Christmas Eve

"Oh, holy night!

The stars are brightly shining.

It is the night of our dear Savior's birth.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

'til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices!

Oh night divine, 

Oh night when Christ was born."
-Adolphe Adam

Was your Christmas Eve was all you hoped for? 
I got to enjoy the unmistakable aroma of an old church, 
hear a handbell choir
(it would be very hard to stay humble as a bell choir member), 
and pass the candlelight from hand to hand. 

Why is it almost impossible to keep weeping at bay during 
this simple Silent Night ceremony?
The symbolism of receiving the tiny flame and sharing it with strangers, 
as well as the ones I love, 
plinks something deep inside. 
If only we shared the True Light as eagerly, 
without the slightest hesitation.

This is a New Year resolution to consider...

Draw Near

Yesterday in church we sang "O Come, All Ye Faithful", (1760)*. 

Without a doubt, Christmas hymns are part of drawing near to the manger, for me.

I'm amazed that meeting with the Lord is possible in a crowded room when much 

of my mind is swirling with to-do items. 

"It's all about the inclination of your heart,"

has been our constant refrain to our teenagers, 

always hoping they would incline their hearts to Him before any other.

If we incline our hearts, or draw near to Him, it's a done deal - 

He draws near to us.

SIDE NOTES:

*1760 - WHAT? I'm profoundly impacted by the thought that hundreds of years ago, Christians were singing this new song and celebrating the birth of the Christ Child. This song is a link that spans the centuries. Click the link to get perspective on just how different the world was then. 

**Photo - This cardinal posed in our burning bush, greatly slowed by the frigid temperatures, and I caught his best side. The December weather this year is almost balmy. 

Enter Listening

We visited an old church in an old town recently. Some helpful soul felt led to instruct the 

congregation in various ways via the magic of the computer printer. 

STACK CHAIRS HERE

KEEP DOOR CLOSED AT ALL TIMES

CHURCH KITCHEN CLOSES AT 8 PM

I think we can all conjure a pretty vivid image of the person who plastered the church 

building with instructional missives held fast by folded masking tape bundles.

But wait - look at this one:

This one caught me by the arm. 

This instruction, LISTEN, rung a bell in my spirit. 

Do you know what I mean when I say that? 

Have you ever had one of those YES! moments? When something someone says, 

or something you read, grabs you by the lapel and gives you a shake? 
And you know, you know for sure, a message has been sent especially for you? 

Or maybe that's just me. 

I don't know about you, friends, but LISTENING is not at the top of my list when 

I enter the church sanctuary. You can be pretty sure that I've made a reasonable effort

that my clothes match. It's a reliable fact that I'll have coffee and a bulletin in hand. 

And you can bet I'm thinking of who might already be waiting for me 

inside, what we'll say, and how we'll laugh.

Yes, it's for sure - I do not enter the sanctuary LISTENING. 

But I think there might be more for all of us than coffee, announcements, 

and churchy chuckles when we come together. There's probably more to be 
heard than our own vain voices, if we just took a moment to enter listening. 

I'm going to make this a priority for the next few Sundays and see what happens.
Whoever printed that page will have one more obedient parishioner than she 
(or he) hoped for. 

Or maybe more than one - would you like to join me? We could Enter Listening in our respective church sanctuaries wherever we attend, all over the globe. 
Who knows what might happen...

In the Pew - His Boy

I'd like to ask if you ever really look at those worshipping around you on Sunday morning.

Do you wonder what their lives are really like? 

What are their concerns or cares?

What are their joys and triumphs?

Who's in the pew next to you?

***********************

He straightened his jacket and fiddled with the tip of his tie. Midway through the very first hymn, he'd had to take his seat. The deafening refrain of his panicked heart galloped onward, as it had for the last twenty-four hours, dimishing the melody of worship.

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

He refocused his attention on the song book in his lap. They occupied their customary pew, only six rows from the pulpit. His wife remained determinedly on her feet, one had gripping the pew for balance, her arm protectively encircling their grandson between them. The only son of their only son was just nine years old. 

The music faded to a persistent, jangling background accompaniment for his barely concealed hysteria. He eyed the expanse of low wooden railing just beyond the feet of the musicians. If only he could walk up to that altar right now! Yes, this very minute ... what exactly would he do? Which scarcely  contained emotion would be the first to erupt onto the smooth oak and create an ugly, profane stain on the blood-red carpet below? Anger might be the first. How he'd love to beat the altar rail and demand an explanation of God! What about his boy? Why had this been allowed to happen? Had he not sacrificed enough? Prayed enough? Given enough? Did God look away while his son had been in his greatest  moment of  need? Or perhaps grief would shove its painful way out first. While the delivery would be different, with gut-clearing sobs replacing hot shouts of anger, the questions would remain the same. But the desperation he felt right now, in which questions were abandoned in favor of pleas, bargains, and begging, was dangerously close to spilling over.

He was startled from his anguished imaginations by the small hand of his grandson. The sweaty palm placed so lightly on his shoulder sent heat searing through layers of fabric to pierce his wretched heart. What would become of  this young boy just leaving childhood and entering his youth? What now? What would they do? 

The music finally ended, and the faithful bowed to pray. His only option in joining, the only offering he was capable of bringing was unchanged. 

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!