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Over this coming week, many thousands of people will make their way to school nativity plays, carol services and concerts to celebrate Christmas. In my part of the world we sing Sheffield Carols and people gather in pubs across South Yorkshire and North Derbyshire, giving voice to local carols with local tunes. 'While shepherds watched their flocks by night' will be sung to the tune of 'Ilkla Moor Baht'at' or 'Sweet Chiming Christmas Bells'. And more people will be in churches during this period than at any other time of the year.

Clergy are sometimes irritated by this. Why do more people come to celebrate Christ's birth – the beginning of the Christian story – rather than commemorate his final days in Holy Week – the climax? Perhaps it's because the story of the birth and its meaning seems easier to grasp and less demanding than the narratives and theology of the crucifixion and resurrection. But it also owes a lot to the fact that at Christmas we often find ourselves taken to services by our children or grandchildren.

For those who do accompany children, Christmas celebrations can lead to mixed emotions. We are caught up in the joy and excitement of the children. But equally, we may be caught out by the stirring of memories of our own childhood long since forgotten. And that can be disturbing.

As a priest conducting Christmas services I notice the look of wistfulness that sometimes comes over people as traditional carols are sung and lessons read. Some no doubt find themselves calling to mind the religion of their childhood. How easy it was then to be aware of God's presence and to say one's prayers. How difficult now. For as the years have passed the hard knocks of life, the many deeds of shame and the failure to make time, have all conspired to place a seemingly impenetrable thicket of difficult questions and regrets between us and that untroubled spirituality of our early years. Growing up is about loss as well as gain.

We can't regain lost innocence. But we can approach these celebrations differently. We tend to think that at the heart of the religious experience are certain beliefs that we must hold. Christianity seems to suggest this with its creeds and confessions. There are beliefs, of course; but the essential experience is the sense of God's loving presence. It's this that familiar Christmas carols and readings can evoke. Perhaps what we need to recognise is that it is possible for both the sense of God's presence and the questions to co-exist. The questions don't have to be settled and sorted first – and perhaps some never will be.

So when those upturned faces make their appeal and small hands are outstretched, I, like many others, will grasp the opportunity and go and sing carols.

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