Two years ago my father’s Christmas gift to my brother and I was a trip to New York City to see family and tour the Big Apple. My father likes to say that it doesn’t really feel like Christmas unless he’s in New York City. There’s something about the cold crisp winter air, the Christmas shops in Bryant Park, and the hustle and bustle of people on the streets with packages that capture Christmas for him. Admittedly, I also like the magical feel of this Christmas spirit too. I want Christmas to look like the end of the movie “Elf” where everyone is singing and happy and believes in magic again—even if it’s just for a short while.
That same Christmas also brought unexpected loss to my family; I lost both my grandparents in a car accident on their way home from their own Christmas celebrations. Christmas morphed from being glamorous and exciting into something quiet and tear-filled.
It’s odd, if I’m honest, to have such a fun and exciting holiday be mixed with incomprehensible sorrow. Everyone is excited for the day you dread the most. Advent calendars and Instagram stories count down how many days until you face the grief all over again. The first Christmas without them seemed unbearable. I had been dreading the whole month altogether. I avoided Christmas music, Christmas movies, and only reluctantly attended Christmas parties with friends. I was trying to do everything I could to stop Christmas from happening, while also trying to keep up the outward happy appearance for everyone else.
At the time there seemed to be no room for my grief in the midst of tinsel and gift wrapping. Life just had to keep moving; begrudgingly I trudged my way to Christmas. It was miserable; I was miserable. Even when I desperately wanted to be happy, I felt as though I couldn’t be. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel the weight of grief that I was carrying during the 24 days leading up to Christmas, so the bottling up of it all finally caused me to crack Christmas day. In short, there were a lot of tissues and quiet car rides. What a way to spend Christmas.
This Christmas will mark two years without my grandparents and I have tried to change my outlook on what the day will hold. Christmas may look different for me and my family, but we still light and decorate the tree, hang lights up, and watch Christmas movies. We still go through all the motions, but Christmas comes a little less joyous; a little less merry—and that’s okay. It is okay to bring your grief into the Advent season. There is enough room to hold both. Grief encompasses all forms of loss as well. Any loss will complicate the season where people seem the happiest.
There is room for grief and for joy and no reason to shy away from how we are feeling. It is when we are inauthentic with ourselves that we do the biggest disservice. We can take up room, sit in our grief, and acknowledge that things may be different now than in the Christmas of our memory. The acknowledgment of this grief does not mean we can’t hold the happiness and joy that this season brings as well.
We do not need to be joyful and happy for Advent to happen. It simply happens. And in whatever state you find yourself in this year, Advent welcomes you.
Emily Cortez is a student at La Sierra University studying English Literature and Religious Studies and serving as LSUC’s pastoral intern. When she isn’t studying or working, Emily enjoys reading poetry, watching period dramas, and spending time playing table top games with her friends.
Thank you to all who have read and contributed to our Advent Blog this year! I, Raewyn, hope you were encouraged that this season doesn’t have to look or feel the way you may have thought, that God is present in the midst of grief and darkness, that Christmas can happen without gifts and is often strengthened through giving to and serving others, that our eyes can refocus on the “baby born the king of the Jews,” that we can resist the Pharaohs and Herods of this world, and that there is still so much to learn about what God is up to, even through Magi, seemingly so different from ourselves.
If you are interested in contributing to our blog during the 40 days leading up to Easter, please reply here or email me at rorlich@lasierra.church.
Hope to see many of you at the Christmas Eve Service tonight at 5:30 pm!