(As published in the Methodist Recorder)
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Unexpected Christmas Methodist Recorder Advent 2025
An Unexpected Christmas
Sparked by the words of a short poem by children’s author and poet Diana Hendry members of the MWiB executive team offer a series of reflections, personal and biblical, about the unexpected at Christmas.
CHRISTMAS
is never where you expect it.
Not in the big house with the fire lit
and the presents rustling
nor when the lights awaken
the tree and you should feel something
and don’t.
Christmas happens in an unimaginable
place – in a city store with canned music –
in the street with a stranger
and a white cyclamen
or when the silence tightens
the cry in your throat.
Then Christmas comes,
never where you expect it
and always in Bethlehem.
Diana Hendry
God Surprises, the hymn by John Bell (StF 222) also inspired with its closing words:
While the human lot we ponder,
Lest our hopes and humour fray,
God surprises earth with heaven
Coming here on Christmas Day.
Whether you use these Christmas reflections on your own or as part of a group our prayer is that you will be blessed, both as you recall the unexpected events of a Christmas past or as you view the familiar nativity story with fresh eyes this year, looking for the unexpected moments. This Advent let us seek for the divine in the ordinary.
May the God of surprises meet with you in a new and unique way this Christmas bringing you blessings and peace that will remain into the New Year and beyond. Amen.
Bronwen Braisdell (Communications Officer)
As a child I heard a lot of Christmas sermons about ‘the real meaning of Christmas’. They were very dismissive of most of the things women do in the lead up to the festivities – but I could imagine that they’d be pretty cross if preachers got home from pontificating about how ‘it’s not all about the turkey’ to find that there was no turkey, no presents and no little treats in front of the Christmas telly!
Getting Christmas ‘right’ can be quite challenging when you’re a working mum. There’s more to get done and less time to do it in. December becomes chaos of writing, baking, visitors, shopping … but also nativity plays, carol concerts and often the odd parents evening thrown in. That means that the logistics of Christmas celebrations need to be planned like military operation and woe betide anyone who dares to interrupt the schedule.
The year in which this all became really difficult was 2020 – the year of Covid Christmas. You might remember this – first it was doubtful, then it was all systems go, and then it was suddenly called off again, almost at the last minute. My phone pinged with the news just as I was walking through the doors to the supermarket, with a detailed list of how I was going to feed the visiting extended family for the next few days. Suddenly, it wasn’t happening. Plans changed at the last minute. Everyone in the supermarket foyer was looking at each other in confusion – I was almost in tears. The anxieties of the previous 8 Covid months seemed to boil over at once.
For most people that year, Christmas didn’t happen as expected. For our family, it was quietly disappointing. But as the day wore on, we thought we might at least go round to see the elderly couple who would normally have come to us for lunch. We couldn’t go in the house, so we stood outside in the middle of the road and put a tin of mince pies down in the middle. Suddenly, coming up the road, other friends arrived with their family. We made a socially distanced circle around the mince pies and sang carols. This delighted as all, but particularly our friends – his dementia was becoming an issue but the singing was a great hit. As was the break from isolation and the glimmer of hope. The neighbours (mostly Hindu and Sikh) looked out of their windows, smiling.
We took pictures of us all, standing in the middle of the road with mince pies, singing. We’ve gone back to them more than a lot of other Christmas memories. In a bleak period, we were a missional presence, sustained by unexpected fellowship, deep stories sung to long-remembered tunes, and smiles and silly hats. Oh, and we had turkey and mince pies too!
Barbara Easton (President WFMUCW Britain & Ireland)
Like many thousands of others, I have spent many Christmas Days working.
This particular shift started like many others, I’d been to church, had dinner and then donned my uniform ready to become whatever was needed for the next 8 hours.
The Ward was decorated with glittery tinsel; paper chains and a large Christmas Tree adorned the corner of the day room. Staff wore tinsel around their hats, some had Christmas earrings (though not strictly uniform, this was the day a blind eye was turned). The Ward was a large nightingale affair with 10 beds down one side and 11 beds down the other. Just before the entrance to the main ward 3 single doors stood, 2 to the left and 1 to the right, which hid the single sidewards for those who needed isolation or peace.
In one single room, a small frail older woman lay quietly, no glitter, no sparkle, no sound, except from a low murmur of breath as she silently lived her last few hours.
Beside her, the chap she had spent most of her adult life with, his face already etched with grief, his bent fingers clasping hers as he quietly comforted her.
