When I was asked a few weeks ago to add a “Blue Christmas” service to this week’s roster, I was encountering the idea for the first time. Since then I’ve learned that “Blue Christmas” is somewhat a fixture in the Christmas week lineup and that, no, you don’t arrive to play for it in an Elvis costume. “Blue Christmas,” I now know, is a time for people whose lives have been touched by sadness during the year (death of a spouse, loss of a job, etc.) to come for quiet reflection that isn’t so holly-jolly. It is a time to acknowledge personal suffering.
Tonight is “Blue Christmas.” I’ve been schooled about which hymns to play to set the proper mood. I’ve found some subdued arrangements of wintry lullabies for prelude and postlude. I guess I’m ready. But I’m certainly not sold on the concept.
I understand Christmastime is difficult for people who aren’t happy. Facing the holidays for the first time without a loved one–not being able to buy children presents because there’s no income–being alone in a strange city after a tough breakup–all make for feeling out of sorts in the festive milieu. I understand the need for comfort. But I don’t agree that we need to create a sub-holiday to provide it.
Over the past few years I’ve noticed a trend toward enshrining certain milestones of everyday life. You can buy beautiful (very costly) little charms for a bracelet to tell the story, in jewelry language, of baby’s first tooth, the day you passed your drivers’ license exam, your first cell phone, on and on. You can create elaborate scrapbooks with stickers, templates, and archival papers to tell the story, in two-dimensional design language, of your first stolen base, your worst haircut, and the first time you got stitches in the emergency room. You can stick ribbon-shaped magnets on your car to proclaim your desire to support troops, eliminate breast cancer, and neuter every stray dog. To me, adding a Christmas tree covered with blue lights for a service of personal lament is in the same spirit. We’re taking ourselves way too seriously.
Everybody over the age of thirty has had a few painful Christmases, some have had many. The season of Advent, particularly in the northern hemisphere, pushes one’s psyche hard into the realm of sadness and regret. Each person who is lamenting the lost spouse, lost job, the cancer diagnosis is probably matched by somebody sick with grief over having an affair, an abortion, beating his wife. There are some painful events we enshrine, others we have to bear alone in silence. I think Christmas, the Mass of Christ, offers hope to all who suffer–all who are “burdened and heavily laden.”
The complaint “Blue Christmas” has been promoted to address is that Christmas is too commercial, too family-oriented, too focused on hearty cheerfulness. I agree there are lots of problems with the way Christmas has evolved. My proposal, though, is to start correcting those problems and not to add another event, another set of decorations, another enshrining of personal distress. God decided to join us and live with us in all the messiness of our daily fare. We prepare for this miracle every year by reflecting on our own failings and losses. Finally, on Christmas morning, we get another small glimpse of God’s overwhelming grace. I hope those who suffer will on that day feel comfort and joy. I hope each will see his own small life in the human panorama where no life is untouched by sorrow and every life is offered light and peace. Sometimes it’s a relief to realize one’s own misery is not unique, that everybody experiences disappointment and injustice, and that happiness and peace are not the same thing. I don’t want a “Blue Christmas.” I want to sing the carols with all the other sinners and allow the old, old story to sink into my bones one more time.
