Associate Minister
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In the stillness of a silent night, when stars shimmered against the expanse of infinite darkness, the world waited in longing for a Saviour. The whispers of ancient prophecies echoed across centuries, and in the quiet town of Bethlehem, a celestial light pierced the shadows, guiding wise men from distant lands to a humble stable, where divinity was cradled in the arms of humanity.
In this passage from Matthew, we encounter a story of seeking, faith, and homage. It is a tale not only of kings bearing gifts but of the shared human experiences of longing, wandering, and glimpsing hope. The Magi, navigating their own uncertainties, were guided by a distant star—a fragile yet unwavering light in the vast darkness, each step a testament to their belief in something greater.
As we move through this Christmas season, adorned in sparkling lights and festive colours, many of us carry unseen burdens. For those grieving the loss of a loved one, the joyous melodies of the season can feel like an echo of absence. Empty chairs at the table and quiet spaces where laughter once filled the space weigh heavily on the heart. Christmas, for all its beauty, can amplify the ache of absence, turning it into a season of bittersweet memories rather than celebration.
Or maybe you are wrestling with the weight of loneliness or fractured relationships. Festivities and traditions may highlight what is broken, unresolved, or missing in our lives. Or maybe you are burdened with mental health struggles, the pressure to exude cheer and have a Merry Christmas can deepen feelings of isolation. And for those facing addictions, the indulgent nature of the season can heighten battles already waged in silence.
The pain we carry is mirrored in the world around us. This year, the global landscape feels heavy with suffering. In the land where the Star of Bethlehem once shone, the cries of conflict drown out the promise of peace. In other corners of the world, battles for freedom, dignity, survival and justice persist. The light we seek often feels dim against the backdrop of violence and division. Even within our families and communities, political tensions have driven deep wedges, reminding us of humanity’s persistent struggle to reconcile with one another.
Yet into this very brokenness, Christ came.
The Christmas story is not one of perfection or ease; it is one of light entering the shadows. Christ was born into a world of discord, suffering, and fear—a world not unlike our own. His arrival was a declaration that God meets us not in sanitized joy but in the messy, painful, and complicated realities of life. His birth is a reminder that even in our grief, our loneliness, and our despair, God is Emmanuel—God with us.
When global grief is compounded by our personal grief and loss, we can feel like we are in a very dark place. This poem by Becky Hemsley reminds us of the power of love amid the reality of grief in these difficult days:
To love is to feel light.
It lifts you up. Makes you feel like you could float or fly.
And it lights you up too. Makes you shine and brightens your world and your way.
So when we lose those we love, we are bound to feel heavy. Dark. Lost.
And I know you’ve never had to carry something so draining or navigate a world so confusing. How can emptiness weigh so much?
Right now the scales have been tipped so far one way that you can never imagine feeling them balance again.
But slowly the light will creep back in, the heaviness will lift a little, the fog will dissipate, and you will see a way ahead.
For a long time, it will be a precarious balance. The smallest thing will extinguish the light and you will feel the balance tip uncontrollably back to darkness.
But remember, the love is not lost. It still exists right here within you.
So lean into it. Allow that love to lift and light you up a little. So that as you start to shine again, you can be reminded that,
whilst people cannot stay forever…
love absolutely can.
In times of sorrow, we may feel as though the darkness is overwhelming. Yet Becky Hemsley’s poem reminds us that love—though it does not remove grief—has the power to lift us, to rekindle light within us, and to guide us forward, one step at a time. The love we shared with those we have lost remains within us, a radiant thread connecting the past and present, reminding us that, while people cannot stay forever, love absolutely can.
In the quiet of our hearts, we feel this truth. Like the Magi, we are all on a journey, navigating darkness, seeking light. Their pilgrimage was not merely about finding a child—it was about finding hope, peace, and divine love in the most unexpected of places. And so it is for us. Christmas is not about erasing our pain but about discovering that even in its midst, God is near. The light that guided the Magi still shines, offering direction to all who seek it.
This Christmas, may we, too, offer what we carry—our grief, our burdens, our brokenness—at the feet of the Christ child. In doing this, we may find that even our pain can become a source of compassion and love. Like the Magi, may we trust that the journey toward healing is worth the steps, however uncertain they may feel. And may we remember that God does not simply wait at the destination but walks with us in every moment, through every shadow. The birth of Christ reminds us that hope is not extinguished by sorrow, nor is love diminished by loss. Instead, they endure and transform, like the star that guided the Magi through an uncertain journey to the source of divine love.
The story of Christmas is a story of hope breaking into despair, of light piercing through darkness, and of love that transforms all it touches. In this season, may the promise of Emmanuel—God with us—bring solace to our grieving hearts, illuminate the path forward, and inspire us to be bearers of God’s light in a weary world. For even in the shadows, love remains. And where there is love, there is God. Always.