The following article written by J. Javier Pioli gives a short insight of how people experience Advent and Christmas in the Rio de la Plata. Javier´s article does not focus on ecclesiological or theological questions but on current mental health issues in South America and about the way that popular culture and consumerism – with its frantic and shallow practices – has distorted the meaning of Christmas.
December is not easy for anyone. That is pretty much clear to everyone. No doubt, everyone who reads this article already can think of two or three examples of how difficult December can be. December is the month of year-ends and end-of-year events. For students, it´s a month of exams and term-paper due dates. December is the month in which many of us have to make our final installment on a debt. It´s a month of extraordinary meetings, postponed decisions, social pressures and obligations. In December everything is so much harder.
Perhaps the most difficult thing about December is the unbearable gap between what one expects and what actually happens. On social networks, memes of “expectation versus reality” caricature the same problem: We expect more than we can give, we expect something from others that they will not do. Our social networks exaggerate this gap between what we think should be and what we actually experience.
All this is made worse by the fact that we live in a culture that undermines our mental health.
In 2021, a study done by the Grupo Asesor Científico Honorario determined that in Uruguay 30% of the population was currently going through a moment of high psychological stress, and 60% felt in need of mental health care. In case you think this high burden of stress was the result of the COVID pandemic, most recent evidence confirms the same trend. In 2024, suicide rates followed a similar trend, placing Uruguay among the countries in South America with the highest suicide rates: 21.3 deaths per 100,000 inhabitants (for comparison, deaths by traffic accidents – also high – were 12 per 100,000 in 2024). Moreover, many studies indicate that the Uruguayan population is experiencing symptoms of anxiety, distress, and depression in previously unrecorded numbers.
This is the stage on which our Christmas parties are set. We are supposed to be happy but contrasting feelings such as absence, loneliness, and melancholy dominate our thoughts. In the United States, the expression “Christmas blues” refers to the feelings of disappointment, sadness, and emotional decay that some people experience in this time of year. According to Psychology Today, “Christmas blues” is not a pathological condition and is overcome with the passage of time. But we could take it as a sign of the times in which we are living.
“Christmas blues” does not translate well into our culture, if only because we are unfamiliar with its musical rhythm. It´s also true that in our culture the color blue does not symbolize sadness or melancholy. Instead, we talk about a “Christmas milonga” or a “low Christmas Eve” to point to the tension we also feel between the mandate to be cheerful (the ‘merry’ in Christmas) and what we actually feel which is something much more introspective and melancholic.
All this makes me think about how the popular culture of Christmas has stifled silences, introspection, and reflection. I don’t mean to glorify melancholy and gloom. Actually, I am pointing a different way. Beyond all this jolly, cheerful, sparkling image of Christmas, I would like you to take a break and ponder the original nativity scene. Take a little time to look at the fire, to capture – or be captured by – the silence, and to meditate on that absence that was an inherent part of that first Christmas. There is nothing in that Christmas story that asks you to always “be merry.”
A few years ago, I was asked to write a story for Christmas. I didn´t know what I was going to write but I knew I was reluctant to repeat the same empty clichés. Then another unorthodox story emerged of a Christmas party in the bush on the side of the city:
“It seemed that everything was about to end, when another light came on revealing a gigantic paper piñata. Holding it by a rope, Athanasius made it go up and down, while all the children poked at it with long sticks. When the piñata broke, instead of candy, its cardboard belly dropped hundreds of seeds, which were suspended in the air, fluttering by nature.
Everyone was breathless to see the magical spectacle of milkweed, jacaranda, dandelion, and ash seeds streaking through the air and looking for good soil to make their home. What we saw was a small nativity scene.” (The author´s earlier story “Navidá de acá”, appears in Página Valdense December 2020)
Then it hit me. I hadn’t written that story for someone else. I had written it for me. I had written about the Christmas I needed to experience, simple but welcoming. That was my Christmas. I can still find the presence of God in the scene: I can feel the fresh breeze of the forest blowing in this summer night; I can hear the kids running and giggling among the bushes; I can see the seeds escaping from a piñata, falling to the ground and touching my feet. The birth of Jesus is as simple and mysterious as this: a handful of seeds surfing in the wind unpredictably, and reaching the ground right in front of me. That is Christmas.
The author of this article, J. Javier Pioli, is a member of the ecotheology team at the Emmanuel Center in Colonia Valdense, Uruguay.
