A Weary World Rejoices: Grief, Grace, and Christ (Ep 146)

Welcome and Introduction

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Jason: Thank you for listening and welcome to the podcast. I'm your host, Jason McConnell. This is the last episode I will publish this year, and it's one I've been praying over because it's deeply personal and very real. I'm talking about Christmas, but not just the manger scene. In the nativity story, though, we may touch on that a bit, but I also want to talk about the magic of childhood holidays, the loss and confusion that adulthood brings and how Jesus can reshape all of that.

If you're entering into this Christmas with joy, praise God, I'm so happy for you. However, if you're entering into this Christmas with sadness, frustration, an empty chair or a heavy heart, I understand where you are and today's episode might be for you. So grab a cup of eggnog, kick your feet up for a few, and listen to this episode with an open heart.

Reflecting on the Changing Magic of Christmas

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Jason: You know, as the years have gone by, the Christmas season has changed for me. I'm sure it has for you too, but don't get me wrong, I love it. I've always loved it. The lights, the decorations, the baking, the chaos of wrapping presents, the holiday get togethers and, and there's so much more, but they don't feel the same as when I was a child.

Now, back then the magic was effortless. It just existed when I was a kid. Christmas was sparkles in wonder. The world felt enchanted this time of year. Then came the awkward teen years where Christmas meant special choir performances and spending more time with friends than family, or at least, so I thought beyond that, when I entered into my twenties as a newly minted adult, I yearned for home more.

When Christmas season arrived, of course the late twenties and early thirties hit and things became more routine. Somehow that ever effortless magic kind of faded year by year, decade by decade. It didn't disappear, but it shifted as rational thinking took over. Responsibilities, crept in life got more complicated.

And let's be honest, bills don't sparkle. Am I right?

Rediscovering Christmas Through Fatherhood

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Jason: But then I became a dad and suddenly the magic came roaring back to life like someone had plugged my heart into a string of Christmas lights. There I was at midnight again, uh, up and awake, tiptoeing around wrapping presents, positioning, stocking. So they just barely looked disturbed eating cookies, drinking eggnog, and leaving strategic crumbs so that my daughter would wake up with wide eyes and a racing imagination.

And I, I mean, I guess I became the magic. And in doing so, I, I reignited my own sense of wonder and, and the way she believed, the way children believe. I mean, it blows me away. That absolute confidence that a guy in a red suit flew around the world in a sleigh with reindeer delivering billions of gifts. I mean, listen, we can barely get two day shipping to work consistently.

And Santa's out there doing global operations in one night, but that was magic. Watching the world through her eyes, pure innocent sparkling magic. And that lasted for many years until she eventually began to kind of outgrow the wonder. She's 15 now, and we joke about believing in Santa. She doesn't believe with the same passion.

Obviously the world is more complicated for her, more confusing. Soon she's gonna be an adult living her own story. And I guess the cycle continues from that. And yet this time I feel myself holding onto the wonder, the joy, the warmth, that something in Christmas that tells the human heart. There is hope here.

Something holy is breaking into the world.

The Deeper Meaning of Christmas

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Jason: Now, I didn't know it when I was younger, but that pole towards wonder was a whisper, a shadow, a hint of something far greater than snowmen and stockings. I mean, as you all know, I didn't grow up as a Christian, so beyond about five years ago. Christmas was just secular Christmas, but looking back, I can definitely tell Christ was tugging at my heart.

Trying to get my attention, trying to say, look at what I did for you. Now, some may disagree with this perspective and that's okay, but I see nothing wrong with allowing children to believe in Santa and Rudolph. Let it let it exist in the minds of children so long as we put Christ first and teach them what the real meaning of Christmas is, and let the rest of that silliness be peripheral fun.

I mean, I would generally love to hear your feedback on this, your take on it. I mean, I do. I invite you to go over to my ministry mission.com/contact. Send me an email, or better yet, join my disco Discord server and let me know what you think. Let's chat about it. Now, it's interesting to also see how the holidays evolves as your life evolves, and maybe some of you feel this way too.

I once hoped for a big family with a bunch of people over for Christmas dinner. I longed for the chaos of preparing a feast, making sure there's plenty, uh, of entertainment and getting my house as per close to perfect as possible for my guest's arrival. But my life went a different direction. I have one daughter.

I love her. She's amazing. I share custody of her with her mom. Every year. We have to kind of figure out how we're going to balance things and there aren't many family members nearby who can join me for Christmas meals. It's not the hallmark moments I imagined. But then again, I mean, my life isn't finished yet, though I'm pretty confident I'm done with having children.

The bottom line is this, Christmas changes for adults expectations shift. Some traditions become simpler or scaled down. Some traditions may go away and, and you may build new traditions. Sometimes you learn to celebrate differently.

Navigating Christmas with Loss

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Jason: However, this year something else has changed for me because this is my first Christmas that I will celebrate.

