I have always loved Christmas Eve. It dates back to when I was ten. The year was 1989. A few days before December 24th, my mother's mother died of a sudden heart attack. Needless to say, that Christmas was much different from the previous nine. The family gathered at the home of my now widowed grandfather, just as it had done in years leading up to this. On Christmas Eve, because everyone was still in shock, we realized we didn't have any milk for Santa. While I'm pretty sure I knew Santa wasn't real, we still had to keep up the charade for my sister's sake who was only seven. So my cousin, 17 at the time, and I jumped in the car at 10pm in search of milk. Now remember, it was 1989 and back then nothing was open, on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, and we were, my cousin and I cruising around downtown Anderson, SC. It was awesome. We drag raced off every line as the light changed from red to green, I brief reminder of the fact that it was Christmas amidst the pain that we felt. We would get that beat up car up to about 60 mph before we would come to a screeching halt at the next light. But I think what stuck with me after all the years was how alone we felt, not another car or person was in sight. It was peaceful, a needed feeling after a tumultuous few days. I'm not really sure if we ever did get the milk.
A few years later, we began a new tradition for Christmas Eve. My mother served on the alter guild at our church and we were asked to help serve communion between the Christmas Eve services that were at 6 and 8. Little did I know how much of a part of my life this would become. For the next 10 years, even through my time in seminary, my family and I would spend Christmas Eve together serving the Body and Blood of Christ to our church family. I remember how peaceful it was sitting in that sanctuary as we waited for people to come into the chapel. I loved seeing the folks who had raised me as well as long time friends who were now separated by many miles.
When I was assigned to a church in downtown Columbia, I would no longer be serving communion on Christmas Eve to the people I had grown up with, but rather to people who now called me their pastor. What I loved more than anything during those 7 years was the hour that followed our 7pm service. By 8pm, downtown Columbia would be a ghost town on December 24th. Again I was struck by the sheer peacefulness of the night. What is always a busy and bustling city, at least for one time during the year, slows down and becomes quiet and still.
Now, I don't believe for one moment that the first Christmas Eve was anything but chaotic and crazy, probably filled with a certain amount of fear and trepidation for Mary and Joseph. But somehow my yearly celebration and remembrance of the 24th is built around calmness. Well, that all changed last year. With Megan and I serving separate churches, we somehow had to balance both churches' needs. So here's what we came up with: Megan would offer a kid focused 4pm service, we would do 6pm and 8pm at my church, and Megan would do another at 10pm. So basically we started around 3:30 and ended around 11:30. It makes for a bit of a long day. And we most certainly couldn't do it without the help of my parents taking the kids during the final two services. It means we don't get to actually put our children to bed on Christmas Eve either, but they don't seem to mind. That's also a small sacrifice for amazing blessing of presiding over the 2nd most popular worship service of the year. (Easter still reigns.) We will do it the same way this year and I cannot wait. It is going to be awesome. It will remind me again of how blessed we are to worship a God who came down to earth and embodied the very lives we struggle to live each and every day, a God who loved us so uniquely that rather than coming with power and strength, chose meekness and humility, a God who reigns in both the places of peace and utter chaos. So may you be blessed in however you choose to spend Christmas Eve this year.
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