Christmas 2006

"What are your plans for Christmas?” My therapist asked.
“I’m spending Christmas alone,” I answered.

You could see it in her eyes…a grave concern. She kept her worries unspoken because she knew I understood. The “happy holidays” are also days of death…the season of suicide. I sought to reassure her (for she is most endearing when so concerned). She needn’t have worried.

Christmas is my salvation.

Last year, I shared my Christmas reveries with you. Each year, they remain the same. I will always be that little boy at Christmas.

I will always believe in the glory of Christmas.

The years have stripped me of that youth’s theology (amongst a great many other things). No matter. Strip away the theology, strip away the names, strip away the details…no matter. Imprinted within my heart and soul are the essence and promise of Christmas.

Is it any wonder we celebrate Christmas during the dead of winter? Is it any wonder that pagan cultures did so, similarly, too? Is it not true that the human soul needs hope most when all is dark, and death surrounds us?

All souls have their winters. It is the nature of things. The sun disappears. Night enshrouds all and the heart is crushed within a frigid, deathly grip. There are winters in the soul when all seems dead, when life itself feels impossible, and forgiveness hides beyond our reach. That is when we need our angels the most. We need the warm light of flickering candles to help us find our way. We need prayers and incantations to sustain us. We need that profoundly mystical, guiding star to lead us from this dark, forbidding world. A winter soul needs hope. It needs the promise of redemption and resurrection...
and the peace that dreams of miracles, love, forgiveness, charity and community bring.

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I’ll be spending Christmas alone, but there will be no death in the cold night. There will simply be a young boy…patiently waiting…straining to hear the animals speak.

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Merry Christmas