Today is Christmas Eve, and just the words trigger so many memories for me. You see, my father was a pastor, so naturally our family life centered around our church. My earliest Christmas memories center around the small country church across the road and down just a bit from the parsonage in which we lived. We knew every family living within miles, and they knew us.
Most Sundays my mom played the organ, since, as everyone said, she could "make that old organ talk!" Often my dad would not only preach a sermon, but also sing a solo, since he possessed a glorious tenor voice. For Christmas he'd sing, "The Birthday of a King," or "Oh, Holy Night," always to a hushed congregation. None of this seemed remarkable to me. These were my parents, doing what they did.
Christmas Eve centered around the children's program. We would practice for weeks, memorizing our "pieces," and the words to the Christmas songs we sang as a group. Anxiety would grip our little group--and our parents. Would we remember to go forward when it was our turn? Would we freeze when we looked out on that huge congregation of perhaps seventy-five people? Older kids got to recite the Old Testament prophecies, the ones with the big words. We sang "Away in a Manger," "Silent Night" and "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and of course, "Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful," and so many more.
Did we have a white Christmas? Well, of course. It was Minnesota, after all. In that simpler time, shepherds of small flocks often also got to be shovelers of snow on church steps and walks. I'd tag along, stepping on the just-cleared spaces. I remember walking from our home to the church across that country road, our footsteps crunching and squeaking in the snow.
With frost etching the windows, Bethlehem seemed very far away. To think of shepherds out on green hills, watching over their flocks of sheep seemed impossible to me, since to me, Christmas and snow went hand-in-hand.
Yet we spoke and we sang of times and places far away ... and somehow, we knew the truth of the familiar words of Luke 2:1-20. I could picture the scene. That lowly stable, filled with smelly cows and sheep and donkeys, and in the midst of it all, Mary and Joseph with the newborn baby Jesus, wrapped in cloths and lying in the manger full of hay.
Every year since I can remember, I've treasured the thought of the glory of the Lord shining around those shepherds and an angel appearing to them, announcing:
Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the city of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign unto you; You will find the baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.
Suddenly the sky was filled with angels, all praising the Lord. Only the lowly shepherds heard their glorious music, not the rulers, not the "important" people of the town.
That still speaks to me. No matter who we are, or how many times we've messed up, or what's going on in our lives, the same Good News of Christmas applies. The Savior is born--to us! His love waits for us. He waits for us ... and all he wants is for us to open our hearts to Him.
It's Christmas Eve. Time for new beginnings. Time for you and me to come to that tiny Child in the manger and kneel in wonder, as the shepherds did. That's all it takes, and the same peace and joy they felt can be ours, not just for a season but for always.
Christmas Eve memories live on. So does the timeless Christmas story.
I wish you a Merry, Merry Christmas, and may your spirit be bright!
Lenore
Your comments welcomed!
