I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair. I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see. For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green. I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door. “I Sit Beside The Fire And Think,” by J.R.R. Tolkien
As “the cheerless shadows of the early evening began to fall” on “a cold grey day near the end of December” (December 24th, to be exact), the aging hobbit Bilbo Baggins—anticipating the departure of family and friends and not knowing when or if he’d ever see them again—looked wistfully out the window and softly sang I Sit Beside The Fire And Think.
Bilbo’s song and the sentiment behind it strike me as being particularly fitting for this time of year when many find themselves in a mournful kind of mood. Whether it be brought on by bittersweet memories of Christmases past, or a coming to terms with a loss which will make the holidays different this year, the words that Tolkien chose to place upon Bilbo’s lips are a good description of what a “Blue Christmas” can feel like—a Christmas when Merry turns to Melancholic.
Tolkien was not the only one to reflect upon, in his writing, such feelings of melancholy during the dark days of December. George MacDonald, whose literary works influenced the writing of both Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, captured these feelings in his poem “Christmas 1884.” Just as there would be for Tolkien in his book a “return of the king,” even more so for Tolkien, MacDonald, and for all the saints there shall come one day the return of OUR King.
Though in my heart no Christmas glee,
Though my song-bird be dumb,
Jesus, it is enough for me
That Thou art come.
What though the loved be scattered far,
Few at the board appear,
In Thee, O Lord, they gathered are,
And Thou art here.
And if our hearts be low with lack,
They are not therefore numb;
Not always will Thy day* come back—
Thyself will come!
*i.e. Christmas DayEven though loved ones may not be present with us, Jesus is with them. And this same Jesus is with us. So, in a way only comprehended through faith in what we cannot see—the “body of Christ,” the “communion of saints”—those who are absent are still with us, and we with them. Through Jesus. And someday, whether in this life or that to come, we shall, in Jesus who never ceases to be present, be reunited in person.
In “A Liturgy for A Lonely Holiday,” Rabbit Room authors Wayne Garvey and Douglas McKelvey give prayerful voice to this common experience of emptiness and loneliness during the Christmas season. And then they go on to speak of a redemption for these seasons of sadness, by a Savior who is ever present with us and who continues to be our Light in dark places.
While others gather merrily with family and friends, I quail at the specter of being alone. I wish it were not so. But here I am— somehow arrived at a place in life where I have no one close with whom to celebrate. Amidst these festive days I feel the heightened pangs of isolation. Yet, Lord, I know this to be true: that you ever welcome me into your company. You draw near the broken. After all, are not these hallowed days set aside to celebrate your coming into this world to redeem, restore, and make of us your children, your heirs—your family? So sit with me, Lord, as I grieve my present loneliness. Wrap me in your welcoming presence. Relieve this ache. Redeem this season of looming sadness, and awaken my heart to the deeper joys of those bright tidings first announced to humble shepherds adrift in their own lonely watches of night. The prophet proclaimed: “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great Light!” And surely that darkness included such loneliness as mine, a longing that only you can wholly fill. So by your grace, I will choose again to fix my heart on you, O Light of the World, knowing that though I feel lonely in this moment, I am never alone.
“Though I feel lonely in this moment, I am never alone.” The same sentiment is summed up by Taylor Caldwell, a popular novelist from the 20th century, in a short autobiographical work published in “Family Circle.” She describes a Christmas season during which she was recently divorced, unemployed, and almost penniless. She feared being evicted from her apartment along with her 5-year-old daughter. She was lonely, brokenhearted, and feeling forgotten by both God and people. But an unforeseen and timely gift from a stranger—what she describes as a “Christmas miracle”—helped her re-discover the truth about Christmas:
“I am not alone at all … I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.”
“This is still the time God chooses.” We can take heart that God even—or especially?—can choose, through a Melancholic Christmas, to reveal the true scope and depth of His presence. For beneath and beyond all the external trappings of Christmas, bound as they are to traditions of public festivities and the feeling of merriment, lies the true and unstoppable message of Christmas:
“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” –John 1:15
“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel, which means, God with us.” –Matthew 1:23; Isaiah 7:15
“I am with you always, to the end of the age.” –Matthew 28:20
Say it with me:
Jesus with us.
Jesus with me.
This Christmas.
Always.
And Melancholic shall someday turn back to Merry.
The following is Tolkien’s poem, “I Sit Beside The Fire And Think,” set to music by the group Clamavi De Profundis.
“The Night Song,” by CityAlight, offers a good reminder that “In the darkness God will keep me, He will stay and never sleep … In the darkness God is brighter, though the night is long and deep.”
📷 Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash; textual art by MD Sub-creaTions, using the font Baynes, which was inspired by the work of Tolkien illustrator Pauline Baynes.