi left, he told them to come back to him with a report of where they had found the baby, “so that I too may go and worship him,” though he certainly had no plans for worship. 

Well, the Magi never returned to Herod. When they did not come back to him, Herod gave an order to kill all the baby boys in Bethlehem, two years old or under. And so it was done. Thus, Matthew writes that a prophecy was fulfilled, “A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted because they are no more.” 

Oh, how terrible that must have been for the families in Bethlehem. I can only imagine that their celebrations – whether religious, or secular – must no doubt have been clouded over for many months, or years after such a horrific and devastating loss had befallen them. Indeed, my heart breaks as I think about the pain those families suffered, losing their children, and in such a cruel and vicious way. 

Yet, even as Christ Jesus, baby in the manger, had breathed His own first breath, how God the Father must have breathed a sigh of pain, too, for His only Son was entering the world with a purpose – to die for the sins of the world. And Mary, when her little one was but eight days old, had already heard from the elderly Simeon at the temple that “a sword will pierce [her] own soul too,” over her newborn son. 

I think, then, that even as the hope of the world entered our midst that Holy Night, there was still cause for both joy and grief to coexist among the people. For, there is grief in the very need for a savior – grief over sin, death, and the power of the enemy. Grief in our own brokenness, and the brokenness of the world. And, we see, grief over the deaths of the babies in Bethlehem, and the babies (and grown-ups) we lose in the world still, today. 

I could no doubt now write to you several pages on the reason such suffering exists – I could remind us, for instance, of our own sinfulness and unworthiness – of the fact that we do not, ourselves, deserve anything other than death. However, the entire beautiful, wonderful, and joyful fact of the Gospel is this: despite that… despite our brokenness and unworthiness… despite our pain and the death all around us … despite the punishment we no doubt deserve… Christ did come. Christ is here. And Christ is coming again. He is, Immanuel, God with us. 

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Because of the Christ child, in the manger, we can grieve not as those who have no hope, but as those who walk in the light of the promise of redemption. Though we mourn in lonely exile, he has come to ransom us, and to give us victory o’er the grave. Death’s dark shadows are put to flight, dispersed are the gloomy clouds of night, Immanuel has come to us, so we, too, even through tears, can rejoice. The words of the past two lines, come from the original version of “Oh Come, oh come, Immanuel,” a lamenting Christmas hymn, with a chorus that still manages to ring out, “Rejoice, rejoice! Immanuel has come to thee, oh Israel!” Yet, there is another song that I have recently come to love this year – an alternative version of “O come, all ye faithful,” that might ring all the truer to a grieving heart. I pray that it might, for you, be an encouragement this Christmas: 

O come, all you unfaithful,

Come, weak and unstable,

Come, know you are not alone.

O come, barren and waiting ones,

Weary of praying, come,

See what your God has done.

Christ is born, Christ is born,

Christ is born for you!

O come, bitter and broken,

Come with fears unspoken,

Come, taste of His perfect love.

O come, guilty and hiding ones,

There is no need to run,

See what your God has done.

Christ is born, Christ is born,

Christ is born for you!

So come, though you have nothing,

Come, He is the offering,

Come, see what your God has done.

Christ is born, Christ is born,

Christ is born for you!

O Come, all you Unfaithful, © Sovereign Grace Music 

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While I do pray that this would be a joy-filled and jubilant Christmas for you, there are many reasons why it may be, instead, a very hard one. So I do not wish for you that you would have a merry little Christmas and that your heart be light as day. I do not anticipate that next year all our troubles will be out of sight, or miles away. And you may not have yet lived happy golden days of yore, nor have dear friends to be near to you once more. But what I do wish for you… no, what I pray for you, is simple… that if it is what you need, you will have a Christmas, to grieve. That in this season, you would be reminded that even within the true Christmas story – the one we paint into silent nights and heavenly hosts and infants with heavenly glows – there were still tears, deaths, and promises of pain still yet to come, before the fullness of the glory of God could be felt by the broken world He came to save. 

So instead of a Merry Christmas, I pray for you a joy-filled Christmas, for the Lord HAS come, IS here, and IS coming again. I pray for you a Christmas where grieving and rejoicing can co-exist as seamlessly as they did, in the narrative of the life of Christ. And I pray for you, a Christmas of Immanuel – God with us – where you would remember that the reason for our joy is found, not in the candles and presents and stockings and trees, but in the baby, born so long ago, to redeem us from the sin and death of this world. 

Joyous Christmas!

Love,

Jessica