Joyous Christmas! Below you'll read memories of Christmas Eve's past. This morning, I invite you to share your Christmas memories in the comments: at St. Andrew's church or at home with family; your first Christmas away from home; experiencing Christmas as a parent, excited children rising early; or spending the morning in quiet reflection...
Share a Christmas memory!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve Reflections
I love Christmas Eve. It has always been one of my favourite nights of the year.
Okay, I imagine I'm not the only one who feels that way; it's a pretty common sentiment. Having grown up in St. Andrew's, I have attended at least one of the Christmas Eve services in every year that I can remember, but one. I thought to kick off any bloggy celebrations of Christmas, I would share some of my memories of Christmas Eves past.
One year, my father made quite a mark on Christmas Eve. He was part of the performance of a play in the service, but not obviously so. In the days leading up to Christmas Eve, my father didn't shave. Before heading to the church, he did not put on his best suit. He didn't even sit in the pew with the rest of us.
The play began, and shortly after the first lines were recited, a scruffy man in the back row objected, causing a bit of a to-do and seemlingly interrupting the first scene of the play. Yes, it was my father. His role was that of a skeptical outsider who would come to the church and learn about Christmas. He relished this role, and he was quite pleased when one of his friends admitted that he (the friend) was about to get up in case this scruffy looking ne'er-do-well needed to be escorted out, not recognizing my Dad.
As a youngster, I, too, participated in a number of Christmas Eve services, beginning as a member of the junior choir, and later performing in plays and with the bell choir. I specifically remember one Christmas Eve play. It was not the typical pageant. It was not a pageant at all. It was set as a father talking to his children. It was a series of lessons explaining not just the Christmas story, but reason for Christmas and the need and joy of folloing Christ.
The play was directed by one of the choir members, Doug. Doug would pass away when I was 16, but throughout the years he spent at St. Andrew's, Doug's love and compassion was always evident. He was as devoted to the church and the children as he was the choir. Unfortunately for Doug, this particular performance hit a bit of a snag. Doug was directing, but not acting... or at least, he wasn't planning to act. Shortly before Christmas, the man who was to play the role of the father had to drop out, and Doug did not have the time to find a replacement or learn the lines. He stepped right in, though, with the script taped inside a book used as a prop. From what I recall, it was a near seamless performance. Certainly, it went better than anyone would have guessed a few days earlier.
As I became a teenager, St. Andrew's revived it's senior bell choir, and Christmas Eve performances quickly became a staple. Each year, whether led by Sue or Kerry, we would be there, ringing out carols for the congregation. At first, we would perform at the Family Service, inhabiting the choir loft. It was rather magical to be up there, after years of watching the choir from below (it would also be a precursor to future Christmas Eves spent in the choir loft). Sitting up there offered a front row seat to one of the more memorable Christmas Eve performances I have witnessed, as one year my uncle, Ewen and Archie performed a trio of We Three Kings.
During the mid-1990s, I developed a different Christmas Eve ritual, one separate from my parents. As I approached the end of my teen years, my cousin and I began ushering on Christmas Eve. We were asked one year and, since there was no longer a senior bell choir, we decided to give it a go. It was, in many ways, a natural step. We had always been active in Christmas Eve services, whether performing in plays, singing in the junior choir or playing the bells; now, we were greeters, and as greeters we gained a whole new perspective on the Candlelight Service.
Ushering at the north door offered an interesting perpsective to the Christmas Eve service. We would not encounter as many "regular" attendees of St. Andrew's. We would be blessed meeting visitors, both from within the city and elsewhere in the world, and seeing old friends who were no longer able to attend St. Andrew's on a regular basis. Occasionally, we would even see friends we knew, but whom we never knew had a connection to the church. Upon ushering once, we made a point of ushering on Christmas Eve for many years to come.
Of course, ushering on Christmas Eve offered some unusual challenges, at times. There was one year where a bat found its way into the Narthex. With the aid of Maurice, then the church officer, we attempted to give the bat an escape, leaving all the doors open for the bulk of the service (making for a rather chilly sanctuary). The bat never did leave, but flew up into the bell tower instead.
