Christmas: Worst Time of the Year?

This was the topic I proposed for my "Dinner, Drinks and Deep Discussions" Meetup group last night. Christmas is often presented as the happiest time of the year, but it is also the season when depression and suicides spike. Why?

One person signed up--a young, black woman a few years older than me. Her profile announced that she was a single mother of three and was excited to have a social life again.

With that in mind, when I arrived at our site--the American Legion bar--I thought I had misfired badly. This woman, largely unfamiliar with Menomonee Falls (91.6% White with Native American coming in at number two at 3.5%), would be walking into a stuffy, downstairs bar filled with older, blue collar white men who like to hunt. I got there early and a number of the men were already slurring their speech. (Granted, I know most of these men, and care for all of them.)

I warned my new friend about the dynamics when I met her upstairs, and she didn't seem to mind. I was on pins and needles when we went down there. The reception was warm (several guys started chatting with her and she got a free drink for her first visit), but likely overwhelming. The guys talking to her (buddies of mine) were loud and didn't give her much room to speak.

I kept trying to cut in, but even my big mouth kept getting drowned out. Eventually, I was able to start directing the conversation a bit. Not the topics mind you--just the tone. A couple of the men--one older and one younger--started discussing what would bar someone from Heaven. The younger, Roman Catholic friend joined my new female friend in contending that suicide was unpardonable because there was no opportunity to repent before death. The older, Vietnam-vet friend joined me in contending that our salvation is not conditioned on our works, but on those of Christ.

Suicide is murder and is indeed a sin. But Jesus tells us that my anger is tantamount to murder (Matthew 5) and is every bit as worthy of death as murder. We are all worthy of death and damnation (me most of all!), but our salvation is not based on the quality of our repentance, but the quality of Christ's sacrifice. Two of the enduring images from Hebrews is Christ as the great high priest, always interceding on behalf of His people, and Christ as the once-for-all sacrifice, covering His people once and for all from their sins.

Pretty intense conversation to step into with a black single mom from inner city Milwaukee, and an old vet and young man with no filter from the boonies!

Well, talking about religion would obviously not be a taboo among these folks. I was thankful for that. And as I was counting my blessings, my female friend asked if she was the only person who looked like that (pointing to her skin) who came into the Legion bar. We all immediately chimed in and said "Oh, no. Bob comes in as well." Being able to name the one exception does not help.

So, of course, we started talking about race relations. My young Catholic friend started talking about how he was fed up with everybody stepping lightly around the N-word (he actually used the word). He thought the word was horrible, but also thought the only way to rob it of its power was to take away the mystique and treat it as a crass word worthy of condemnation. Good logical point. But the fact that he kept using the word made me want to curl up in the fetal position, growing up as I did in the DC area. My female friend didn't seem to mind, but engaged my Catholic friend on this issue.

He then also happened to mention that he was a skinhead, but that not all skinheads are racist. In fact, the movement was partially started by Jamaicans. Whether or not he was correct, I was feeling increasingly eager for a second drink.

But--in an incredible God way--invisible bonds were forming between these three very different people. They all discovered that they had suffered from severed relationships. The vet's wife had walked out on him and his two little children and he raised his kids alone. The young Catholic man's dad left when he was little. The young woman's kids were all born and raised out of wedlock, and the two fathers are almost entirely out of the picture. She had to raise them on her own.

I have watched "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" about twice a day over the past several days with my boy, and felt like I was watching something comparable to the changing of the Grinch's heart in that bar. I saw the older vet shed tears as he talked about how hard it was to raise his kids alone. And at the end of the discussion, my female friend said something along the lines of "I loved this. Everybody else here is a mess, and I feel like I can be myself. I would love to do this again."

She also told me that she had never known a pastor who would share a drink with people, be messy with them, and be accessible and not judgmental. Like the rest of those in our conversation, I confessed that I am sick and broken. My only hope, and my assured hope, is found in my Savior.

And for the first time, one of these events will translate into visits to the church. The old vet, who was going to do Christmas alone, will be having dinner with my family tonight and joining us at the Christmas Eve service. And while the single mom attends another church, she told me not to be surprised if she comes and visits our church after the new year. I prayed with her before she left.

Is Christmas the worst time of year? We all agreed that it is a pretty dark and broken time, but not irretrievably so. There is something about the hope of Christ that changes everything.

The Christmas season is like a black canvas, awash in the dark stains of loved ones lost, relationships ended, and dreams unfulfilled. But the blacker the canvas, the more stark that shining Star shines over sinners like us. The hope of Christ splashes light and life across the landscape. And one day, there will be no more night (Rev. 22).