GUEST COLUMN:
A Christmas in the Midst of Grief
BY FR. LEONARDO MEDINA
Christmas usually surrounds us with lights, music, and family gatherings. Yet when the heart is going through the absence of a loved one, this season takes on a different tone. The world around us may shine brightly, but inside there can be a quiet heaviness, a nostalgia that words cannot fully express. And it is precisely there, in that fragile space, that the mystery of Bethlehem reveals its true depth. God chooses to be born right in the middle of our human vulnerability.
In accompanying those who face deep sorrow, both spiritually and clinically, we learn that these holidays do not erase pain. But they can transform it if we allow the light of the manger to reach our inner shadows. Christmas does not ask us to forget or pretend. It invites us to walk sincerely, acknowledging the wound while letting a gentle, loving presence help us carry the weight of the absence.
The season of Advent that leads into Christmas becomes especially meaningful for those who grieve. It is a time that does not ask us to hurry but to breathe. A time to arrange our memories, to light small candles within, to remember with tenderness, to cry when needed, and to allow hope to enter slowly. We are not asked to live as if nothing has happened. We are invited to discover that sorrow can coexist with a faith that grows quietly.
Many people feel pressure to celebrate “as before.” But when someone is missing, the celebration naturally changes. It is important to give yourself permission to live these days differently, without guilt. It is perfectly valid to keep things simple, to modify traditions, to create new rituals, or to embrace silence when the heart needs it. Love does not end with death. It takes new shapes. It remains as a gentle presence that continues to accompany from another place.
Christ is born also for those who weep. I have witnessed this many times in families who face loss. The image of the Child Jesus, fragile and lying in a humble manger, brings comfort without demanding anything. He does not require joy. He offers peace. He does not expect forced smiles. He brings closeness. He does not remove sadness, but He remains with us through it. This is one of the great gifts of Christmas: a God who becomes small so He can embrace our pain.
Perhaps this Christmas will be quieter or more intimate. It may be simple. And maybe, precisely because of that, it can be more authentic. Silent Christmases often reveal what is essential. A God who comes gently, who does not rush, who approaches our wounds without fear. Sometimes the absence of a loved one awakens a new kind of presence: a spiritual, interior presence that helps us rebuild ourselves from within.
If you are living a Christmas touched by grief, I invite you not to fight your emotions. Name them. Bring them into your prayer or into your writing. Light a candle in your loved one’s memory. Write a letter. Give thanks for the life you shared. Allow comfort to arrive at its own pace. Surround yourself with people who know how to listen. And most of all, allow the God who comes small and tender to find a place in your heart.
Grieving is a delicate and deeply human journey. And Christmas can become a sacred refuge where the wound finds rest. It is not about being okay. It is about letting yourself be accompanied. May this Christmas, even if it feels different, be a gentle embrace for your soul. May the Child of Bethlehem shine upon your story, support your fragility, and offer a spark of hope, even if tears are still present.
Because even in the midst of sorrow, Light is born. And Light always finds a way forward.
Rev. Leonardo Medina is pastor of Holy Rosary parish in Hartshorne, as well as a psychologist and specialist in grief and emotional loss.