Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve service at my old church in Maryland is always an emotional experience for me. I always spot a lot of people I grew up with. Most of us don't live in Maryland anymore, many of us don't attend church, and this is the one night a year (or in several years) that we come back to our roots. I saw the sister of a friend, who told me about her latest adventures, a Sunday school teacher from high school, and my ex-boyfriend from high school and college. I always feel a little odd when I see my ex-boyfriend - we dated for 4 years, and my friend Paul calls him my "ex-husband". He could have a point there; perhaps the range of complicated emotions I feel when I see him approaches what someone feels when they see an ex-spouse.

During the service, I realized noticed a familiar voice was reading the Bible passage. I thought for a moment, then sat up straight in my pew, and said outloud, "That's my shrink!" And indeed it was - the woman I went to for counciling is also a minister, and she was one of the service leaders that night. Luckily there was only one other person in the balcony, who probably didn't hear my exclamation. When I came down for communion, I gave her my warmest smile, and she returned it as she handed me the bread. Her eyes seemed to say, "I wondered what had happened to you!" Her wise guidance was part of what led me to Iowa. It was a strange, full-circle feeling, to be coming to her on a trip home from a different place, to be with her in such a different context.

They turned off all the lights in the church, and lit one candle. We then began passing the light from one person to the next, until the sanctuary was illuminated again. It's such a cliqued metaphor - the amount of light that one candle can shed in a room full of darkness - but in this dark moment in our country's history, I think it's a good one, nonetheless.

The soloist sang "O Holy Night", which includes some great language: "Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother, and in his name all oppression shall cease." It was interesting to think that song was probably being sung in restrictive, hateful churches all over the country at that moment, and that maybe just a little bit of its message of social justice might be filtering through the minds of those who heard it. At Christmas, we celebrate the birth of a man who led a religious movement. We celebrate the idea of God coming to live with us, to be a part of us. But for me, it helps to remember specifically who that God is. Remembering what Jesus' ministry was all about, and what our Christianity can and COULD be gives the holiday its deepest joy. Imagine that we mark not the birth of some vague diety, but the birth of justice, the source of power for the fight for freedom and the struggle for peace. That's the kind of savior I can rely on. That's something worth all the parties and pagentry and noise the season can bring. That's something worth celebrating.