A Season of Light

Christmas

The Birth of Jesus and the Gifts That Still Matter

Each year, as Christmas approaches, we return to a story that has outlasted centuries. A long journey. A crowded town. A stable offered out of necessity rather than comfort. And in that humble place, Mary wrapped her newborn son in cloths and laid him in a manger.

Shepherds keeping watch heard an angel say, Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy. They hurried into Bethlehem and found the child just as they had been told.

Christmas has always lived at the intersection of work and wonder. Ordinary people doing their best in uncertain times while God weaves something greater through their lives.

We see echoes of this truth in the stories we tell. George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life discovers that a single life lived with integrity can shape an entire community. Families laugh through A Visit from St. Nicholas, waiting for stockings to be filled and morning to arrive. And in The Bishop’s Wife, a simple Christmas sermon reminds us of what we often forget.

“Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking,” the bishop begins. Wise men followed a star and carried gifts fit for a King, yet we often fill every stocking except the one meant for the child in the manger. Then comes the question that still steadies us today: What would Christ wish for most from us? And the invitation: “Let each put in his share. Loving kindness, warm hearts, and the stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shining gifts that make peace on earth.”

These gifts are timeless. They are needed in homes and churches, but they are felt just as deeply in funeral homes, cemeteries, and crematories.

Because for those of us who serve in death care, Christmas is not only a season of joy. It is also a season when grief becomes sharper, memories grow heavier, and families walk through our doors carrying more than sorrow. They carry the weight of loss in a time when the world around them is singing about joy.

This work asks us to hold both truths at once. The ache of families who would give anything for one more day.And the beauty of a season that promises hope, light, and peace.

We stand in the middle ground between the carols and the silence. Between the aroma of holiday meals and the quiet conversations around a conference table.Between houses lit with color and the soft glow of chapel candles.Between children laughing and families who struggle to imagine a Christmas without someone they love.

This is a sacred tension, and funeral professionals feel it more deeply than most.

Yet even here, Christmas invites us to slow down long enough to notice what is still good, still beautiful, and still worth giving thanks for.

It is in the aroma of food prepared with love, drifting from kitchens where memories are made.It is in the sound of brass bands and carolers whose harmonies soften the cold. It is in the bright eyes of small children who believe without hesitation. It is in the joy of giving, especially when no one expects it. It is in the quiet dignity of walking beside a grieving family and offering steadiness when they need it most.

The Nativity teaches the lesson with clarity. God chose to enter the world quietly, in a place where ordinary people could draw near. Hope arrived in a setting small enough to touch. Peace came wrapped in humility. And joy rose in the middle of hardship, not separate from it.

So this season, may you find room for both. Room for the families you serve with compassion and care. Room for the beauty and wonder that Christmas still offers. Room to breathe deeply.Room to listen to music that lifts you.Room to notice the smile of a child.Room to give generously and receive gratefully.Room to let the message of Christmas steady you as you steady others.

Merry Christmas. May your heart be full of loving kindness, your hands full of quiet service, and your spirit anchored in the peace that came on a night long ago.