When December Holds Both Joy and Grief

There’s something about December.

Maybe it’s the twinkling lights that make the darkness feel darker. Maybe it’s the cheerful carols that amplify the silence left by loss. Or maybe we simply notice death more in December because we expect this month to be filled with life—with celebration, family, and joy.

My mother-in-law passed away in December. My dad died in December 2021. For our family, this month carries a weight alongside its wonder.

And I don’t think we’re alone.

December asks us to hold two truths at once: the celebration of birth and the reality of death. The joy of Emmanuel—God with us—and the ache of empty chairs at the table. The anticipation of gathering together and the grief of who’s no longer here to gather.

Life is like that, isn’t it? Beautifully, painfully mixed.

The Hope That Holds Us

As Christians, we don’t have to choose between acknowledging our grief and celebrating Christmas. In fact, the birth of Jesus makes room for both.

Because Christmas isn’t just about a baby in a manger. Even in Jesus’s life there was birth, but also death. Because of His death, we have life after death. Jesus didn’t come to erase our pain but to walk through it with us and, ultimately, to conquer death itself.

Even in death, there is life. Not just someday life, but the promise of new life as a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). Our loved ones who died in Christ aren’t gone—they’re more alive than ever, experiencing the fullness of the hope we celebrate each Christmas morning.

Permission to Grieve and Rejoice

If December feels heavy for you this year, you’re not dishonoring Christmas by grieving. You’re actually living in the fullness of what Christmas means—that God sees our sorrow, enters into it, and offers us hope that doesn’t deny our pain but transforms it.

You can sing “Joy to the World” with a broken heart. You can miss someone terribly and still celebrate because of Jesus.

Because the same God who promised Jesus as our Savior also promises: “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4).

Both/And

This December, our family will celebrate. We’ll remember my mother-in-law’s laughter and my dad’s stories. We’ll feel their absence. And we’ll rejoice that because of Jesus—not just born in Bethlehem, but alive and present with us now—He holds our grief and our joy together in His hands.

Death and life. Sorrow and celebration. Grief and hope.

December holds them all. And so does our Savior.

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