The first few hours of my shift pasted in chaotic mayhem, laughing with relatives, the odd hum to the carols on the radio, but each time I passed the dimmed room, there was a sense of calm, a sense of peace.
I sat for a while and heard tales of their youth, how she had cared for a family alone whilst he served his country, of the paths they had both taken as their children become adults and had families of their own.
When the time came, as he held one hand, and I held the other she peacefully slipped into another place.
One silent tear slipped down his cheek as he kissed her one last time.
As he left later in the evening, he took my hand slowly in his, his eyes pierced my very soul as he said ‘love did come down at Christmas, the angels stayed & walk among us every day – thank you’
Jesus walked this earth many years ago, The Spirit inhabits the earth to guide us to show His love in small and often ways we may feel are insignificant, yet to others prove that Love Did come down at Christmas!
Ruth Dawson (Social Media Coordinator)
Almost 40 years ago, my dad died on Christmas Eve. After the holidays, a woman at work told me, in no uncertain terms, what a terrible thing this was. ‘For you’, she said, ‘Christmas will never be the same again’. She genuinely seemed to find it hard to think of anything worse.
But as a family, that wasn’t our experience. Obviously, it wasn’t the most jolly Christmas ever. And a death on the eve of an extended Bank Holiday does present some complications – rushing to find an undertaker as offices put the shutters up; sobbing my way home on the bus from the Registry Office while other passengers were juggling parcels and Christmas cheer; trying to make sure we had food in the house to see us over the holidays. All that was a bit challenging.
But the holidays also made space for a lot of good to happen. We were all able to be at home without the complications of getting time off work. People had time to come and condole, including people who would normally be many miles away. And they could give themselves to being really present in the room, without the pressure of needing to be somewhere else. And, maybe best of all, our church family was all together to wrap us in love. That night’s Midnight Communion was especially powerful as my dad’s passing was immediately marked in our worship, in time and in eternity.
I love Christmas, with all the activities and the food and the presents and the twinkly lights. In the year my dad died, we had some of those but, for the most part, it was very desultory. Yet somehow it also seemed to contain all the bits that matter – the human closeness and the closeness to the heart of a Father God. I remember it more than lots of other Christmases that looked more like Christmases off the telly.
And the best bit was very ‘Methodist’ – we had a big troupe of carol singers from church who visited the streets around our suburb. They stopped at my mum’s house and clustered outside with their carol sheets. Which was all well and good, but my dad was in the back bedroom. No problem! They all piled through to the back garden and filled the space with their lovely music. Their care and thoughtfulness must have been one of the last things of which my dad was aware.
Barbara Easton (President WFMUCW Britain & Ireland)
The story of the first Christmas is, at its heart, a story of holy interruption—God entering human history in a way no one imagined. Israel had waited centuries for the promised Messiah, longing for a king who would restore peace, justice, and hope. Yet when that moment finally arrived, it unfolded not in the courts of emperors or the streets of Jerusalem, but in the quiet shadows of Bethlehem. A stable, a feeding trough, and a young couple far from home became the setting for the most astonishing event the world has ever known.
Mary and Joseph surely did not envision welcoming the Son of God in such conditions. Their plans were upended, their expectations overturned. Still, Scripture tells us that Mary treasured these things in her heart (Luke 2:19)—a reminder that God’s presence is not diminished by circumstances that seem less than ideal. The incarnation declares that God steps into the ordinary, the uncomfortable, even the chaotic, to bring forth divine purpose.
The angel’s announcement did not go to the powerful, but to shepherds—those considered insignificant in society. This unexpected invitation reveals something essential about God’s heart: His kingdom welcomes those the world might overlook. The shepherds hurried to find the child lying in a manger, and their wonder became a testimony shared with many (Luke 2:17–18). Christmas began not with control, but with surrender—not with certainty, but with faith.
So when our own celebrations take an unexpected shape—when plans change, seats at the table are empty, or the season feels quieter than we hoped—we can look again to that first Christmas. God is present not only in our joy, but also in our disappointment. The surprise of the incarnation assures us that even when life diverges from our scripts, God is still writing a redemptive story.
The manger teaches us that the light of Christ often enters through small doors. The unexpected may become the very place where we encounter Emmanuel, God with us. This Christmas, may we have eyes to see His glory in humble spaces and hearts ready to welcome Him, even when He comes in ways we did not expect.
Leonora Wassell (CoChair MWiB)