Without my sister on earth. Now the holidays take on a different tone. When someone's missing there, there's an empty spot. You can't decorate around, a phone call you can't make anymore. And I find myself thinking about the Christmases. We didn't spend together, the Thanksgiving dinners, we skipped the years where life got busy and time slipped through our fingers.

And now, now those opportunities are gone. And that's kind of hard to imagine. That's kind of hard to wrap my mind around. And I'm sure some of you out there know exactly what I'm talking about, but understand grief doesn't cancel Christmas. It simply will reshape it for you. Psalm three, four, verse 18 says, the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Now there's a caveat there. You have to let him be close. The hearts when hearts are broken, when purpose is lost, when life gets difficult, it often feels like God is very far away and in truth, he's really drawing closer and it's you and I who retreat. We move further away. But this year I really needed that scripture to remind me to do my part in this relationship with God, to stay close to him in those moments where my heart aches.

So earlier I mentioned I didn't grow up in a Christian household. Christmas for me was fun, full of lights, presents food, family, but it wasn't faith filled. It was magical, but it wasn't miraculous. And then, I mean, five years ago, everything shifted When I surrendered my life to Christ, it was like someone peeled back the curtain that I didn't even know was there.

Suddenly Christmas wasn't just se a season, it was a story, a rescue mission, a love letter written in Starlight and swaddling cloth, the magic I grew up with cookies for Santa wrapping paper everywhere. The anticipation of Christmas morning, I mean it was sweet, it was beautiful even. But then Christ got ahold of my heart and that childhood magic was overwhelmed by something infinitely greater.

The miracle of Jesus. The kind of miracle that doesn't fade when you grow up. The kind that doesn't disappear when life gets messy. The kind that doesn't depend on how you, how many lights you hang or how perfect your plans turn out. I went from believing in a season to believing in a savior and suddenly.

The wonder of Christmas wasn't built around sleigh, bells and stockings. It was built around a God who stepped out of eternity, stepped into human skin, and chose a manger over a throne, a feeding trough over a palace, poverty over privilege. John one 14 says, the word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.

I want you to think about that for a second. The God who spoke the universe into existence didn't wait for humanity to be ready for him to climb up to him. He came down to us, into our world, into our brokenness, into our ache, into our grief, because he knew we'd never make it. He didn't come at a moment when the world was polished and peaceful and ready for him.

He came at a moment when the world was dark, divided, violent, and hurting just like now.

Finding Hope and Joy in Jesus

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Jason: That's, that's when it hit me. I don't have to struggle to reach Jesus. I don't have to pretend everything is okay to deserve his presence. I don't have to fix myself first because he came to me. He came for me, and he came for you too.

God moves moved towards us long before we ever thought about moving toward him. God stepped right into the mess, the loneliness, the broken families, the empty chairs, the memories that hurt, the regrets we carry in December. Jesus was born for those very moments where life feels heavy. So yeah, Santa is fun.

Reindeer are adorable. There's nothing wrong with enjoying the lighter, joyful traditions of Christmas. But only Jesus steps into the places where the magic is faded. Only Jesus speaks to the ache beneath the service. Only Jesus will bring hope to the corners of our hearts. We never decorate with twinkling lights, and as someone walking into this season with a measure of sadness, with grief, that still hasn't fully settled, I'm realizing something incredibly powerful.

The miracle of Christmas doesn't erase the pain. It gives the pain a savior. Where the magic of childhood is dimmed, the miracle of Christ shines brighter. Where the wonder faded, the gospel blooms where loss stings, hope whispers. This isn't the end. That's Christmas. That's the miracle. A free offer for everyone.

Now, I did tell you that I was going to be honest and real. At the beginning of this episode, so let me stay true to that. Lemme tell you something, straight from the center of my heart. I need Jesus this Christmas, probably more than any other Christmas I can think of. Not as a concept, not as some tradition, not as a nativity set on a shelf.

I need him. I need his presence, his peace, his comfort, his nearness. 'cause this year hurts. Um, my sister and I didn't share every holiday together. I mentioned that, and life didn't always line up in neat little hallmark moments, but the finality of her absence, the reality that she won't be here this year or next year, or any year that comes after, I mean, that hits differently.

There's, there's no, maybe next year. We'll make it up in January. There's no, let's plan something. Soon. Those sentences get wiped off the table when someone you love is gone. And my friends, it's rough. That's rough. It's a unique kind of egg, the kind that that sits in your chest like a stone. Heavy, immovable.

Uninvited. And some of you listening probably know exactly what I mean. You're carrying your own version of that heartbreak. The empty chair at Christmas dinner, the stalking, you didn't want to take down the voicemail, you replay just to hear their voice again. The traditions you're scared won't feel the same.

The silence where laughter used to be and the holidays have a way of turning those quiet aches into loud ones. But here's what I keep reminding myself, sometimes whispering it, sometimes clinging it, clinging to it with everything I've got. Because of Jesus Never again isn't the final word. It feels final.

