Christmas, 2014
25/12/14 01:06
A very merry Christmas to you, dear blog reader. I am grateful that you have taken the time to read a few of my words. I am grateful for the kind comments that I receive. And today I have much to celebrate: health, family, a wonderful job and so much more.
But I know that there are those for whom the celebration of Christmas this year is a strain and others for whom holidays are always difficult. It has become common in many congregations to dedicate one of the later days of Advent to a “Blue Christmas” observance. Sometimes the solstice is chosen as the occasion. In the Northern Hemisphere it is the longest night of the year and it can be a very appropriate time for a very meaningful service of longing for light, for hope, for peace, for joy and for love. There are many who find this a season of grief and loneliness.
In my Christmas prayers today are two families whose journey of grief over the loss of a son to suicide is painfully fresh. I was privileged to be with both families and to hear parts of their stories. Despite the pain of loss, each family carried a sense of gratitude for the life that was given to them, even though the life was all too short and its ending defies logic. The questions are many. The answers are few. The grief is overwhelming. It is as if, for those families, their advent wreath has no candle of joy this year. For them there is no joy this Christmas. But make no mistake about it. In both families the candle of love burns strongly. And, as the Bible clearly teaches, God is love. Even in homes darkened by the pall of grief, the Christ child is born. God comes. As the Gospel of John declares, “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”
In my head are the plaintive strains of the carol, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” As a person who has moved around some in this life, I am not quick to attach faithfulness to any single place. Bethlehem is indeed a holy city, but there are many holy places. Yet the song paints an image for all who sing it: “Yet in thy dark streets shineth, an everlasting light. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”
Christmas 2014 finds our world filled with so many dark streets in need of light.
Our research is not yet completed, but it appears that in all of the 136 years of ministry of our congregation, 2014 has emerged as the year with the most funerals. It was easy to look around the full church and the congregation last night and rejoice in the new faces, but also to remember the faces whose attendance last year turned out to be their last Christmas with us. I couldn’t avoid thinking as I sang the carols and looked out into the congregation that for some who were worshiping with us this Christmas will be the last.
Yesterday I spent a little time in the dentist’s chair. At one point the hygienist sprayed a very small amount of water that splashed on my forehead. She apologized profusely. I laughed. No harm had been done. I assured her that I was waterproof and that I seem to take even full immersion without ill effect. My laughter freed her up to laugh and to comment that it was a bit distracting to be working on a white-bearded man on Christmas Eve. I assured her that I am not St. Nicholas, but said nonetheless, it is a good thing that we can take a little water.
It is a good thing that we are waterproof.
There are tears to mix with the joy this holiday.
I spent a few minutes with an elder this week who was all alone on Christmas Eve. There were plans to go to his son’s home for Christmas dinner today. As we visited he reminisced on how Christmas Eve was always such a family occasion. He and his wife were active in the church and always had major parts in the Christmas Eve service, singing in the choir, helping with costumes and other functions. Last night he had to arrange for a ride to church despite the fact that he has a daughter and a son and grandchildren who are in town. With a sigh he said, “It’s different now.”
It is different, now. One of the many text messages we received in the past week noted, “We can’t come to church, we are celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve.” Just one generation older in that family, celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve would have meant coming to church. Of course, I’m probably very old fashioned. Celebrating Christmas is mostly about going to church for me. I find church to be a great place to celebrate Christmas. One of the Christmas traditions I most look forward to is the celebration of communion and the tolling of the Christmas bell at midnight.
Each Christmas I recite the prologue to the Gospel of John, that declares, “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not over come it!”
It also says, “He was in the world and the world came to being through him, but the world did not recognize him. He came to his own people, but they did not receive him.”
That, my friends, is our world. It isn’t all joy and celebration and bright lights and presents. There are still a few dark corners - a few places where folks just don’t get it.
So we will tell the story again. And again. And again. Sometimes we tell it to others so that they can recognize in its simple beauty, the great love that God has for all people. Sometimes we tell it so that we can hear it agan and be reminded that we, too, are loved.
