What to believe in this Christmas, even if you don’t believe in anything

2 months ago 19

Opinion

December 23, 2025 — 7.30pm

Christmas is here. After a week in which our collective emotional paralysis effectively stopped the clock, what follows now seems strangely fraught. The last-minute rush to organise things. The struggle to get back to normal, whatever that is. And a desire, somehow, to make it to the Yuletide finish line, turkey in hand. How are we supposed to do that when it sometimes it feels impossible to muster even a smile?

2025 has been one of those years. Another one. Seemingly worse than the ones that came before it. It flew by. (Let’s be honest, a moment ago it was March.) And as it ends, there’s a laundry list of challenges on the refrigerator door of our souls: global conflicts, political polarisation, and the pressure of fewer jobs and higher living costs.

A circle was formed in the ocean to pay respect to those killed and injured on Sunday.

As if that were not enough, now, in the last gasp of the year, the spectre of terrorism has cast a long shadow upon us all. Jewish Australians are unsafe in our beloved public spaces, and rightly angry. The rush to blame has overtaken the need to grieve. And many of us, on the sidelines, immobilised by the emotional toll, are uncertain what to do next.

However you plan to spend the next few days, it’s important we refocus our collective hopes. Christmas trees, tinsel and shiny baubles and decorations might seem flimsy and insubstantial, but they are proof that in a complicated world, sometimes the most insubstantial of things can surprise us with the deepest of meaning.

We must find tables to gather around. Sing Christmas – or Hannukah – songs together. And take the hands of the people sitting on each side of us – friends, family, and especially strangers – and let that physical connection serve as a reminder of the importance to us of our own shared humanity.

Don’t be afraid to laugh, even in the face of great darkness. Don’t be afraid to cry either. It’s even OK to feel angry, frustrated and powerless. Presently, many people do. Bottling it up will kill us. Letting it go will be tough. It’s better we talk to one another about how we feel, rather than let our fear, pain and loss fester in silence.

It’s better we talk to one another about how we feel, rather than let our fear, pain and loss fester in silence.

Three years ago, in the midst of a dark and difficult health journey, I found myself in a place which I do not revisit often. Alone, in a hospital bed, disconnected from my familiar world, and quietly sobbing into the pillow each night. Unable to sleep, the emotional exhaustion was all I had.

The ever-observant nurses took their notes and then, one morning, the hospital’s non-denominational spiritual chaplain paid me a visit because my tears had been interpreted as a concerning signal by those charged with monitoring my health.

Here’s the thing, I told him: when you don’t have anything else left in the tank, and when you’re emotionally and mentally exhausted, and the release of quietly sobbing into your pillow has somehow become the one thing that gets you from today to tomorrow in a vaguely coherent way, then those tears are a gift.

Moreover, I said, please don’t take them away from me. I took great comfort in my tears. And I discovered the enormous relief that could be found in letting emotions out. Understanding how we feel is hard. Nobody gets a training manual. But what became clear to me was the fact that those tears, even if they embarrassed me, and worried everyone else, were quite OK.

For people of faith, this is a season of miracles and possibility. For those who eschew religion, it is still a time of healing, solidarity and reconnection. For each of us, the meaning of Christmas is very individual. For me, it is friends, an opportunity to reflect, to laugh and share memories, to remember my beautiful mother and the energy, ambition and hope she poured into me, and a nice excuse – as if one is needed – to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas.

Do not forget those without families. Christmas is a tough season to shoulder on your own. If you can, open your house, and your table, to those who do not have the joy of a family to plan their Christmas for them. And do not forget that the smallest of gifts – an invitation to share a meal, or even just taking the time to talk and listen – is sometimes the greatest gift of all.

And if you’re out there, in the final Christmas Eve rush, navigating the stores, and the Christmas queues, and wondering why there’s an unease to everyone’s collective Christmas cheer, take a moment and be mindful of others. If someone needs a moment, give it to them. Give them some space to feel. And try not to tell them how they should. Remember Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata: Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

Don’t let your anxieties overtake you. And don’t worry what does, or does not, make it onto your Christmas table, or what is delayed in the post, or does not arrive at all. Cherish those you love, take a moment to remember those who cannot be with us, and do not forget those who are still processing their grief.

And if you don’t believe in anything, then at least believe in the possibility of the Christmas spirit, whatever it might be, and the kindness and gentility it bestows. In 2025, the greatest gift we can share is that we have each other, and that we still have the clarity of purpose and the purity of heart to invest in a better future for us all.

Michael Idato is the culture editor-at-large.