A Blue Christmas

"I'll have a Blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue thinking about you

Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree

Won't be the same, if you're not here with me"

Lyrics to "Blue Christmas"

by Billy Hayes and Jay Johnson
 

December packs a powerful punch.  It does not so much unfold as it explodes with holiday preparations and expressions. (I've already noted the shopping aspect in my last post: http://asubjectforconsideration.blogspot.com/2011/12/case-of-gimmies.html#!/2011/12/case-of-gimmies.html)

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In these swirling 31 days, it is important to hit the pause button on the spinning and ponder the equally real difficulties experienced with mourning,  illness, unemployment, depression - hardships.  The calendar has no conscience for these realities but we do. 

Boston University is approaching this subject head on with a special Sunday service this month aptly named "Blue Christmas" as an outlet for those who need to unmask a sadness or difficulty in the quiet support of a spiritual setting.  The idea for this specific type of event began in Canada in 1996. Churches, temples, and community organizations have embraced its creed since, molding the services to their audience needs.  Creating a safe zone for sorrow seems to be the essential intention of the timely program.  And who doesn't want to feel safe in grief, as well as joy?    http://www.bu.edu/today/2011/blue-christmas-comes-to-bu/

As noted in BU's online magazine, "BU Today," Christ's birth, while dignified in the hymn Silent Night, sparked a bloodbath when King Herod murdered male infants in an effort to eliminate the threat of this newborn King.  Those deaths are as real as His birth.  As we celebrate the soul of this holiday, however, we struggle to make room for pain, I think, because the darkness shifts the picture into an unbalanced and out of kilter state.

Rev. Victoria Gaskell, chaplain associate for Methodist students at BU's Marsh Chapel, noted, with other campus clergy, there was a significant number of students who sought solace from the campus ministry last year at this time. It was decided to offer this service to open up a place that says it's okay to be sad, even at Christmas.   
   

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"This is just something that we are offering for people who find spiritual challenges in this season," notes Rev. Gaskell in the article. "The people who are participating in the service are chosen in part because the work that they do at BU addresses some of the challenges that people might be facing."

When I was newly pregnant with my youngest daughter over 16 years ago, it was a December day I recall twisting in a cyclone of anxiety .  I was considered a high risk pregnancy due to my age and had received an upsetting test result early on in the pregnancy suggesting something was terribly wrong with the baby.  The day after getting the news (at work no less), I shuffled among several doctor appointments for more testing and lots of conversation.  In the bustling OB/GYN waiting room,  I sat next to a pregnant woman and her mother.  Their conversation was most common in that setting yet it pained me in every way.  The mother/daughter pair savored the anticipated birth of the child, giggled with excitement over choosing names, planned for decorating a nursery etc. 

Their mutual hope flowed in a stream of easy awareness. Conversely, I was frozen by a glacier of fear.  I had known their joy on other days, but until that moment, I never considered the possible sadness that could also be present in an OB/GYN waiting room. How many others wrestling with life changing test results, or experiencing a recent miscarriage, or battling with severe gynecological issues shared that space along with the elatedly expecting?

I wondered how many times my joy had thoughtlessly spilled over with no regard to someone else's sadness.  The mother/daughter duo did nothing wrong. Their waiting room experience was as true as mine.  They, in fact, blindly gave me the priceless gift of awareness.  Their joy perfectly countered my sadness and continues to remind me to consider both in all circumstances.  I think of them, grateful for what I learned in one of my darkest moments.  It is a comfort.

As I listen to the exquisite Shawn Colvin's rendition of the carol/hymn "In the Bleak Midwinter," I hear her echo these piercing emotions with perfect pitch, specifically in these two stanzas:

"In the bleak midwinter, icy wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow on snow had fallen, snow on snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

What then can I give Him, empty as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would know my part;
What then can I give Him: I must give my heart."*

While often uncertain, the giving of our hearts is essential no matter what the tremors of fear signal us.    

The BU Blue Christmas service will include a reading from Isaiah 40:1 which begins with "Comfort, O comfort My people." Yes, amid December's joy and celebration, it is this feeling of ease that I seek; to rest in the comfort of knowing I am loved and that like love, pain and darkness also need attention and a safe harbor, especially during "the most wonderful time of year."

*"In the Bleak MIdwinter" is a carol adapted from a poem written by Christina Rossetti circa 1872.