Merry Christmas, friends. Merry Christmas!
But I know that there are those for whom the celebration of Christmas this year is a strain and others for whom holidays are always difficult. It has become common in many congregations to dedicate one of the later days of Advent to a “Blue Christmas” observance. Sometimes the solstice is chosen as the occasion. In the Northern Hemisphere it is the longest night of the year and it can be a very appropriate time for a very meaningful service of longing for light, for hope, for peace, for joy and for love. There are many who find this a season of grief and loneliness.
In my Christmas prayers today are two families whose journey of grief over the loss of a son to suicide is painfully fresh. I was privileged to be with both families and to hear parts of their stories. Despite the pain of loss, each family carried a sense of gratitude for the life that was given to them, even though the life was all too short and its ending defies logic. The questions are many. The answers are few. The grief is overwhelming. It is as if, for those families, their advent wreath has no candle of joy this year. For them there is no joy this Christmas. But make no mistake about it. In both families the candle of love burns strongly. And, as the Bible clearly teaches, God is love. Even in homes darkened by the pall of grief, the Christ child is born. God comes. As the Gospel of John declares, “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”
In my head are the plaintive strains of the carol, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” As a person who has moved around some in this life, I am not quick to attach faithfulness to any single place. Bethlehem is indeed a holy city, but there are many holy places. Yet the song paints an image for all who sing it: “Yet in thy dark streets shineth, an everlasting light. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”
Christmas 2014 finds our world filled with so many dark streets in need of light.
Our research is not yet completed, but it appears that in all of the 136 years of ministry of our congregation, 2014 has emerged as the year with the most funerals. It was easy to look around the full church and the congregation last night and rejoice in the new faces, but also to remember the faces whose attendance last year turned out to be their last Christmas with us. I couldn’t avoid thinking as I sang the carols and looked out into the congregation that for some who were worshiping with us this Christmas will be the last.
Yesterday I spent a little time in the dentist’s chair. At one point the hygienist sprayed a very small amount of water that splashed on my forehead. She apologized profusely. I laughed. No harm had been done. I assured her that I was waterproof and that I seem to take even full immersion without ill effect. My laughter freed her up to laugh and to comment that it was a bit distracting to be working on a white-bearded man on Christmas Eve. I assured her that I am not St. Nicholas, but said nonetheless, it is a good thing that we can take a little water.
It is a good thing that we are waterproof.
There are tears to mix with the joy this holiday.
I spent a few minutes with an elder this week who was all alone on Christmas Eve. There were plans to go to his son’s home for Christmas dinner today. As we visited he reminisced on how Christmas Eve was always such a family occasion. He and his wife were active in the church and always had major parts in the Christmas Eve service, singing in the choir, helping with costumes and other functions. Last night he had to arrange for a ride to church despite the fact that he has a daughter and a son and grandchildren who are in town. With a sigh he said, “It’s different now.”
It is different, now. One of the many text messages we received in the past week noted, “We can’t come to church, we are celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve.” Just one generation older in that family, celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve would have meant coming to church. Of course, I’m probably very old fashioned. Celebrating Christmas is mostly about going to church for me. I find church to be a great place to celebrate Christmas. One of the Christmas traditions I most look forward to is the celebration of communion and the tolling of the Christmas bell at midnight.
Each Christmas I recite the prologue to the Gospel of John, that declares, “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not over come it!”
It also says, “He was in the world and the world came to being through him, but the world did not recognize him. He came to his own people, but they did not receive him.”
That, my friends, is our world. It isn’t all joy and celebration and bright lights and presents. There are still a few dark corners - a few places where folks just don’t get it.
So we will tell the story again. And again. And again. Sometimes we tell it to others so that they can recognize in its simple beauty, the great love that God has for all people. Sometimes we tell it so that we can hear it agan and be reminded that we, too, are loved.
Merry Christmas, friends. Merry Christmas!