The first holidays without your loved one can be pretty depressing. As I write these words, I imagine you rolling your eyes. Really, Leah? That’s pretty obvious isn’t it? Or maybe you’re thinking, It’s Christmas–I want jingle bells, mulled cider, cozy sweaters and Christmas cheer. Not the depressing stuff. If that’s you–just close the window now. 

I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Heck, this is what I also know having been a pastor for 10+ years. I’ve listened and prayed for church families as they share how their grief rears its ugly head when the first Thanksgiving and Christmas finally comes. I’ve invited psychologists to share survival techniques for the holidays with my congregation, held grief seminars before the season starts, and led worship services for those who are grieving. And yet…my first blue holiday snuck up on me still. 

We lost my Dad this year in February. Our family wasn’t used to holidays being the same way every year. My Dad was an international pilot and my mom is an air traffic controller so holidays were often unpredictable. It was not unusual for someone to be missing around the table. So I suppose I fooled myself into thinking that because we didn’t have a tradition - that because we had this familial flexibility around holidays - I was immune to holiday grief. Evidently, I was wrong. The empty chair at the dinner table is nothing compared to the empty feeling in your heart. Knowing you can’t call them for a Christmas greeting or make just one more memory. What I wouldn’t give to hear my Dad’s voice one more time. To share with him over the phone the Christmas menu I prepared and to promise to save him a plate or make it again when we’re together again. 

This weekend a previous church member called to tell me his wife lost her battle unexpectedly to cancer. And then he shared, through his own grief, the comforting reminder that even Jesus wept at the loss of his friends. Even though Jesus knew better than any, he’d see them again - he still wept. We agreed perhaps Jesus did this for us - so that we would know it is OK to grieve. That it’s a part of being human. 

Perhaps the most comforting place to be when you’re missing your loved one is with others who feel the same way. With other people who can say truthfully, this sucks and is absolutely horrible, because they know the sting of death too. They know how something as stupid as Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches in the freezer aisle can reduce you to a puddle. And they won’t laugh at you when it does because cranberry juice did it to them. It’s comforting to be with those who sit with you while you weep and give you gentle reminders that Jesus wept too. 

The Light of the World came to a hurting and troubled land on the first Christmas. And he still does today. The truth is we grieve with hope. Hope that there is more to life than this life on earth. Hope that because of Jesus we will see our loved ones again. We have hope at all because God is Emmanual. God is with us in all of our days and all of our grief and promises that one day grief will be no more. 

If you need a community to sit with this blue Christmas, I encourage you to join us for The Longest Night Advent Vespers service next Wednesday, December 20th at 6 pm. Come in sweats, come snotty and teary eyed. Come just as you are. You are welcome here.