There I was, minding my own business, trying to fight off perimenopausal bone density loss while lifting weights at my local YMCA, when all of the sudden Joni Mitchell came to do me in.
I have never been someone who cries at music. And I have heard her song “River” on plenty of occasions. But I am middle aged now and I have had my fair share of humbling and losses and humbling losses. And her lost love song meets Christmas carol took me down where I stood. And where I stood was in a Young Men’s Christian Association in a puddle of my own tears:
It’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away onBut it don’t snow here, it stays pretty green
I’m gonna make a lot of money, then I’m gonna quit this crazy scene
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
There is something about the brutal sadness of how some of us feel at Christmas that “River” shines a light on. Frankly, I think we all feel pretty sad at Christmas. It’s just that some of us have the ability to hide it better. And the Lord saw fit that I would find out I am bad at hiding it while wearing spandex bike shorts and a tank top staring into a full-length mirror.
I took the coward’s way out. I managed to scurry through the treadmills and elliptical gliders and crawl into my car where I full-body sobbed for five minutes. The braver part of me wishes I would have just stayed right where God had put me. It was the YMCA after all, the gym of the least, the last, and the lost. Ours is mostly elderly people and college students. Arguably the two loneliest populations of people. I wonder what would have happened if I had just held out my arms and said “Christmas is sad!” Somehow, I feel like someone would have walked up and given me a hug.
I even walked past someone I knew, head down to hide the tears. “She won’t get it,” I thought to myself.
But of course, she would have. Because everyone gets it. But we collectively agree to not say it aloud: Christmas is for the sad ones.
I do not know how we have gone from “In the Bleak Midwinter” to Holly Jolly Mandated Happiness, but I would like a little of the former to make a rebound. The legalist in me wants to say it is because secular culture has shifted away from associating Christmas with the birth of Jesus Christ. But Christians are just as much to blame for that as anyone else. This writer included.
I wonder if we haul out the happy to force the feelings of sadness further into the dark. But the joke is on us. Real Christmas lives in the dark. In dimly lit churches, in the community singing about lonely exile here, and in fluorescent YMCA’s. We may think we can dress up our addictions or deep griefs with parties, or shopping, or forced smiles, but God will send Joni Mitchell’s voice to hunt us down. Because God knows that the more we deny ourselves the darkness of Christmas, the harder the light becomes to see.
I know this sounds crazy, but maybe the most beautiful part of Christmas is the sadness. Because if we try to ignore the grief and pain of human existence then we are left with the worst part: the command to be happy at Christmas.
It seems a ridiculous expectation that the day we remember the birth of our savior is the same day that we expect some sort of euphoric joy. Jesus comes to us in the ruinous trenches we dig and decorate. He comes to us in the most broken parts of our hearts. And so to experience some kind of mandated electric happiness feels like it misses the point entirely.
The truth about Christmas is that it holds everything all at once. Yes, you can be thankful and depressed about spending Christmas with your relatives. Yes, you can want to buy your kids gifts and become utterly put out by the energy the task demands. Yes, Jesus was born to save us. And yes, there is death on the horizon.
The light of the world has come to save us from our sin, but we have to be willing to really see it. Which means we need to admit to our ever-present darkness. So let’s press pause on the dictatorial elation. Let’s hold hands, stand in the darkness together, and whisper “Christmas is sad,” while Joni Mitchell takes it from there.
Love This
Thank you!
Most of “O come, o come Emmanuel” speaks of His light coming to us in darkness, in captivity, in mourning, in exile, in gloomy shades of night…why can’t we embrace our lowliness , because it will make His coming as Light more precious?
Poignant, moving, and ultimately encouraging. Thanks for sharing so honestly.
This song hit me like a freight train 2 years ago at Christmas when I was coming to grips with closing my business in the new year. It still holds a tender place in my heart. I love these reflections about how maybe Christmas is supposed to hold joy AND sorrow (and maybe for a lot of us more sorrow than joy…) Consistently resonating with what you share here, thanks for your vulnerability Sarah!
Refreshing honesty…vulnerability…the soil in which true communion grows…intimacy takes wing there…and blesses us with His presence…where two or more are gathered
Sarah, I was already tearing up, first paragraph. So many will identify. Absolutely love every word you write. This doesn’t sound very holly jolly or Jesusy either, but what remains of my family celebrates the “antichristmas”. We forgo gift exchanges and just feast, tell stories, laugh, cry, and maybe drink a little more. It’s such a relief. And no, I can’t get through Joni’s River either. I call Advent and Epiphany Assault of the Carols and make myself scarce until it’s over. xoxo
What powerful writing, thank you for this gift Sarah!
Love this and love you, Sarah Conden. You’re a gift.
So true
Thank you – I hadn’t hadn’t thought of it this way. I struggle through December each year hoping I might have a good Christmas, and even after decades of disappointment it remains the season that only serves to point out my losses and abandonment issues. It has long ceased to be about the birth of Jesus for me; it’s just a season to be endured.
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I feel like that is exactly what Advent is for. Grieving. Grieving because of our own personal or family heartaches, but mostly for grieving for the world and the horrors that so many people are suffering. I never understood Advent (the whole “preparing our hearts” theme seemed too vague) but then a family tragedy that resulted in lots of bad news coverage and jail time for my brother brought me to my knees for days. My eyes were swollen from crying. But taking communion, kneeling in my pew, and hearing the voices around me singing, made me yearn for Christ in a way that I never had before.
Brilliantly written and cuts right to the heart. Thank you so much for “giving me permission” to be sad and cry and feel confused about it all. During this time of year,I listen to Joni Mitchell’s album “Blue” more than Christmas carols. Now I understand why. Sending you a heart and a hug.
[…] Put the Sad Back in Christmas. “Maybe the most beautiful part of Christmas is the sadness. Because if we try to ignore the grief and pain of human existence then we are left with the worst part: the command to be happy at Christmas.” The Mockingcast trio discuss Sarah’s reflections on sadness during the holidays too. […]
[…] Put the Sad Back in Christmas, by Sarah Condon […]
[…] Put the Sad Back in Christmas. “Maybe the most beautiful part of Christmas is the sadness. Because if we try to ignore the grief and pain of human existence, then we are left with the worst part: the command to be happy at Christmas.” The Mockingcast trio discuss Sarah’s reflections on sadness during the holidays too. […]