Charles Dickens, more than any writer before or since, taught the world how to rejoice Christmas. But among his many beloved works is a short essay – now largely forgotten – in which he reflected not on Christmas as children know it, but on Christmas as it appears to us after years have passed and life has become more complicated. With apologies for daring to tamper with a classic, I have taken the great liberty of revising Dickens’s sentiments for a modern audience, confident that they are as relevant today as they were when he first wrote them in the 1850s.
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As we get older, Christmas becomes less about what we receive and more about who and what we receive Welcome.
We welcome people, of course: family, friends, neighbors and even the occasional stranger who sits at our table. But Christmas asks us to welcome much more than that. Christmas itself is indeed an act of hospitality – not only of home, but also of soul.
When we were young, the joy of Christmas felt simple and complete. We had everything we wanted around the Christmas tree. There was no need to welcome anything else. The days were flooded with the bright, invigorating light of the morning, the future wide open with possibilities and a seeming eternity of time stretching before us.
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As we get older, we see how the Christmas holidays change. (iStock)
But inevitably life became more serious – and more filled with shadows. There were dreams we were once obsessed with that never came true. A life we thought we would live. A person we thought we would become. A marriage we hoped for, but that didn’t happen – or a marriage that didn’t last. A calling that never became reality. Children who never arrived. Paths on the horizon, shining with promise, that turned out not to be ours.
We keep these sad thoughts hidden for most of the year. But at Christmas they knock softly at the door. And Christmas asks us to let them in.
Not to mourn them bitterly. Not to pretend they never mattered. But to invite them to come and sit with us around the Christmas tree, under the soft light, between familiar voices. These old dreams do not blame us. They come to remind us that we once hoped deeply – and that hoping deeply was never foolish, but rather a sign of vibrant life.
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Then there are the people we have loved and lost – not to death, but to time, to misunderstanding, distance and alienation. Christmas does not allow the convenient lie that they no longer matter. It emphasizes, gracefully but firmly, that love once given in some way remains real forever.
In any case, if conscience permits and the wounds have not made it impossible, we welcome the memory of these old loves to sit quietly with us around the Christmas tree.
Then there are those sad shadows from the city of the dead. The ones who once sat at our table, who laughed in our homes, who supported us when we were little or walked beside us when we were afraid. They now return, not as ghosts to frighten us, but as spiritual presences to bless us. They take their place around the Christmas tree and demand no tears, but express gratitude – for the love we gave them and continue to give them, and because we have not been forgotten.
And then there are our enemies.
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As we grow older, the world seems to divide more easily and, yes, more violently. The differences are increasing. Words become weapons. People we once admired – or at least understood – become symbols of everything we believe is wrong in the world. Christmas enters this battlefield and demands something unreasonable: that we welcome even those who oppose us.
In any case, if conscience permits and the wounds have not made it impossible, we welcome the memory of these old loves to sit quietly with us around the Christmas tree.
Not by revealing the truth. Not by excusing cruelty, ignorance and stupidity. But by remembering that people are not just the arguments they make or the positions they take. Christmas reminds us that every person – even the one who makes us most angry – is unique, precious, unrepeatable, and made in the image and likeness of God. It reminds us that every person was once a little child, once held in someone’s arms, once deeply hoped for.
Christmas tells us that peace is not the absence of conviction or even strong argument, but rather the presence of mercy in the midst of “the good fight.”
Of course, children should always remain the center of attention during Christmas. We see them gathered around the tree: little boys and girls with bright eyes, shining faces and tousled curls, lost in wonder. But if we allow ourselves a moment of reverent imagination, we can see that they are not alone—that their angels stand beside them, smiling, hands on their shoulders, invisible but attentive, rejoicing not only in their present beauty, but also in what they will become.
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Because these children are growing.
They will have dreams as bright as ours once were. They will pursue ambitions just as real, experience adventures just as glorious, feel joy just as heartbreaking, and sorrow just as heavy. Christmas asks us to be glad that the world does not end with us; glad that youth will be reborn again and again, long after our own stories have ended.
And finally, Christmas calls us to invite other boys and girls into our homes in addition to these children and their angels: the children we once were; the children who grew up too quickly; the children we loved instinctively, but could not protect as we wanted. They too gather in the glow of the Christmas tree, drawn by the promise that innocence is not an illusion, and wonder is not a lie.
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Indeed, Christmas tells us that childhood is not something we lose – for with God nothing is ever lost. It is something we must recover, tempered by sorrow, strengthened by love and guided by faith.
Christmas does not require us to solve all the complicated problems of our lives. It does not insist that our lives be free from irritation, sorrow, suffering and stress. It simply invites us to come out of the cold and “rest a while” in the presence of something sacred. After all, those are the words of the One whose birthday we celebrate on Christmas Day.
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And so we welcome this Christmas everything and everyone to take a seat next to us around the Christmas tree.
We welcome the past without bitterness. We welcome the dead without despair. We welcome old dreams without disappointment.
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We welcome enemies without surrender. We welcome children – seen and unseen – with gratitude.
And in doing so, we discover that Christmas has always welcomed us; welcoming us to a peace that passes all understanding, and to the abiding and boundless joy of a Child lying in a manger.
