Reflecting on a Bitter Christmas Season

I hugged my dad goodbye on Christmas night and he said, “What a weird Christmas.” I smiled and said, “Yeah, it sucked.” Todd and I drove home, drank some Chobani oat milk egg nog, and watched Mad Men, marking the end of a bizarre/sad/overwhelming holiday season. We’ve had a family death. Cancer battle. Unexpected job stress. Sickness. Revisiting of old wounds. And then, like… the worst weather ever? Which I know pales in comparison to the other things, but there’s a reason nobody sings about a 60-degree-rainy-and-gray-Tennessee-Christmas-day.

Plus, there’s the world.

I woke up and saw a picture of Bethlehem being bombed on Christmas Day. I thought of Munther Isaac’s words from his “Christ in the Rubble” sermon: "They sing of the Prince of Peace in their lands as they play the drumbeats of war in ours.” I prayed that God would have mercy and create pure hearts in us that crave peace. I emailed my representatives, again…. and then I made breakfast because, contrary to anxiety’s voice, doomscrolling does not change the world.

I have two funerals scheduled in my calendar: One will end this year, one will begin 2024. Both a result of cancer. Death is weird. All of us are going to end up in the ground, but nobody knows for sure what comes next. This can be a scary thought for some, especially if “unknown” equals “unsafe” to you.

(I know…. Nothing says, “Merry Christmas!” like a newsletter about death!)

Maybe it’s just because these two people I know are dead now and they weren’t three weeks ago, but I have been giving a lot of thought to how God sees death and how God might want to teach me to see death. I have been preoccupied with death-and-what-comes-next since I was a little girl. I don’t think it’s a glitch in my system. I actually sort of like that part of myself. But as I’ve gotten older, the less I want to die. I enjoy my life. I love Todd. I love my dogs. I love seeing my friends and exercising at my gym and trying new recipes. I love working and writing music and going to church. I love living and breathing and being a human on our planet, as messy as our planet is. And I hope that my life contributes to the world’s peace and beauty.

And! No matter how much I like living, one day I’m going to die and you guys will come to my funeral. And if everyone listens to what I want, I will be planted in a hippie organic pod and my remains will feed a tree. Everyone dies, including me.

When I was primarily terrified of God, I used to think of that reality with, well, terror. I would wonder, “How do I get my life right so I don’t go to hell?” “How do I make sure God isn’t mad at me?” “How can I do more good things so God accepts me?” My view of God in life shaped my view of God in death. Worshipping a terrifying God led me to see death with that same fear.

After rebuilding my faith in my 20s, I have come to really, really love God and see God as loving. But sometimes I feel a surge of fear swell up like an unexpected tsunami. When that unholy terror rears its head, I have to remind myself that God is not Adolf Hitler. That God, the source of love and light and goodness, surely does not find pleasure in the torment of humankind. That Jesus defeated death. That God does not rejoice in death. That mercy triumphs over judgment. That nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus… including death. I remind myself that while so much is unknown about God, that does not mean God is unsafe. Just like death-and-what-comes-after.

Forgive me for letting my Pentecostal side out, but I’ve been meditating on this passage tucked away in 1 Corinthians 2 lately: “These are the things God has revealed to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For what human knows what is truly human except the human spirit that is within? So also no one comprehends what is truly God’s except the Spirit of God.” The more I ponder this, the more magical it becomes, even though I don't understand the mechanics. You and I are mobile habitats for God’s Spirit and that Spirit is a worthy guide for knowing an unknowable God. This, at least for me, makes the unknown more safe. Somehow it makes death (and life) less terrifying.

So yeah, this Christmas wasn’t very merry for us. The good parts were eclipsed by a lot of grief. Faithfulness looked like honoring reality with our tears: tears for our own loss and the world’s loss. When we sang hymns at our church’s candlelight service, I wept and prayed that next year would be lighter. Who knows what the future holds, but heavy or light I hope on December 27, 2024 I am more deeply convinced of the power of God’s love to transform death, fear, war, division, and sickness. The brutal nature of the past few months has clarified my spiritual tastebuds and I find myself craving the most simple thing: to love God and love my neighbor as myself. I cannot be preoccupied with more. It is humbling and holy.

I am stumbling into the New Year with a tender heart. If yours is breaking or broken or in a million pieces on the floor, I pray you feel solidarity in these words, and that you sense the Spirit of God within you, blessing you from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, and leading you into the depths of God’s love.

Sending all my love,
Savannah

Writing Prompt: Do you relate to having a swell of fear rise up in you when it comes to the Unknown? Whether it’s the unknown of the future, God, death, or life? Describe that feeling. How might God’s love interact with that fear?

Recommended Reading: The Book of Waiting by my friend Jonathan Martin is such a beautiful gift to the world, and would be wonderful reading for the end of the year