December 19, 2025
Dear church,
This Sunday, December 21st, is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. It’s a day that can feel cozy and warm. It’s also a day that permits us space to acknowledge the shadows that accompany us this time of year: grief, loneliness, sorrow, despair, longing. My prayer is that you will take some time this weekend to honor the less-than-cheery aspects of life, and of holidays, because it’s real, and honest, and liberating to do so. I found these words from Kate Bowler helpful in articulating the truth that joy and sorrow sit side by side in our hearts, at our tables, and even in our celebrations. There is nothing wrong with this truth; it is what it is to love, to lose, and to keep on living. May you feel God’s closeness in the depths of winter darkness. Know that you are loved and never alone.
Pastor Sarah
Kate Bowler’s reflection: Blue Christmas is not a weakness
Every grocery store speaker is now officially blasting “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” And let’s be honest: sometimes it feels like a demand. The happiest Christmas music can feel like salt in the wound when life is heavy. If this season is not “merry and bright” for you, you’re not alone.
The story of Christmas itself is no stranger to darkness—Jesus was born into a world of oppression and fear. Joy didn’t arrive because the world was perfect; it arrived anyway.
This is a good time to take a peek at the customs and traditions and plans that you’ve got on the calendar and see if you need to make any room for grief. Maybe the invitation of Advent is not to blast the cheeriest carol until we believe it, but to prepare room for joy by telling the truth. By letting sorrow breathe. By choosing practices that gently turn our hearts back toward joy without pretending the sadness is gone.
What might that look like for you? A quiet walk near some city Christmas lights. A playlist that mixes Bing Crosby with a hymn that actually makes you cry. A phone call to the person who understands the empty chair at your table.
Joy doesn’t demand we silence our grief. It asks us to make just enough room for God to slip in beside it. And sometimes, that tiny crack of space is all joy needs to return.
Blessed are we who cannot fake cheer,
who sing soft instead of loud,
who light blue candles in December
and still hope joy might come.
Every Friday, we send an email to the congregation and any others who would like to learn more about the Grace community. The last four Friday emails are posted below.