Christmas Mass Times

24th December
Ss Peter & John Fisher (Withernsea) 4pm,
Ss Mary & Joseph (Hedon) 6.30pm,
St Charles Borromeo 11pm.

25th December
St Charles 10am.

Join us at St Charles Borromeo church in Hull and at Withernsea and Hedon this Christmas as we celebrate the birth of Christ with joy, music, and prayer. Whether you’re a regular parishioner or visiting for the first time, you are warmly welcomed into our parish family.”Christmas Mass gives our hearts something the world cannot give. In a season filled with pressure, buying, noise, and expectations, the liturgy leads us back to the quiet truth at the centre of everything: God came to be with us. The birth of Christ is not only a historical moment; it is a gift that continues to heal, steady, and re-awaken the soul.

When we gather at the altar, we place ourselves inside that mystery. We hear again that God enters human life not through force, but through a child — fragile, dependent, easily overlooked. That humility speaks to us. It reassures us that God is not distant from weakness, disappointment, or worry. Christ is born into the real world, and therefore into our fears, our regrets, and our longing for something better.

Christmas Mass lifts the heart because it restores perspective. It reminds us that joy is not something we manufacture; it is something we receive. The music, the readings, the prayers — they awaken gratitude and soften what has grown hard within us. Many people carry sadness at this time of year: absence, loss, family strain, or simply exhaustion. The Nativity answers those shadows with a quiet promise: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Attending Mass also connects us with others. Christmas reminds us that faith is lived in community — not perfect people, but hopeful people. By standing beside strangers, families, children, and the elderly, we rediscover that we belong.

Most of all, Christmas renews happiness at its deepest level — not a temporary feeling, but a confidence that God has stepped into the world and will not abandon it. The Christ Child blesses our humanity, restores our dignity, and invites us to begin again.

To kneel at the crib is to let God’s tenderness touch the soul. That is the gift of Christmas.

Angels We Have Heard on High is a carol that captures the sheer astonishment of Christmas. Where some hymns dwell quietly at the crib, this one lifts our eyes to the skies and reminds us that Christ’s birth was not hidden: heaven could not keep silent. The song begins with witnesses — shepherds who are stunned by a sound that does not belong to the fields. The message is not whispered; it explodes in praise: Gloria in excelsis Deo — “Glory to God in the highest.”

That refrain is the heart of the hymn. It is long, jubilant, almost breath-stealing to sing, a musical picture of praise overflowing its boundaries. Christmas can be sentimentalised, reduced to routine. But the Gloria shocks us awake. It tells us that God has acted decisively, that humility and majesty have met in a Child. Nothing about this night is small.

The shepherds matter too. They are ordinary, overlooked, on the edges of society, yet they are the first to hear the news. This hymn honours them: the poor become the first evangelists. Christmas has never belonged to the powerful; it belongs to anyone willing to listen. When we sing Angels We Have Heard on High, we step into their sandals — leaving behind distraction and following a rumour of joy until we see Christ for ourselves.

And the journey leads somewhere concrete: to Bethlehem, to a young mother and a newborn wrapped in swaddling clothes. The hymn balances glory and simplicity. Heaven sings, but God lies in a manger. That paradox is the centre of Christian faith — the infinite choosing closeness, the creator choosing vulnerability, love choosing to be small.

At Christmas Mass, the hymn becomes an act of witness. We are not spectators — we become part of the choir. Voices rise together, not to manufacture good feeling but to proclaim something true: God is with us. The birth of Christ is not a memory, but a presence. That is why the Gloria keeps stretching — it mirrors what faith feels like: too full for words, spilling into song.