Finding Hope in the Midst of a Blue Christmas
My first Christmas in England was marked with flashes of sadness as I missed being with my family in Minnesota. Although I was thrilled to be with my new husband, I wasn’t sure how this first Christmas apart from my loved ones across the Atlantic would be. When I made the expensive phone call, I felt even more gloom upon hearing their loving voices. I expressed my regret at not being with them at Christmas, and my dad replied, “Amy, you longed to marry, and now you have. It’s right that you’re there with Nicholas.” He was wise and gentle, even if at that moment I struggled to listen.
Some years later, one Christmas morning I looked around the living room of a friend of a friend, wishing we were back in north London. Our own home was decorated to the hilt, but the friend’s home was bare of decorations, making the dissonance greater. We were on England’s south coast because my husband was signed off from his work as a church minister. His mother’s death a couple of months before had set off some family issues and brought about a stint of depression, meaning no shared Christmas with our church family. I felt like we were wandering in the wilderness, not knowing how long the mental health issues would last or how the family stuff would work out.
Those two Christmases are the closest that I’ve experienced to having a “blue Christmas.” I’m aware, however, that the pain and heartache of others may be far more intense. For instance, your table might never again include that special someone sitting at it. Living in a world marred by sin, disease, and death, we’ll all have a Christmas tinged with sadness at some point.
Some churches host a “longest night” service (calling it that instead of “blue Christmas” to get away from the associations with the Elvis Presley song), where people can celebrate Christmas without any forced jollity. Instead of having to bury their feelings of pain and anguish, they can express them to God through reflective singing and prayers. Attending such a service doesn’t require a tragedy; it can be an oasis of calm amid a too-busy time of parties, baking, and gift exchanges.
God welcomes the cries of lament from his people; indeed, Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus. The time of Advent can actually help us to lament because it reminds us to wait for the second coming of Christ, when God will come and relieve us of our pain: ‘“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Rev. 21:4). Celebrating Christmas through tears can mean acknowledging that we hold the answer to our lament through the gift of Christ. Even as we wait for his coming again.
If you’re feeling low and broken this year, I pray you’ll find comfort and hope in the God who comes to brush away the tears from your eyes. As you release your pain to him, may you experience a deep sense of love, peace, and even joy.
Loving Lord, how you must grieve at the pain we experience. Deal with us ever so mercifully and reveal your presence when we feel we’re lost or wandering. Bind up our wounds and give us the strength to worship as you renew our stores of hope. Amen.
This article is adapted from Celebrating Christmas: Embracing Joy through Art and Reflections by Amy Boucher Pye and Leo Boucher. Shared with permission.
is an author, speaker, and spiritual director. She’s a regular contributor to several devotional publications, including Our Daily Bread, and her books include 7 Ways to Pray and the award-winning Finding Myself in Britain. She loves baking Christmas cookies and working out in body-combat classes. is a retired data-systems analyst and creator who paints in his art studio. He volunteers with his church and other organizations, including teaching art to seniors at retirement communities. Find them at amyboucherpye.com
Photograph © Laura Hope, used with permission
