When Christmas Isn’t Supposed to Be This Way: A 5-Day Reading Plan for Pregnancy Lossનમૂનો

Rachel weeping for her children

When you’re reeling from loss, especially the loss of a child, it’s perfectly reasonable and understandable to feel unseen by the joy of the Christmas story. After all, this is the ultimate pregnancy and birth narrative, the God whose birthday is the hinge of human history. When you’ve experienced pregnancy loss, this isn’t exactly relatable. Speaking for myself, I held a lot of bitterness, a lot of rage, as I wrangled with how God could possibly care for me as my personal season clashed so strongly with the Christmas season.

Something that helped me in this wrangling process—and perhaps it might help you—is the remembrance that God weeps with those who weep, even in the midst of Christmas joy. The Christmas narrative shows us this directly, though it’s a story that rarely makes it into the nativity plays.

King Herod, the ruler of the day, had heard rumors of this new king’s birth and decided it was a threat to power. He did what all corrupt power does when threatened: took it out on the vulnerable, commissioning the death of children. This is a very difficult story about at-risk children that does not end the way we hope it will. The realness of this threat sends Mary and Joseph into another country to take refuge, where they stay for years until Herod has died and it’s safe to return home.

While the star rises over the manger, the sky goes dark for the families of the innocents. And don’t we know what this is like?

This narrative, traditionally known as the Massacre of Innocents, ends with a prophetic proclamation of lament:

“A voice was heard in Ramah,

wailing and loud lamentation,

Rachel weeping for her children;

she refused to be consoled because they are no more.”

(Matthew 2:18)

Rachel was the wife of Jacob, who struggled for many years to have the children she desperately wanted, and is often remembered as the Mother of Israel. Jeremiah later refrains her lament as Israel, the children of God, are being led into Babylonian captivity. And now, generations later, her weeping echoes anew for the children who are taken by a jealous despot.

Upon first glance, it would seem there is no room for us—those who grieve lost children—in the Christmas story. But upon deeper reading, we find the narrative gives a bold voice to the mothers who are without, alongside the story of Jesus’ birth. Even here, in the gentle quiet of a silent night, Rachel’s cries echo through the centuries, and are heard and honored by God. So is your crying—heard and honored by a God who remembers our grief in every season.