It’s the time of year when all sorts of memories come to the front of my mind. Here’s one which I am sure I must have shared before, but I would like to share it again:

Some thirty or so years ago when I was a Methodist minister in Yorkshire, I arrived at the Parish Church (CofE) to take part in a shared midnight Christmas Eve service. As I approached the church a young guy who was clearly quite troubled who, having spotted my clerical collar, approached me and asked to have a chat. Something was obviously wrong so we sat down together just inside the church doorway and I let him take his time telling me what troubled him. He took a deep breath and explained that after enjoying a night’s drinking with his friends he was on his way home when he was overtaken by grief over the memory of his dad who had died earlier in the year. What was troubling him was that he couldn’t hold back the tears but he felt that he needed to be calm and strong for the sake of his mum who would also be grieving her memories. He didn’t want to let her see him in tears and make it all worse for her.

What was I to say? Suggest he come into the service and draw upon the strength of the Lord, maybe? Not a bit of it. I told him I thought he go straight home. Don’t worry about the tears; let them come. And give his mum a hug. Cry on her shoulder, i told him, and let her cry on yours and you will strengthen the bond between you and your mum. His face seemed to relax as if he had recognised that being weak for his mum might be better than being strong on that occasion.

I hope that guy and his mum had a good Christmas. And many others since then.