The lights are up. The carols are playing. Everyone around you seems wrapped in warmth and wonder. And maybe you’re just trying to make it through.

Maybe this is your first Christmas without someone you love. Maybe your family is fractured, and the empty chair at the table feels like an accusation. Maybe you’re alone, not by choice, but by circumstance, and the world’s insistence on togetherness only amplifies the ache. Maybe your home isn’t the haven the Christmas cards promise, and you’re bracing yourself for tension instead of peace.

If that’s you, I want you to know something: your grief is not a failure of faith.

The Bible doesn’t sugarcoat the darkness. The Psalms are full of lament, raw, honest cries to God from people who felt abandoned, broken, and alone. “How long, O Lord?” they ask. “Why have you forgotten me?” (Psalm 13:1). These aren’t the prayers of people who’ve given up on God. They’re the prayers of people who trust Him enough to tell the truth.

And the truth is, Christmas can hurt.

The first Christmas wasn’t a Hallmark movie. It was a teenage girl, far from home, giving birth in a stable because there was no room for them anywhere else. It was a young couple, displaced and vulnerable, fleeing for their lives into Egypt while Herod’s soldiers slaughtered innocent children. The coming of Christ didn’t erase suffering; it entered into it.

Jesus knows what it’s like to be misunderstood by family (John 7:5). He knows what it’s like to be abandoned by friends (Matthew 26:56). He knows what it’s like to grieve (John 11:35). And He knows what it’s like to feel forsaken, even by God (Matthew 27:46).

He came for the brokenhearted. Not to shame them for not being joyful enough, but to sit with them in the dark.

So, if Christmas feels heavy this year, don’t pretend it doesn’t. Don’t force a smile you don’t feel. Bring your sorrow to Jesus Christ. The God who became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14) is not afraid of your pain. He’s not disappointed in you. He’s near to you, closer than you think (Psalm 34:18).

And if you’re reading this and you do have a full table and a warm home, please remember not everyone does. The person sitting alone in the pew might be barely holding it together. The family that skips the Christmas Eve service might not be indifferent; they might be drowning. A kind word, a simple invitation, a text that says, “I’m thinking of you,” these small acts of love can be lifelines.

We are the body of Christ. That means we carry each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). It means we weep with those who weep, even in a season when the world demands that we only rejoice (Romans 12:15).

Christmas is about Emmanuel, God with us. Not God waiting for us to get our act together. Not God standing at a distance until we’re joyful enough to deserve His presence. God with us. In the mess. In the grief. In the loneliness.

He came for you just as you are. Right where you are. And that, more than any perfect family gathering, is the good news.