Christmas is gone.

The sanctuary of our church looks different today.

The same volunteers who in late November decorated it for Christmas have removed and packed away those decorations.

Window candles, garland, the Advent wreath, the Chrismon tree, live poinsettias, and what were once living branches from evergreen trees that formed pretty wreaths are gone.

To me, the poinsettias and the wreaths are the saddest departure.

Even though they are patiently watered, the poinsettias take a beating from interior temperature fluctuations. Their pretty red and green leaves dry out. They crumple just like the fallen brown leaves on church grounds.

The most brutal change is the drying evergreen wreaths. Snug in their metal circular frames, those woven branches become brittle. Hundreds of needles fall when they are removed from lighting fixtures.

I wonder what I have learned from my seventy second Christmas?

I wonder what I will carry with me into 2026?

What in this timeworn Christmas story will stay with me?

What will flicker inside of me as the pace of a new year picks up?

To tell you the truth, I’m not sure.

No matter where my faltering eyes peer, this weary world is in turbulent turmoil.

I fear this turmoil is our end.

Yet, I continue to grasp what might be the Bible’s best scripture— “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

For this year, Christmas is gone.

But, its light, its glimmer of hope isn’t.