Christmas Toast: What to Say, With 8 Short Examples

The short version: a Christmas toast runs 30 to 90 seconds. Say why you're the one talking, name one specific true thing from this year or this table, turn it toward the people in the room, and raise a glass with a short line that calls back to your detail. Eight short toasts you can adapt are below, for hosts, guests, a table of mixed beliefs, and a year when somebody's chair is empty.

Most Christmas toasts happen at the dinner table with the food already out, which means the best thing you can give the room is brevity. Nobody remembers a long Christmas toast fondly. People do remember the one sentence that got the detail exactly right, like the dog under the table or the gravy boat that has been chipped since 1994.

You don't need a quote, a poem, or a summary of the year. You need one real thing and the nerve to stop after it.

Who gives the Christmas toast, and when

At most family dinners the host speaks first, and that is the only toast anyone strictly needs. Everything else is optional.

If two people are planning to speak, agree on the order in the kitchen beforehand. A host and a guest both standing up at once is a small, awkward Christmas tradition nobody needs.

How long a Christmas toast should be

Aim for about a minute. At a relaxed table pace that is around 130 words, and anything from 65 to 200 words works. Under 30 seconds can feel like an announcement. Over 90 seconds, people start eyeing the potatoes.

Read yours aloud with a timer before dinner, or paste it into the speech length calculator. Most people are surprised how fast a minute goes, and then surprised again how long it feels standing up.

The shape that works

1. Why you're the one talking. One line. "I'm hosting, so I get to go first" is plenty. A guest might say how they know the family.
2. One specific true thing. A moment from this year, a habit of someone at the table, a detail of the day. The burned first batch of rolls. The cousin who drove through the night. The fact that this is the first Christmas in the new house.
3. A turn toward the room. What that detail says about the people here. Keep it to a sentence or two.
4. Glasses up, and a short last line. Call back to your detail. "To full tables and borrowed chairs." Then sit down.

That's it. If you have two good details, use the better one and save the other for the drive home.

What to leave out

• Politics. Not a joke, not a hint, not a "we may not all agree, but." The table already knows who voted for whom. Christmas dinner is not where anyone changes their mind.
• The full thank-you list. Thank the cooks by name if you like. Don't read out everyone who brought a side dish, because you will forget one and they will remember.
• A year-in-review. Pick one moment. A summary of the family's twelve months sounds like a holiday letter read aloud.
• Lines from a greeting card. "The most wonderful time of the year," "merry and bright," "the reason for the season," "eat, drink and be merry." Everyone has heard them, so nobody hears them. If you want to check your draft, the cliché detector will flag the tired ones.
• Teasing anyone who can't laugh it off. One gentle line about a shared family habit is fine. A joke at one relative's expense, at a table they can't leave, is not. The funny Christmas toast guide has the line between the two.
• Announcements disguised as toasts. If you're going to share news, share it. Don't bury a pregnancy or an engagement in the middle of a toast to the cooks.

A table of mixed faiths, or no faith

Plenty of Christmas tables now hold a Catholic grandmother, a Jewish son-in-law, a Hindu college roommate, and two cousins who mostly celebrate the day off. A good toast works for all of them without pretending the holiday is something it isn't.

The simple way to do it is to toast the people, not the doctrine. Thank whoever cooked. Name something real from the year. Raise a glass to everyone who made the trip. None of that asks anyone to believe anything.

If your family's Christmas is religious, you don't have to hide that either. Say grace the way you always do, keep it short, and don't make a show of who joins in. Guests who don't share the faith usually just sit quietly, and that's fine. Nobody needs it explained.

What doesn't work is a toast that assumes everyone shares one view, then asks the room to agree out loud. "We all know what today is really about" puts some of your guests in a corner. "I'm glad every one of you is here" doesn't.

A short blessing you can use

If you'd like a grace that fits a mixed table, here is one that thanks without preaching. Use it as is, or change any line.

"For the food, and the people who stood in the kitchen since seven this morning. For the roads that brought everyone here, and the ones who couldn't come. For this table, full and loud. Amen, or cheers, whichever you prefer."

Keep any blessing under 30 seconds. If someone in the family traditionally says grace, let them, and fold your toast in after.

When someone is missing this year

Some Christmases have an empty chair. A parent died in the spring. A son is deployed. A marriage ended, and the kids are at the other house this year. Pretending it's an ordinary Christmas usually feels worse than a single honest sentence.

• Say their name once. With one detail that sounds like them. The way they carved the ham badly. The chair they always took.
• Keep it short. One or two sentences. The room will feel it without you lingering.
• Turn back to the people here. The toast is still to the table.
• For deployment, it's fine to be light. "He called at six this morning and asked what we're eating, which was cruel of him."
• For divorce, don't name the ex, and don't make the kids carry it. If kids are missing from the table, "We miss the ones who are at their dad's this year" is enough. Often it's better to say nothing at all in front of the whole family.

If you're not sure you can get through the sentence, write it down and read it. Nobody minds a card at Christmas.

