SHONA spends weeks tarting up The Grotto.

For roughly 48 weeks of the year The Grotto is what is known in common parlance as "Shona's flat" but for the Christmas period it becomes a tinsel-spangled altar worshipping a mighty, glorious Christmas tree. No room goes untouched by bauble, spangle or home made decoration. Cupboard fronts are pasted with Christmas card collages. The bicycle and the spare bed are wrapped in tinsel. Phoebe the rabbit twitches under her tiny Santa hat. I am green with envy.

My Christmas customarily begins on Christmas Eve's eve when it dawns that I have wrapped no presents, forgotten to send cards and haven't thought of what to eat on Christmas Day. Usually at this point I realise the good stuff is gone: the Starbucks gingerbread lattes, the German markets, pantomime, the Nutcracker. You will find it hard to believe but I normally blink and miss Christmas. I don't know why there are no reminders.

Other people manage. How do they do it? Friends migrate home for Christmas, they have family events, they have to watch It's a Wonderful Life as close to December 25 as possible or Santa won't show up. Shona creates an entire festive house that people travel from far and wide to visit, the modern Magi.

I'd like to create my own tradition. I just need to keep a better eye on what the date is.

Despite this slapdash approach to the season of goodwill, I do like Christmas. I like what it stands for, once you strip away the baubles and the excuse to eat yourself uncomfortable: it's the manoeuvring of family, in whatever guise it takes, into premier position. It's a time for reflection and taking stock. Life is so fast: you arrive in one world and leave another. Christmas should be about slowing down and shifting focus to family, friends and community.

And it's one of the twice-annual Christian-atheist ceasefires when the religiously reticent go to church.

Christmas this year feels a little deflated. There's a leaden lack of festive spirit. Shopping for family and friends feels like a grim call to arms, a civic duty to aid our faulty economy. A colleague called out in the office the other day: "John Lewis's sales figures are up!" A Christmas miracle. So while this might not be the year to kick off my own new Christmas tradition, it seems like a good year to continue with the one thing I always do: a festive church service of any denomination. I think it's the hymns and the kind words that are so appealing, the hope behind the Christmas story and the unsuppressed sense of excitement.

It's been another poor year for churches: from the Occupy arguments at the steps of St Paul's in London to our grim church grumblings over gay marriage in Scotland. But in congregations everywhere gifts to the poor are being collected, visits madeto the lonely, outreach work. Christmas is about togetherness and social cohesion and, no matter your feelings about religion, churches are grand community centres.

I love visiting churches, especially at Christmas. On a normal day the landline will be bleating, the mobile chirruping and emails – both work and personal– needing attended to. Churches provide space for what Virginia Woolf called "moments of being", a rare place of silence. Strength is to sit still, to paraphrase the psalm.

As congregations dwindle, many churches are being converted to clubs and flats, a development I always find slightly disconcerting. But maybe it's a modern evocation of their original purpose: to shelter and to provide a meeting place. At least the grand old buildings are still standing.

Between the presents and the sprouts it's time for a gentle nod towards the value of churches as community resources, not just on December 25 but year-round.

Hmm. Maybe I do have my own tradition after all.