It feels absolute. It feels like a door has slammed shut, but our feelings don't get the last say. Grief doesn't get the last say, death does not get the last say, only Jesus does, and he promised to prepare a room for each of us. The one who conquered the grave has spoken a different word over us, a better word, a truer word, an eternal word.

First Thessalonians four, verses 13 and 14. We do not grieve like the rest of mankind who have no hope for. We believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. Of course, we grieve. God never asked us to fake it till you make it or pretend we're okay, but we grieve with hope.

So yes, I'll hang the stockings. I'll put up the missile toe. The Christmas lights are gonna shine like a runway this year. And my goofy inflatable snowman, he's gonna be definitely coming out. He's gonna be out there waving like he's running for office. Not because I'm ignoring anything, but because joy and sorrow can sit at the same table.

Because of Jesus, never again is met with a divine, not forever. Over every empty chair he whispers. There will be a reunion because every broken heart beats with the promise of all things will be made new. Death hurts, but it doesn't win. The grave is real, but so is the resurrection and love. God's love that lasts longer than our lifetimes.

So what do we do when the holidays change? When the magic shifts, when the traditions don't feel the same, when loved ones are missing, and life has carved out a space we didn't ask for. What do we do when December becomes bittersweet? We lean into Jesus, into the Savior who understands grief, who wept at a graveside, who stepped into human weakness.

With full knowledge of our pain, we clinging to the miracle. We study ourselves on the truth that Christ didn't just come into the world, he came for us. For moments like this, for years like this, for hearts like ours, hearts that sometimes feel too fragile to hold all of the emotions that the holiday brings.

And we choose joy, not as denial, not as pretending everything's okay, not as forced cheerfulness or plastered smiles in family photos, but as as a declaration of faith. Joy becomes an act of worship. Joy becomes us saying, Lord, I still believe, Lord, I still trust you, Lord, even with my tears in my eyes, I will celebrate your birth because your coming has changed everything.

Even this grief, joy is what happens when we refuse to let sorrow define the entire story. Joy says, this hurts, but God is here. Joy says the ache is real, but so is the hope. Joyce says, loss is part of my story, but not the end of it. And when our hearts are tired, we remember the angel's words in Luke two verses 10 and 11.

Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people today in the town of David, a savior has been born unto you. He is the Messiah, the Lord great joy. Even in seasons of sorrow, not shallow, not seasonal, not based on decorations or perfect gatherings, great joy, born in a manger, great joy wrapped in swaddling cloth, great joy, rooted in a savior who came to redeem what's broken, and that is the miracle we rest in.

That's the joy God offers us. That isn't fragile. It isn't tied to circumstance. It isn't limited by grief. It, it shines in the darkness. It sits with us in the silence. It holds us together when we feel like falling apart. This is why we keep celebrating. This is why we keep singing the carols and telling the story and lighting the candles because Christmas joy isn't based on how we feel.

It's based on what God has done and what he has done changes everything.

A Personal Message and Closing Thoughts

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Jason: So as we wrap up this episode, and I know it wasn't as long as some of my other ones, but I wanna speak directly to your heart. Wherever you are, however you're coming into this Christmas season, maybe your December is full of joy and warm traditions.

Maybe you've got little ones at home who still dance around the tree and shake presents when they think you're not looking, or maybe this year feels heavier. Maybe you're carrying grief, a recent loss, a broken relationship, a holiday that just doesn't look the way it used to. Wherever you are on that spectrum, I want you to hear me.

Christ came for you and not the polished version of you. Not the I've got it together version. He came for the weary, the grieving, the searching, the overwhelmed you. Matthew one verse 23 reminds us, the virgin will conceive and give birth to a son and they will call him Emmanuel, which means God with us.

That's the miracle. God with us, God with you in laughter, in tears and traditions you cherish, and in the ones that have changed in the magic of childhood wonder and in the quiet ache of adulthood, loss and turmoil, this Christmas, my prayer is that you won't just celebrate the season on autopilot, but you'll experience the savior that the light of Jesus will illuminate even your darkest corners.

That hope will rise, not because everything is perfect, but because Jesus stepped into an imperfect world to redeem it. As for me, this Christmas holds a different kind of tenderness, and yet even with the sorrow, the Lord is reminding me that joy and sorrow, they can coexist, that mourning and celebration, can share the same table, and that his presence is what turns pain into peace.

Whether you're decorating cookies, sitting quietly with memories, or trying to hold yourself together for the sake of your family, I want you to know this. You are not alone. You are deeply loved and God is still with us. I want you to, I wanna thank you for spending a little time with me today. If this episode encouraged you, I'd love for you to share it with someone who might be walking through a difficult December.

And as always, you can find more episodes, devotionals and resources [email protected]. And to paraphrase, Philippians four, verse seven, may the peace of Christ guard your heart. May his joy strengthen you, and may his light lead you through every moment of this season. Until next time, keep loving your neighbors.

Dive into God's word daily. May the Lord bless you and keep you and fill you with his peace. Take care. God bless. Merry Christmas and I'll see you next year.

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