Dear Friends,

Every year, as the days shorten and the village gathers its lights against the dark, I find myself returning to a truth that sits at the heart of Christmas and at the heart of the gospel: the good news of "being with". Not solving, not fixing, not rushing in with all the answers - but simply, profoundly, being with.

It's a truth we often sense long before we name it. We feel it in the hush of the church as candles are lit on Christmas Eve; in the neighbour who stops for a moment longer than usual to ask how we are really doing; in the quiet companionship of friends who know our joys and our sorrows without needing to say much at all. These small acts of presence do something extraordinary. They tell us we matter. They tell us we're not alone.

The story at the centre of Christmas is God's way of saying the same thing. Not from a distance, not through thunder or decree, but through a child - fragile, dependent, born into a world as complex and complicated as our own. In Jesus, God chooses not to stand apart from the messiness of human life, but to share it from the inside. Christ doesn't wait for the world to be put right before arriving. He comes into our struggle, our silence, our longing, our laughter, our heartbreak. He comes to be with us.

And this "being with" isn't something soft or sentimental. It's real, everyday, human. It means God choosing to stand alongside the tired, the unsure, the grieving, and the hopeful. It reminds us that God doesn't keep a distance or wait for us to get everything right, but chooses to share life with us as we find it.

And we see this most clearly in Jesus. In him, God turns toward us with a love that doesn't give up. Everything Jesus does - his welcome, his kindness, his courage, his willingness to give of himself - flows from that simple choice to be with us, even when it leads him down the hardest road.

At Christmas, the invitation is not to pretend everything is perfect, nor to muster a cheerfulness we may not feel. The invitation is to recognise, perhaps in the smallest of ways, that we are held by a presence deeper than our circumstances. And then, gently, to offer that same presence to one another. To be with the friend who is anxious about the year ahead; with the neighbour who is celebrating alone; with the family whose joy bubbles over; with the child who sees wonder where we've forgotten to look. These moments - so ordinary, so holy - are where the good news of Christmas takes root again.

My prayer for each of you - whatever this season holds - is that you may know the comfort and courage of the God who is with us; that you may find companions for the journey; and that you may glimpse, in the kindness of others and in the stillness of your own heart, the light that shines in the darkness, and has never been overcome. 

With every blessing for a gentle, joyful, and hope-filled Christmas, and peace for the year to come.

Lawrence