I've never been one for keeping the Christmas decorations up for ages... I enjoy hanging them, and I enjoy the colour and sparkles... and I also enjoy packing them all away, cleaning the living room and returning to a more normal, albeit slower, rhythm.

This morning I am enjoying the scent of furniture polish (unscented but you know what I mean), snipping around stamps ready to pop them in to the Leprosy Mission collection box at church, and then settling down to do some more of the Christmas jigsaw.

Some friends and family like to keep their decorations up until Epiphany, others until Candlemas, but for me there is nothing quite like the feeling that I can return to work next week knowing that the decks are clear, the carpets are hoovered and, for now at least, the dusting is up to date!   

After a full few months, the kitties and I are now enjoying some down time until the first full week in January.

Wishing all readers of this blog a restful break and that 2026 gets off to a peaceful, hopeful and loving beginning.

It's not about the numbers... it's never about the numbers... I will do it if only one person comes, if no-one comes... but this year, despite ourselves, we got the numbers...

In a year when we broke through the 'need fifty glasses for communion' ceiling, a year when, having closed our no longer viable Sunday School, we suddenly have around a dozen children attending fairly regularly, the numbers have continued to astound and bless us.

For the first year in recent memory, our nativity tableau (Pop-up, Messy Nativity) had as many, if not more, children as/than adults.

Our Community Carol Festival soared close to treble figures, at least half of whom were not part of our - and possibly any - church.

Lessons and Carols saw a small numbers of visitors, whilst Carosl by Candlelight attracted many.

I only have numbers for Christmas Eve, 32 (around 16 being visitors or occasional attenders), and Christmas Day, 34 (of whom around 12 visitors or occasional attenders), both of which were incredible (perhaps literally as well as figuratively) not least as only around six of us attended both services. For a church with a covenanted membership in the twenties, that's pretty amazing.

So, no, the numbers don't matter, and I would still do it all even if no-one showed up, but I think that for this small church,  Christmas 2025 is one to be justifiably proud of, as we have welcomed dozens of people into our midst to share in the fun, festivity and faith of Christmas.

A nativity scene in a railway station (GLC) seems somehow appropriate for a family who were in temporary accommodation far from home... whether it was a cave or a stable, the downstairs of a house doesn't really matter... whether the house was an inn (unlikely) or a family home (more likely), owned by strangers or relatives isn't important... here a couple found shelter, a baby was born, and that baby grew up to change the course of history.

The call to put 'Christ into Christmas' is a call to centre our thoughts on those who are powerless, vulnerable, dependent... on babies certainly, but also on the people Jesus would come to love best... poor people, women, people sick in body, mind or spirit, children, widows, refugees, foreigners and, indeed, anyone who found themselves on the margins.

Whatever Christmas means for you, my prayer is that you would know just a little more peace, a little more hope, a little more joy and a little more love... and that you would glimpse just a little more of Jesus in those whose paths cross your own. 

It must be at least half my lifetime ago, possibly longer, that I first encountered Christingles, which is scary, because two years ago I introduced them to third different congregation I have known.

Notably missing from the photo is oranges, which will be provided by a local supermarket... thanks to a church member who is employed by them! 

It's been interesting thinking back over more than two decades of leading such services (before that I attended them)... thinking of the magic of singing 'way in a manger' whilst candles are held by small people, watched over by slightly anxious adults... thinking of folk whose dementia led to them eating the oranges (a logical behaviour it has to be said) and the children who blew out the Advent candles... thinking of Victorian churches (Anglican and Baptist) and draughty halls... of those who have grown up and grown beyond such things... and those who have rediscovered them... and of the simplicity and complexity that meet in this symbol.

Looking forward to tomorrow's Christingle and the memories it will create.