'What Child Is This?' Why Followers of Jesus Should Have No Peace This Christmas

Have you ever felt like something was off, something you couldn’t quite place but you were sure of just the same; that despite all the trappings of normal and appearances of routine, there hovered a subtle but very profound not-rightness?Well, something is not right within me these days, and I know it.I’m not sure how to describe it other than to say that lately, something is missing.I think it may be peace.I think I’m becoming starved of peace.It hasn’t happened overnight, but over time my soul’s been so weighed down by suffering and so saturated by the sadness all around that the expectancy’s been completely squeezed out, the possibility all but drained away.Maybe you understand what I’m talking about.The calendar tells me it’s time to welcome Christmas, but I am finding little room in the inn of my spirit. No good tidings of great joy from the heralds, no calm silence in these dark nights of the soul.I know what I’m supposed to believe, the response I’m expected to have, the joy I’m supposed to overflow with, but these are getting more and more difficult to muster in the face of all the horrible that’s happening in the world: genocide, death, terror, war, bigotry, and violence all on heavy rotation with seemingly no relief.And the songs of the season hit differently now.What child is this?I’ve sung this song for my entire life, and as a younger version of myself, I would always see a single child, born in the cold, surrounded by the smell of damp straw and animal dung. I would see one tiny, vulnerable child arriving in anonymity and soon cradled in adoration. One child whose attention my heart demanded.Now, when I hear those words, I see different children:Children in Gaza.Children in Ukraine.Children at our Southern border.Children on the streets here at home.So many children to whom peace and rest will not visit, children whose stories are the stuff of nightmares, children who will never see the coming year.How do we celebrate one child while so many children are being discarded?How do we celebrate one child while so many children are being buried?How do we celebrate one child while so many are orphaned?How do we celebrate one child while so many are being terrorized?These are desperate days on the planet.They are desperate days in my heart.I need Christmas.But I don’t need it on the calendar, I need it within me.I need the birth of something beautiful, that thrill of hope I used to sing about as a child, to return to my spirit.I need the arrival of a great light into the deep, dark recesses of myself where joy and wonder have nearly vanished.I need new life to change the landscape and alter the temperature in the way only new life can.The word Emmanuel means “God with us,” and Christmas is the promise of an imminent holy, healing presence, but frankly many days it feels like we’re on our own here.It seems like we’re fending for ourselves in this brutality, surrounded by so much that is wrong and hurtful, and because of this, all is not merry and bright within us.Christmas is not bringing with it the wide-eyed optimism that looks to the skies, fully certain that goodness is on the way and coming close.It is not carrying the assurance that the temporary discomfort will soon yield to life and relief.This season isn’t coming with bubbling expectancy in advance of a celebration.This is more a frightened, exhausting, painful present, and the fear that this might be the best we can expect.So many have shared with me that their hearts cannot be reconciled with the calendar right now, that they are incapable of holding both the story of their faith tradition with the stories on their timeline.This, ironically, is the closest thing to encouragement I feel right now: the disturbance to the peace of so many who claim faith around the world. We should be discomforted by our prayers, disgusted by our platitudes, and sickened by our songs.What child is this, whose father was just dragged away by men in masks?What child is this, whose body was violated by a missile strike?What child is this, dying in anonymity and darkness?What child is this, whose family was obliterated in the blink of an eye?What child is this, weaned on a blind hatred that makes killing a holy offering?What child is this, being dehumanized thousands of miles away?What child is this, who is fodder for the fears of a neighbor?No, this unrest is not an interruption to the calendar; it is the prompt of humanity that says the calendar be damned.It is the fierce love that demands the world not go on as normal.Those of us celebrating Christmas should be peaceless until the planet is peaceful, until every child knows rest.Then, the songs will be worth singing.The Beautiful Mess by John Pavlovitz is a reader-supported publication. 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