The Service of Remembrance and Hope was lovely, for the six of us who attended, three of whom welcomed me when I arrived. (People are recognizing me now as the columnist in the newspaper.)
It was held at the United Church in Port Howe, a very pretty country church that suits being decorated for the season. (I wonder if more than six attend on any given Sundays.)
I think people avoid these "blue Christmas" services because they are afraid of touching on painful memories, some kind of suffering they keep pushing aside, because this is not the time to deal with it. Yet this is the time that can make those feelings worse. It's a service of comfort, of hope. We need those especially at this time of year.
My husband needed this service but he is in so much physical pain, by evening he hasn't the energy to do anything. For him to face his emotional pain would be too much; the service would have broken him and that would have been difficult for him in a public place, however safe a church always feels. (Near the end, a woman began weeping. She found what she needed.)
I went for him. I put carnation petals in a bowl of salt water for him. I prayed for healing for him. But I also went for myself because I need to acknowledge that Christmas is full of pain for many people; while I don't consider any of my past suffering to be very big, my adult Christmas memories are a mix of sadness and joy. To have remained unchanged by my experiences would have been impossible but it doesn't make it easy to pretend that Christmas is the perfect time of year when nothing bad touches anyone.
A friend is facing her first Christmas without her mother. (At least) Two people in our area, with children still at home, are undergoing aggressive treatment for cancer, are trying to hold on until after Christmas. I can't ignore that information. When a service is offered that addressed my ambivalence about the season, an ambivalence that is very unpopular, I need to hear the words, sing the hymns, ask for healing for someone I love.
This reading concluded the service:
"We have gathered this evening to acknowledge the grief and sadness and loss that is part of our lives, even in the midst of the world's insistence on merry-making and cheer. Acknowledging our feelings in honesty and safety, we hold fast to the hop that is in the Gospel of Christ: the good news that came to us in the unlikely form of a small baby, born to us so long ago. In that good news we find hope and a space to breathe deeply. In that good news, we find a space to consider a time in the future when grief will ease and laughter will come easily. In anticipation of that time, please receive this tulip bulb. Take it home with you; plant it; water it; and nurture it. Find a wonderful place to plant your bulb as a reminder that your coming joy will grow."