Another early start in Dock-World yesterday – as you were treated to my ‘thought’ again this week on Radio Ulster (it’s quite stressful having at least one thought per week!)  (For the next few days you can find it 1:24:30 into Good Morning Ulster on iPlayer here.)

The topic this week was the wonderful Christmas tradition of the Round Robin – those info-packed little update letters that sometimes accompany your Christmas cards (and to everyone who has sent me one this year, I love them.   I really do.  Yours is the exception that proves the rule.)

Simon Hoggart has collected together a brilliant book-full of especially excruciating Round Robins.  Sometimes the problem is too much detail – one letter gives a month-by-month account of the year, with gems like “February – a peaceful month punctuated by dental check-ups”.  Some people write Round Robins from their cats, or give surreal insights into their pets’ lives – like the dog being treated by a healer for barking at passing cars.  And all the spectacular, high-achieving children; one proud mum recounted how she had asked the teacher if there was any room for improvement in her daughter’s performance, only to be told: “No, you’ve given me a little diamond, and all I have to do is polish it”.

Sometimes all the stories of swimming certificates, trombone lessons and trophy-laden mantlepieces get too much.  One of the most fascinating things about Simon Hoggart’s book is the outpouring of pent-up anger and frustration from the people who send in their letters for publication. What’s behind such a strong reaction?  The general agreement seems to be that the world of the Round Robin is too perfect, a world for those who are living the dream, succeeding, achieving, excelling.  And there are sad stories in the book, too, of Round Robin senders whose Christmas letters stop when their lives are affected by tragedy or failure.

Which is upside-down in a way – the twist at the core of Christmas is that God is with us even when – especially when – we are not remotely glamorous or successful.  Mary and Joseph were not exactly living the dream.  Imagine Joseph’s Round Robin: “This year I took my pregnant fiancee on a tortuous journey to an overcrowded town, where we were alone and homeless…”.  At Christmas God chose to enter a world, to dwell with people, who hadn’t succeeded, achieved, excelled.  “Immanuel” means “God with us” – with us as we really are – not as we sometimes pretend or wish to be.  This Christmas, as at that first Christmas, God is with his imperfect people.