The fellow Christians there had heard about us, and the Three Taverns to meet us.
When Paul saw them, he was encouraged and gave thanks to God.
Acts 28
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When I was young, I attended churches in Glasgow, Scotland. I remember sitting in the pews, observing the faces around me. Some looked reverent, others distracted. And then, as the final hymn faded and the minister gave the benediction, everyone left. They went home. Few words were exchanged. There was no lingering in the aisles to catch up on life, no spontaneous gatherings for tea and biscuits. Just the quiet shuffle of feet and the heavy wooden doors closing behind us. From what I hear, not much has changed in mainstream churches today.
Did you attend a midnight service last night or perhaps a morning service today? How did it feel as you walked out into the cold December air? Did you leave with a sense of exaltation, not just spiritually but through the warmth of human connection? Or did you, like so many, slip away quietly, returning to your life as if the gathering was merely a routine obligation?
Many people attend religious services for reasons beyond the spiritual. It’s not just about hymns, prayers, or sermons. It’s about belonging, especially at Christmas. Yet, ironically, this season—with all its emphasis on togetherness—can amplify loneliness.
Christmas carries heightened expectations. The world around us paints an idyllic picture of joy-filled family gatherings, crackling fires, and tables laden with food. For those who don’t have this, the contrast is stark and painful. A strained family relationship or an empty chair at the table can make the season feel more like a weight than a celebration.
Social media doesn’t help. We scroll through curated images of happiness, of smiling families and glittering trees. Even when we know these are snapshots of perfection rather than reality, we can’t help but compare. And comparison, as they say, is the thief of joy.
For others, Christmas stirs memories of loss. The season has a way of evoking nostalgia, of pulling us back to moments we can’t reclaim. If you’ve lost someone dear, their absence feels magnified. You see their shadow in every tradition, hear their voice in the carols, and feel their absence most acutely when the world insists on cheer.
And then there’s the season itself. Winter’s long nights and grey days can weigh heavily, especially for those prone to Seasonal Affective Disorder. Add the pressures of Christmas, and it’s a perfect storm for feelings of isolation and sadness.
Some people are geographically isolated, living far from family. Others are situationally isolated, like the elderly whose friends have passed on or who can no longer travel. And while end-of-year reflections can be a time of gratitude, they can also highlight unfulfilled dreams or fractured relationships, sharpening the sense of loneliness.
Church, in theory, should be an antidote to this. It should be a place where community thrives, where no one feels alone. But too often, the ritual overtakes the relational. We come, we worship, and then...we go home.
What if it didn’t have to be that way? What if, instead of slipping out the door, we stayed a while? What if we reached out to the person sitting alone in the back pew, asked about their week, or shared a cup of coffee? What if we made space for real connection?
Of course, it’s not easy to change habits, especially ones so ingrained. But small steps can make a difference. Reaching out, even when it feels awkward or inconvenient, can lighten someone else’s burden—and your own. Volunteering during the holidays or inviting someone over for a simple meal can create moments of genuine togetherness.
It’s also about reframing expectations. Christmas doesn’t have to look like a postcard to be meaningful. Gratitude for small blessings—a kind word, a warm home, the beauty of a winter morning—can shift our focus. And for those who feel the weight of loneliness too deeply to bear alone, seeking support from a counsellor or joining a group can provide the help needed to navigate the season.
When I think back to those church services of my youth, I wonder what might have been if we had stayed a little longer, talked a little more. What connections might have been forged? What loneliness might have been eased? Church is about more than worship; it’s about fellowship. And perhaps, if we embraced that more fully, no one would have to leave feeling alone. No one would simply go home.
If you have a different take on this, I would appreciate a comment.