Christmas has a way of magnifying everything. Joy feels louder. Absence feels sharper. Old arguments, carefully folded away for most of the year, can suddenly reappear between the entrée and dessert. For all its tinsel and goodwill slogans, Christmas is not always easy. But that is precisely why it matters.
At its core, Christmas is a family story. In the Christian tradition, it begins not with grandeur but with vulnerability, a child born into uncertainty, welcomed by imperfect people doing their best. Whether one approaches Christmas as a sacred celebration or a cultural ritual, that idea still resonates: family is not about perfection, but presence.
Modern families rarely fit a single mould. They are blended, fractured, chosen, or stretched across continents. Some gather around a crowded table; others hold a phone in one hand and memory in the other. Christmas reminds us that family is not defined solely by blood, but by commitment.
Tolerance is not the same as agreement. It does not require us to abandon our values, our beliefs, or our sense of right and wrong. What it asks instead is restraint, the willingness to let others be themselves without turning difference into conflict. At Christmas, this can be harder than it sounds. Political opinions clash. Generational views collide. Lifestyle choices are quietly judged or loudly debated.
Yet the season offers a rare opportunity to practise something increasingly scarce in public life: listening without rehearsing a rebuttal.
In a year marked by polarisation and outrage, the Christmas table can become a small but powerful counterpoint. Choosing not to escalate an argument. Allowing silence to do some of the work. Remembering that the person across from you is more than their most annoying opinion. These are not grand gestures, but they are meaningful ones.
Christmas also asks us to extend tolerance inward. To accept that not every gathering will be joyful, not every relationship will heal, and not every tradition will feel the same. Loss, change, and distance all leave their mark. Making space for grief alongside gratitude is not a failure of the season, it is an honest response to it.
In the end, the value of Christmas is not measured by gifts exchanged or tables perfectly set. It is measured in the quieter moments: a conversation softened rather than sharpened, a relative included rather than avoided, a family held together not by sameness, but by care.
In a world that often rewards outrage, choosing family and tolerance at Christmas is a quiet act of defiance, and a deeply human one.
And that’s just my opinion.