… never simply what you expect, is it? I try to say it was quiet, but there was a congregation of hundreds and the organ was going full strength. It was grey, with a chilly dampness in the air that made it feel colder than the thermometer suggested, but the lights are cheerful. (I always imagine crisp, clear, frosty Christmases, with pale sunlight or sharp-edged stars. But how many of my teenage winters were muffled by sea-mists?) The sparrows were yelling in the ivy. Christmas dinner happened on time but not all of us ate it.
A couple of weekends ago I reminded my Cursillistas that the idea of the “perfect Christmas” is an idol of late capitalism, and that most of my pet peeves (singing the last verse of O come all ye faithful, for example) are red herrings, distractions. It doesn’t do to get too attached to expectations.
Because whatever went wrong today, Christ is born, the Word became flesh, modern technology compensates for being hundreds of miles away from the rest of the family, and Christmas has begun.
Kathleen Jowitt 