Christmas Eve 2002 was quite strange for me. My mother was in the hospital. She would be in a coma for the majority of the holiday season, and we didn't know if she'd emerge. As difficult as I knew it would be, I still felt the need and desire to go to the Candlelight Service. I was a little wary. I knew there would be questions about my mom, and I wasn't sure how well I'd handle them. I also knew that there was no place I would feel more comfortable or comforted. I settled into the pew and never felt any regret for my decision. Despite all that was going on, it was like so many Christmas Eves of the past. In all honesty, I don't particularly remember the service. I don't remember the hymns or anthems. My memories are much different. I remember, again, spending a Christmas Eve with my cousin. As our repsective church attendance became more sporadic, we no longer saw each other on the weekly basis as we had while growing up. Having yet another evening with him was important.
After the service, my cousin ran in to a friend of his who was on the verge of joining our church. The three of us spent an hour chatting after the service; that's no exaggeration. The church officer practically had to kick us out at 1:00 am.
A year later, Christmas Eve 2003, my mother was gone, having succumbed to leukemia the previous August. My cousin's friend that I had met a year earlier had become my fiancee, and for the first time in ages I attended the Family Service, as she was singing. For the late service, I was giving one of the readings. My reading was paired with an anthem written by my mother when she was a student under Carmen Milligan. It was an experience as wonderful as it was painful.
There was another beauty to that evening, for once again there would soon be a Mrs. McLeod sitting in choir loft. And for the following four years, I would join her, spending Christmas Eves in the same loft that grandmothers, grandfather, uncle, aunt and mother had for years and years earlier.
2008 saw my exodus from the choir. Relatedly (and more importantly), that would be the first Christmas Eve I would spend with my daughter. Though I would miss the magic of the choir loft, the magic of fatherhood would more than suffice. For the first year or two of her life, my daughter developed a rather peculiar sleeping pattern, generally staying awake until 11:00 pm, or, regularly, much later. Tiring as such a schedule was, I thought it would work to my benefit on Christmas Eve, so the daughter and I decided to make our way to the Candlelight Service (my wife would be there anyway, still being in the choir). As you can imagine, a thoughtful plan and a baby do not always co-exist. My daughter decided that she did not want to be in the service after about the first verse of the first carol sung. Consequently, I spent the entire service in Narthex wearing a sleeping baby.
It was, however, rather fitting. After all those Christmas Eves that saw my cousin and I ushering, spending much time in that Narthex, it felt quite like coming home, but this time I had a wonderful baby girl with me.
This year, there will be no Candlelight Service for me. The entire family will be going to the early service. There had been some thoughts of having our daughter participate in the pageant, but, as with babies, a thoughtful plan and a toddler do not always co-exist.
But it matters not. There will still be carols; there will still be family; there will still be the Christmas story. And, most of all, there will still be joy. Through excitement, challenge, sorrow and comfort there has always been joy. It's Christmas Eve; what more need there be?
So... what memories and feelings do you have about Christmas Eve?
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Nails and Spear
Two Sundays ago, we sang the hymn, What Child Is This? The timing was quite fortuitous as I was listening to it a week or two ago, and thought it might make a good post here at Sunday Lunch (and I would like to thank my dear wife for not covering this topic in her blog post from Sunday). The version to which I was listening, however, was not a traditional one; I was listening to a version arranged and recorded by Sufjan Stevens. It is, in my estimation, a wonderful re-interpretation of a classic carol.
This version demonstrates the timelessness of this piece, as it can find a home in both traditional and popular music. In that sense, it is an apt reflection of the joy we derive from Christ - joy that is eternal, everlasting. Granted, many other traditional carols have been given a modern glass (including others by Mr. Stevens), but the eternal nature of this piece is evident in more than just this new arrangement.
To me, the pay off of the piece comes in the second to last verse. It is not just about the musical tension, but the lyrical tension as well. It is rare the Christmas song that will offer such a harsh and brutal line as this:
Then, to focus on the suffering can seem an uncomfortable juxtaposition. Certainly, in the song it is such, but it is useful - perhaps, even, necessary - if we are to fully explore our faith, the nature of Christmas and our relationship with God. Bringing in the brutality of the crucifixion is not necessarily a reactionary measure of a Christian trying to reclaim Christmas from the popular clutches of Santa and Frosty. No, it offers insight into the eternal nature of God, man and existence. Consequently, the modernization of the music by artists like Mr. Stevens is all the more appropriate because, on a more meta level, it is an apt reflection of the timelessness of Christ as demonstrated through the construction of the lyrics; it is this construction, both in terms of the subject matter and the juxtaposition, that provides the aforementioned insight.
