"I’ll get my Jesus hit and leave early"
I remember the first Christmas I had with my husband Graham’s family; we were newly engaged and I was eager to impress. But by the turkey sandwiches came out at teatime, I was in a state of mild shock. They didn’t have a starter! There was a lumpy dip called bread sauce! My family was a ‘presents opened randomly throughout the day, ripped paper everywhere’ sort of family; his was more ‘presents opened while everyone sits in a circle after lunch’.
And lunch was 1pm sharp, not when it happened to be ready or people were too tipsy to care. They didn’t go to the pub and they watched The Queen’s speech (as it was), rather than slumping in front of a Morecambe & Wise special. They went for a walk – and didn’t even have a dog. While they thought their way was right, I, of course, believed differently.
One of the best things about having a family of your own, whatever shape that takes (even if it’s you and the cat), is that you can make your own traditions; your very own ‘Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without...’ For us, that means church for carols, then The Muppet Christmas Carol and The Good Life on Christmas Eve. We create a crib scene – saving the baby Jesus in our fruit bowl until after mass on 24 December, when we rush home to put him in the manger and declare Christmas started.
There’s definitely an assumption that your family have to do without you at Christmas when you’re a parish priest; in fact, the cry of "Your poor family!" is a familiar one to most women and men in clerical life. Well, let me tell you now: it’s nonsense. It’s perfectly possible, with a little bit of wriggling and a ton of understanding, to have a lovely Christmas filled with cherished traditions and work on the big day itself. The kids get presents like everyone else, have turkey and a traditional argument. Funnily enough, Christmas Day itself is very quiet for vicars. Everyone’s had enough of church by then, so there’s usually one service – and you have the rest of the day to yourself.
It’s earlier, during Advent, that clerical families forget what their parent looks like. Everyone wants a carol service and everyone wants the vicar at it. When I was in a parish, I argued every year for a consolidated carol service – one carol service to rule them all – and my request was always and inevitably refused. The Scouts must have their own, and the Guides, the Mothers’ Union, schools, Rotary Club, coffee morning and charity shop – and that’s before the lunches and nativities. Remember that episodeof The Vicar Of Dibley when Geraldine eats all those Christmas lunches? Well, most clergy see that as a documentary, not a sitcom.
It’s true that when I was in the throes of parish life, it was sometimes tricky to remain enthusiastic about the birth of Jesus. These days, I’m what they call a ‘self-supporting minister’, which means I’m a freelance or ‘supply’ vicar, covering for clergy colleagues when they’re on holiday or ill. And these past few years, I’ve been on BBC Radio 2 on Christmas morning, with a car taking me to Salford at sparrowfart.
It’s a job I love, but one that means I miss everyone waking up at home. This year, for the first time our daughter has a serious beau, so we don’t know if she’ll be at home. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet, except I’m glad that she has someone to love and be loved by – and sad that it might mean a FaceTime rather than time with her actual face.
In the run-up to Christmas, it’s traditional for myself or the Reverend Richard Coles and the two Archbishops (York and Canterbury) to vie for your attention. We take it in turns to write for different magazines and newspapers and are asked to appear on telly, mostly to answer the question: "Have we forgotten the true meaning of Christmas?" Well, have we? While I can’t speak for my fellow clerics, I’m always chuffed to be asked for my opinion.
While the ancient festivals were annexed by Christianity, ‘Christ’ is still undeniably and unavoidably in ‘Christ’mas – whether you’re religious or not. In fact, Jesus is more palatable at Christmas than any other time of year – preferably wearing a Santa hat rather than a crown of thorns (one vicar I know had complaints that the crucifix in the churchyard was scaring the children on the school run). Having a bit of O Come, All Ye Faithful helps the commercialism go down more easily, too. Spending half an hour singing carols by candlelight has the amazing ability to make us feel less guilty about how much money we’ve spent.
As a religious professional, it would be easy to dismiss the want for a sprinkle of faith at Christmas as an empty gesture. Perhaps those who show up once a year to shake the vicar’s hand feel a twinge of guilt themselves, using the Divine for an annual spiritual hit like a token sherry on Christmas Day. But judgement isn’t my style. I think at the heart of the church services and the dog collars and the carols lies the need for the same thing: a longing for good, a yearning for hope and a desire for joy. Even I’m not immune!
This Christmas, I’ll go to two carol services – one that I’ll be working at (with a real donkey, kids running around and loud, often tuneless, singing); and the other at a cathedral. I’ll sneak in at the back, get my Jesus hit, feel the feels and leave early. Even those of us in the business need an unashamed vodka shot of faith sometimes. And when the service is over, what I hope to walk away with is, well, hope.
So when I’m asked: ‘Is Christmas too commercialised?’ again, this year, I’ll say: ‘Probably.’ ‘Are we struggling to remember the real meaning?’ Maybe, maybe not. Then I’ll ask: ‘But is life short?’ Definitely. ‘Is the world a scary place?’ Often. So, how about we give ourselves a break?
What if we saw Christmas as our fuelling stop of the year? Christmas is often a time for taking stock, maybe making some changes. But what if it wasn’t just about being a better person for others? What if it was a chance to be kinder, nicer, more generous and less judgy to ourselves – and to get what we need for whatever lies ahead? Christmas is a festival of joy – a joy that doesn’t need to always make sense, doesn’t always need to be measured and certainly doesn’t need to be policed or explained.
Allow yourself the joy this Christmas. Wouldn’t that be really good news? And the best present yet?
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