In his novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving puts these words into the mouths of one of his characters: “The first Christmas following my mother’s death was the first Christmas I didn’t spend in Sawyer Depot. My grandmother told Aunt Martha and Uncle Alfred that if the family were all together, my mother’s absence would be too apparent. If Dan and Grandmother and I were alone in Gravesend, and if the Eastmans were alone in Sawyer Depot, my grandmother argued that we would all miss each other; then, she reasoned, we wouldn’t miss my mother so much. Ever since the Christmas of ’53, I have felt that Yuletide is a special hell for those families who have suffered any loss or who must admit to any imperfection—Christmas is our time to be aware of what we lack, of who’s not home.”
If someone is missing, and especially if some imperfection in us contributed to the absence, Christmas is hard. We cannot sugarcoat our losses. Singing “Jingle Bells” with extra fervor will not fix it. Tricks like keeping the family apart so they’ll miss each other and not the absent one is like hitting one’s thumb with a hammer so the broken foot won’t be so painful.
Part of the reason we can’t rejoice in our pain is that we want to rejoice too soon. Our faith takes losses fully into account. God felt the loss when he sent his only Son to come here and to die on the cross. Realism pervades the birth stories. Mary is told that a broadsword would be thrust through her heart because of her baby boy. By the time he hung on the cross, Jesus had lost everyone and everything. Christianity acknowledges all the loss we will ever know and much more.
But that’s not the last word. The good news is that God came
into this pain and loss for us! His heart ached because we were away from home,
and he came to bring us back. In this world of losses, look who’s here for
Christmas! If we believe God was born
in
Mild, he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more
may die;
Born to raise the sons
of earth,
Born to give them
second birth.