What Comes After Christmas?
The holidays are behind us. The turkey and its leftovers are a memory, the glow of Christmas lights has faded from St. Albert streets, and the energy of New Year’s Eve already feels far away. January settles in with cold mornings, icy sidewalks, and early sunsets. After the warmth and brightness of December, the shift can feel abrupt. One week we are gathered around candles and carols, the next we are back to scraping windshields and settling into ordinary days. The busy rhythm of Advent has passed. Full calendars and special gatherings have given way to quieter routines. The Sturgeon River lies frozen and still. Trees stand bare. In the Woodlands neighbourhood around our church, winter feels close and personal. The city slows, and so do we. In the quiet, it is easy to feel as though something has been lost, as if the joy of Christmas slipped away with the decorations.
But God has not gone anywhere.
The God we worship is not only present in full sanctuaries and special services. He is just as near on a cold weekday morning, on the drive to work or school, or in a quiet kitchen as coffee brews and the house slowly wakes up. The same God who met us in celebration remains with us in routine and repetition. His presence does not depend on the season or the size of the gathering. This quieter season is not an absence but an invitation. Surrounded by mature trees and winding streets, our church has weathered many winters. God’s work does not pause when life slows. Long before there was light, God was already at work in darkness. When Christ entered the world, it happened without spectacle, in humility and stillness. In much the same way, God often does his deepest work when we are no longer distracted by noise.
For some in our church family, January brings relief. For others, it brings loneliness, grief, or weariness. The slower pace gives our worries more room to speak. That does not mean God is distant. Like seeds buried beneath frozen ground, growth often happens where it cannot yet be seen. Winter may look lifeless, but it is quietly preparing the soil. This is why community matters so much in this season. Winter in St. Albert has a way of pulling people inward, but faith was never meant to be lived alone. A shared meal, a conversation after Sunday service, a small group gathering, or a simple check-in can be a means of grace. Sometimes the most pastoral thing we can do for one another is show up, especially when it would be easier to stay home.
Even winter carries beauty if we slow down enough to notice it. Snow softens neighbourhood streets. Frost clings to branches. Silence invites reflection. A walk near the river or through familiar paths can become an act of prayer, reminding us that God is present in every season. Gratitude, after all, is not reserved for Christmas. Giving thanks in ordinary days shapes us into people who trust God when celebration fades.
And winter will not last forever. It never does. Spring will come. New life will push through frozen ground. But the question before us is not whether the season will change. The question is what this season will change in us. Will we resist the quiet, rushing through it and numbing ourselves until something brighter returns? Or will we allow God to meet us here, to form deeper roots, to reshape our loves, and to call us back to faithfulness in small, ordinary acts?
Christmas reminds us that God entered the world. The weeks that follow ask us whether we are willing to walk with him once the music stops and the lights go out.
So, what comes after Christmas?
Faith practiced when no one is watching. Love offered when it costs a little more. A church choosing to be present, attentive, and faithful right where God has placed us.
May we not waste this season.