Not a Hallmark Christmas

Obviously it need not be stated that everybody enjoys this strange, wonderful, wacky Holiday Season, whatever your worldview, religious beliefs, culture, traditions...there must be something about this time of year that warms the heart (however slightly) of even the most dour materialist or hardcore secular humanist, be it only a holiday bonus in their paycheck, an extra day off, excellent shopping deals, or the mysterious beauty of moonlight on fresh snow with that sharp, exquisite chill in the air of a starry winter night.  What is less widely known, is that everybody also loathes this season to some extent.  Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch easily come to mind as the ultimate holiday haters, but it isn't an actual loathing of the season itself and the weird transformation it seems to cause in otherwise mundane life and people.  There are many who would happily forgo the expense and stress and busyness of the season, but neither is this the cause of this deep-seated dread of the phrase, 'Happy Holidays.'  Nor yet is it those who royally dislike 'the Christmas story,' and all its associations, for this uneasiness afflicts many a staunch lover of that age old tale.

What scares us so much about this dreadful season?  Pain.  Longing.  Loneliness.  Unfulfilled hopes and longings, broken lives and relationships, shattered dreams.  We've lost a loved one or a relationship has crumbled or we feel we have no one to love or that no one loves us.  We desire a relationship, a life, a family, a home, a job...our health is imperiled or age presses heavily upon us.  We've lost our job or haven't reached the place in life we thought we should at this point or our family is broken, shattered, or scattered and we have no happy memories of the past nor a place to celebrate the present.  We are victims of abuse, violence, poverty, disease, neglect...  Whatever it is, we each carry something, perhaps several somethings, that cause us secret pain and agony with every thought of the looming season, when everyone else's joys seem on brightest display, our own disquiet night seems all the darker.

But the crazy thing is, no one's life is what social media portrays it to be.  Everyone is struggling with something, especially during this holiday season, but we are all so worried about ruining some else's joy that we forsake our own by wallowing alone in our unique sorrows and miseries rather than seeking love and encouragement from the equally broken people around us.  This season did not begin as a joyous frivolity for the unbroken folk all about us, there aren't any, we all have some sorrow, some regret, some longing or dream unfulfilled.  It began in poverty and fear, darkness and loneliness, amid social ostracism and political unrest, four hundred years since anyone had dared hope that a light might truly shine in the darkness.  The most important event in the history of the world began in very substandard housing, witnessed by the meanest folk society could then boast.

Listen to the Christmas hymns, no, not the modern secular variants giddily proclaiming silver bells and roasting chestnuts for all.  Rather listen to the timeless music, mysterious and haunting, reverent, sad, but joyous; actually read the verses, full of mystery, pain, longing, unmet hopes, and the answer thereto.  Advent is the season of longing, of centuries of desire and unmet promises coming to fulfillment.  You are not alone, nothing afflicts you that has not beset every human heart since the dawn of time.  There is a tinge of mystery in the tradition of Christmas, and certainly a little sadness, but also a joy the world can ill contain.  Your pain won't magically go away, but perhaps you can find strength to better bear it, and a hope beyond this world.

Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high, 

And cheer us by your drawing nigh, 

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night, 

And death's dark shadows put to flight. 

Oh, come, O Key of David, come, 

And open wide our heav'nly home; 

Make safe the way that leads on high, 

And close the path to misery.