Glasses: any glass works

A toast doesn't need wine. Water, sparkling cider, eggnog, coffee, or a kid's cup of juice all count. If someone at the table doesn't drink, don't comment on it, and don't make the toast about drinking. "Raise whatever's in front of you" covers everyone. If you're buying sparkling wine for a big group, the champagne toast calculator will tell you how many bottles.

8 Christmas toasts you can adapt

Names are placeholders. Timings assume about 130 words a minute. Keep the shape and swap in your own detail.

For the host

For the host, before anyone eats (about 45 seconds)

Before anyone picks up a fork: the gravy is already forming a skin, so this is short.

This morning I counted chairs and we came up two short. So Ellis is on the piano bench, the twins are sharing an ottoman, and I'm on a stool from the garage. I've decided that's the best thing that can happen to a Christmas table. It means more people came than I planned for.

Thank you for the drives, the flights, and the casseroles. Raise whatever's in front of you. To a full table, and next year, more chairs.

Why it works: one real problem from the day becomes the whole point, and the last line calls back to it.

For the host, at a mixed-faith table (about 50 seconds)

Before we eat, I want to say one thing.

If you look at the windowsill, there's a menorah next to the tree, and Dora's Diwali lights are still up on the porch because she refuses to take them down before January. This table celebrates about four different holidays. A couple of us mostly celebrate the day off.

What we all have in common is that we came, on icy roads, with food. That's the part I care about. So whatever you believe and whatever's in your glass, please raise it. To everyone who made the drive, and to Dora's lights.

Why it works: it names the mix without making anyone explain themselves, and toasts the people rather than a belief.

For a guest

For a guest thanking the hosts (about 35 seconds)

I'm a guest, and I've already had two of the rolls, so this won't take long.

The first Christmas I came here, I had known Frances and Herb for about six weeks. When I walked in there was a stocking on the mantel with my name on it, spelled out in glitter glue. It's still up there. Eleven years now.

Thank you for always making room. To Frances and Herb.

Why it works: one small gesture from years ago says more about the hosts than any compliment could.

For family

For an adult child toasting the parents who host (about 50 seconds)

I'm the oldest, so apparently this is my job now.

Mom and Dad have used this same red tablecloth since 1989. If you lift the bread basket, there's a brown burn mark from the year I knocked over a candle trying to get a second slice of pie. Nobody ever replaced the tablecloth. Mom just moves the bread basket.

That's how this house works. Things get spilled, and burned, and broken, and you just put the bread basket on top and keep having Christmas. Thank you both for that. Glasses up. To Mom and Dad, and the bread basket.

Why it works: one object that has been at every Christmas carries the whole history, so the speaker doesn't have to.

For a couple hosting both families for the first time (about 45 seconds)

Ford and I are hosting both families for the first time, so first, thank you for trusting us with a turkey.

We learned this week that his family opens presents on Christmas Eve, and mine waits until morning, and both sides think the other one is slightly unhinged. We compromised. We opened half last night and half this morning, and nobody was happy, which I'm told is how you know a compromise worked.

Everybody, raise a glass. To two families, one table, and presents whenever you want them.

Why it works: it names a real difference between the families and turns it into a welcome instead of a contest.

When someone is missing

For the first Christmas after a death in the family (about 50 seconds)

I'm not going to make a long speech this year. I don't think I could.

Dad always carved. He did it badly, and he never let anyone else near the knife, and the first slice always went to whoever had traveled the farthest. Every year, without fail.

This year that's Eugene, who drove nine hours through two snowstorms to be here. So Eugene, I carved, also badly, and the first slice is yours.

Please raise a glass. To Dad, and to everyone who came a long way.

Why it works: it honors him with a habit everyone remembers, then hands that habit to someone at the table, which turns grief into something the room can do.

For a family member who is deployed (about 40 seconds)

Quick toast before we eat.

My brother Flynn is on a ship somewhere he isn't allowed to tell us about. He called at six this morning, our time, and his first question was what we were having for dinner, which was cruel of him, given what he's probably eating.

We saved him a plate. It's in the freezer with his name on it, and it'll be there in March. Glasses up, everybody. To Flynn, and to the plate in the freezer.

Why it works: it keeps the tone light because he would want it light, and gives the room a small thing to do for him.

A short grace

A short blessing before dinner, for any table (about 25 seconds)

Before we start, just a few words.

For the food, and the people who've been in this kitchen since seven this morning. For the roads that got everyone here, and for the ones who couldn't make it this year. For this table, full and loud.

Amen, or cheers, whichever you prefer.

Why it works: it thanks real people and real roads, includes the absent, and lets everyone answer in their own words.

Delivering it

• Stand up, or don't. At a small table you can stay seated and just lift your glass. At a long table, standing helps the far end hear you.
• Wait for the room. One gentle tap on a glass. Then wait until the side conversations stop. It takes longer than you think.
• Memorize the first and last lines. Read the middle from a card if you need to.
• Slow down. Forty-five seconds feels like five minutes when everyone is looking at you. It isn't. If you'd like to hear your pace, Rehearsal Mode will tell you.
• Sit down after the last line. Don't add "Okay, let's eat." The food will make that point.

If you're also toasting at New Year's, the New Year's Eve toast guide covers how to time a toast with the countdown. And if you'd like a toast written around your own family's details, write one here.