There was a steady stream of people in my office yesterday, just needing to talk. Many of them were battling the “I’m supposed to feel . . . ” syndrome of Christmas Eve, that idea permeating the air that everyone is supposed to be happy, carefree and excitedly anticipating the morrow.
So not true. So very, very not true. More and more churches are holding “Blue Christmas” services to seek to honor that fact that not everyone is having a holly, jolly time. While I understand the intent behind those types of worship experiences, I don’t want to hold one because I think sadness should be embraced during this time, not run from and the experience of it belongs in worship for all.
Honest sadness, held and loved, opens our soul to the power of the moment we celebrate tonight and tomorrow: that gift of God becoming human, to experience with us all the sorrows of life, to walk with us as we go through the valley of the shadow of death, to weep with us when we weep–and to laugh with us when we laugh.
The world around us devalues the power of sadness and sorrow, not understanding that such emotions often serve as the catalyst to profound change. Sadness becomes something to medicate away rather than a companion to teach and deepen us.
Listen to real Christmas music–the hymns that accompany the season, not the “Here comes Santa Claus” stuff that messes with our brain. Those who wrote those hymns recognized the solemnity of the moment. Many are in minor keys, the musical acknowledgment that sorrow accompanies the entrance of the Savior.
The angels rightly say to the terrified shepherds, “Don’t be afraid.” They don’t say, “Don’t worry, be happy.” Instead they are called from their extremely hard, lonely, hungry and dangerous lives to go and worship.
That they do. And that we must also do.
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