Monday was my father-in-law’s 87^th birthday.  We celebrated with him by visiting his and my mother-in-law’s graves, and decorating them with a little Christmas arrangement.  They both loved and celebrated Christmas in a special way, as did my mother.  There is an array of special memories that haunt me and my wife as we dash through the busy season of this time of year.  We miss them all and it is hard to enjoy the celebrations without the bittersweet flavor of sadness and longing for their presence.  We don’t like to mar the joy with grief, but if we’re honest with ourselves, we must mourn their loss in the midst.

We are certainly not the only ones who struggle some with this season.  Thanksgiving and Christmas are (for many folks, at least) special family times, and when we’re missing part of our family, we notice it.  Sometimes acutely.  Children who have grown up and made their own lives far away, estranged members for whom we hope but cannot join, those who have gone on, and those whose lives are so busy or so consumed that they don’t participate, all leave their mark on the rest of us who miss them, particularly at this time of year.

So, this morning, when my devotion included a verse about mourning, it caught my attention in an unusual way.  Jesus is sharing with the crowd that there are some people who are particularly happy (!) when he says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4).  So, I guess I am supposed to be happy?  I could definitely use some comfort.  It was kind of encouraging, but it seemed at odds with other things going on in and around me.

At Christmas, we tend to think of our blessings in material terms – gifts, end-of-year donations, warm houses on cold days, and so on.  But when I considered the idea of being comforted, I realized that the comfort that those of us who mourn need is not material.  In fact, all the material stuff seems at least a bit hollow because of the losses.  What comfort does Jesus offer?  And why should I be happy about it?!

It all comes back to the whole inconceivable concept of the Creator of the Universe, God Most High, packing himself into the terribly small world of a growing infant-in-utero.  This Alpha-Omega God, who knows the end from the beginning, took on the beginning of a small part of his creation and was born into our world in the most unpretentious way.  He knows our troubles and our trials, our hopes and our dreams, and how terribly dashed those hopes and dreams can be.  He knows how to mourn.  And he knows how to comfort.  He understands us.  He loves us.  And he draws near to us, especially when we mourn.  He showed it in Bethlehem and on Calvary.

Our happiness comes from the hope we have of ultimate comfort – that of being united with our loving Father and our missing loved ones again someday.  We will truly be comforted.  And it’s all because of the little baby God-Most-High, lying in a feed-trough in a tiny village in Israel.

So, as I mourn, I am also happy, because I have a gift far more precious than any sitting under our tree.  I have hope and comfort from my God who loves me and holds those dear to me in his hands, whether here or there.

If you are missing someone, may God so comfort you this wonderful Christmas season.