A Christmas Lament

Living in the tension between joy and grief

As we come to the end of another year, I have a long list of reasons to celebrate, express gratitude, and embrace all the wonders of the season.

It would not be difficult to enumerate them all for you. Many would be predictable. For example, our grandchildren are now approaching adulthood, each with their own story. We have budding musicians, health care professionals, engineers, educators, and athletes - all in the family. They fill this old grandfather with an inexpressible pride and irrepressible hope for a bright future that will unfold well after I’m gone - when I’m just a smiling face in the memory books. And then there’s this: we have a married grandson who tells me that he and his terrific spouse will bring us a great-grandchild next year. My my my. If you missed it, that’ll make me a GREAT-Grandfather. Wow.

While we regularly hear from long-time friends and peers about health challenges, some quite serious, Carolyn and I enjoy good health.

And then there’s my podcast, approaching 500 episodes over six years. The friends who have emerged from that little retirement project are cherished along with the many guests who have become friends. And there are those many good folks from our sphere - some going back to high school and college and beyond. And I haven’t mentioned our extended family.

Then, Substack - this gathering place for writers and readers. “Writers write,” my mentor told me long ago. (He was the author of some 50 books.) So that’s what I do. This would be Substack edition number sixty-one.

Christmas brings me back to the beautiful Nativity Story, celebrated in earnest since my childhood. That music. Those familiar lyrics. But also, it’s the Winter Solstice - the shortest day of the year. The dark comes early. The night long. So our neighbors put out the colored lights, along the eaves and around the windows and doors. We do, too. The lights are up. Candles flicker. The fall leaves are long gone; the trees are bare. So we put a green tree in the living room, adorn it with ornaments and bright lights, and a star to shine from the peak.

Here in Southern California, we hope for snow to collect high on the surrounding mountain tops as our friends and relatives up North shovel to clear their sidewalks and driveways. All this activity staves off what would otherwise be the “winter blues” or Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) - seasonal depression. A common ailment this time of year.

So, in the dead of winter, we celebrate the light. The warmth of the fire. The love of caring and giving folks within our reach.

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I’ve heard about churches that gather for what they call a “blue Christmas.”

Not everyone can post happy family photos on Facebook or Instagram. For some, Christmas is a stark reminder of loss. The untimely death of a loved one. A dissolution of the family. A debilitating illness. An estranged, alienated child. A job lost. Income gone. Living with the consequences of calamity. A blue Christmas service opens the door for community and mutual care - shared grief; tears are ok. Hugs abound.

In a prior Substack, we talked about Advent. It is both the anticipation of hope, but also a deep longing for resolution - the eradication of injustice, the end of abuse, corruption, and cruelty.

So this year, I have reason to celebrate. But there is also considerable cause for lament. Both exist for me - at the same time.

It’s not only a time to name our blessings, but it’s also a time to call out the harm.

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As we anticipate Christmas day, we are hammered with news of mass shootings - Brown University, the Bondi Beach Massacre, the murder of Rob and Michelle Reiner, and more. A comprehensive list of open, murderous, egregious gun violence would take up this entire Substack.

Another grievous cause for my lament is the state of our nation. I hardly recognize the country I love. This past year has given us a laundry list of causes for deep grief.

Some hail our President as the greatest ever. They think he should win the Nobel Peace Prize, that his likeness be added to the immortal faces on Mount Rushmore. They celebrate his takeover of the Kennedy Center. The Department of War. The Gulf of America. Those attacks on the university and law firms. His decimation of federal agencies, including humanitarian aid. His ripping up agreements on climate change. His cancellation of guarantees to support our European allies and his disdain for NATO. They revel in his fond affection for Putin and his derisive scorn for Zelenskyy. They believe he has solved the problem of open borders by growing ICE into his own, militaristic (highly paid) private police force, arresting and deporting brown and black folks with little or no evidence and no regard for due process. They celebrate the blowing up of fishing boats off the coast of Venezuela without a warrant or providing proof of drug smuggling. They cheer his hatred of “the left” (confession: I’m left-handed). They have no regard for a Gaza in ruins. They admire his hot-shot cabinet members for their lack of qualification, their unfeigned loyalty to their leader, and their smug contempt for the media, the Democrats, and anyone who might dare criticize the President. And many of these supporters believe the President and his administration’s cast of characters are on a mission from their Christian God - with his blessing.

I’m not one of those people.

I lament all of the above. And more. (The list of atrocities above is not a complete list.)

Thankfully, my grandkids know that I did not vote for this man. Ever.

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I heard Carolyn in the next room say, “Oh… no!”

“What?” I asked.

“Rob Reiner has been killed!” she said, shocked and dismayed.

I was, too.

I knew immediately that the world would be talking about this one. Here was a beloved National Treasure. A good man. Dead. Murdered in his own bed. And his wife, too? How? Who?

And now we know. We have learned the tragic story of a prodigal son losing all perspective. It’s mental illness on full display; in full, murderous manifestation - horrible, heartbreaking news.

Within minutes, every media outlet began a rehearsal of the many gifts given to us all by Rob Reiner. I first knew and admired him as Meathead on “All In The Family.” (We watched a live production of the show back in the 70’s, saw him live, and met Sally Struthers on stage.) And then Princess Bride, Harry Met Sally, A Few Good Men, and so many more. Just last year, he produced a searing documentary with several people I’ve interviewed on my podcast - a film about Christian Nationalism called God and Country.

Whenever I saw Rob Reiner with his best friend, Billy Crystal, they made me laugh.

Early on, I stumbled across Donald Trump’s response to the murder posted on his Truth Social. I thought, “Oh my God, this is the President of the United States.” I read it and felt sick to my stomach.

You’ve already read it, too. (I won’t post it here.) It’s repugnant. Discusting. Sadly, it’s a reflection of this man’s remorseless heart. It’s not unlike him. It’s in character.

I love my country. I lament what it has become under his leadership.

I pray that it will end. Soon.

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So this Christmas, I put up those Govee lights around the house. Each evening, I choose a different pattern of flashing reds and greens to dance happily around our house, lighting up the dark. YouTube has these great screen savers that loop Christmas scenes and play instrumental Christmas music, pre-empting the repetitive news that just can’t help but focus on that man in the White House and all his antics - over and over, ad infinitum.

Give me Silent Night, Joy to the World, I’ll be Home for Christmas, Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire, and All I Want for Christmas Is You - any day of the week.

I‘ll open my laptop, click on the word processor. Just let me write.

So, as the lights glow outside and YouTube gives me those holiday scenes, I’m thinking of you as I write and you read. I’m hoping that you can relate to this very real tension - living between the Joy and the Lament is what this season is all about.

Let’s tell the truth. And at the same time, let’s embrace the joy and the love and the light.

We have each other.

And this Christmas, 2025, that is enough.