A few years ago, our former Minister, Greg, led an Upper Room get-together in which we discussed St. Augustine's Confessions. Specifically, we discussed Augustine's thoughts on the nature of time, and the idea that the human experience of "time" came to our species with the bite of an apple. Though humans experience time as a linear progression of events, there is no reason to believe that this way of gathering, storing and assessing information is the actual way that existence unfolds; indeed, in its purest form (a form we would have experienced before the fall, and hope to experience after our temporal life), existence does not unfold, it merely is. This interpretation of the existence of time dovetails nicely with Presbyterian theology. (It also challenges popular notions of fate, providence, free will, pre-destination and creation.)
With our flaws comes an inability to fully and properly understand the intricacies of God and His creation. In this mortal world, to gain any understanding of existence requires experiencing existence linearly, but this linear progression of time is more a human construct than an elemental truth of God's creation. As such, considering Christ's birth an individual event, divorced from the context of his earthly life and beyond, is to err (however, considering Christ's birth as an individual event is a valid coping mechanism in our broken world). In isolation, Christ's birth is not the significant event that popular culture would have us believe. Even, in isolation, Christ's death is not - if I may be so bold - of utmost importance. It was - is - His birth, His life, His pain, His death, His time in hell and His resurrection that is important.
Language is important here. I do not write that these events are important; I write that these events is important. Though we understand them in the plural, they compose a singular, and they compose a present-tense singular (for if we are to put a time constraint on the eternal, it must be the present). Conjugating our verbs to facilitate our imperfect interpretation of God's existence and creation has a purpose, but too often we let our limitations in understanding some eternal truths unduly restrict our understanding of all eternal truths.
This, then, is what What Child Is This? has brought us. It is the reminder that Christmas is not merely a precursor to the ensuing life, death and resurrection of Christ, nor a stand-alone event in Christ's life, but an inseparable part of Christ's full existence.
It is, certainly, more straightforward for us to think of Christmas, then of Good Friday, then of Easter Sunday; the sequence helps us both in processing Christ's existence as well as the 2010/2011 calendar year. We experience the joy of Christmas. Later, we experience the joy of Palm Sunday, which leads to the trepidation of Maundy Thursday, which leads to the sorrow of Good Friday and, finally, to the joy of Easter Sunday.
But these are not separate, or even sequential, events, even if our living would so lead us to believe. They are not linked by a process or a serial dependency, but are all a part of the experience of being a follower of Christ. The joy of Christmas is the sorrow of Good Friday. The sorrow of Good Friday is the joy of Easter. We cannot separate each event from one another, nor should we even try. We will distinguish between them, but such compartmentalizing is only necessary because of our broken nature. Again, it is just a construct that we require in order to approach God, after having fallen so far from Him. Artificial though it may be, it still holds value, but its value is as a guidepost on our journey to Christ. It is not the destination.
So it is good to be reminded, during this time, not just of the birth of Christ, but of the suffering and of the resurrection. Holding all these events together in our hearts will bring us greater meaning, and will bring us closer to Him.
Christmas is Good Friday. It is Easter.
This version demonstrates the timelessness of this piece, as it can find a home in both traditional and popular music. In that sense, it is an apt reflection of the joy we derive from Christ - joy that is eternal, everlasting. Granted, many other traditional carols have been given a modern glass (including others by Mr. Stevens), but the eternal nature of this piece is evident in more than just this new arrangement.
To me, the pay off of the piece comes in the second to last verse. It is not just about the musical tension, but the lyrical tension as well. It is rare the Christmas song that will offer such a harsh and brutal line as this:
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,Christmas is not usually a time in which we deal with such violent and bloody imagery. Advent is a time of Peace, Joy, Love and Hope. Generally, we sing of the star, the peaceful night, the innocent babe, the shepherds and the three kings. It is not a time that we focus on the Passion. Especially in light of the popular adoption of Christmas - and, for good or ill, Christmas has become a cultural holiday, not just a religious one - the atmosphere is joyous. It's lights and peace and goodwill towards men.
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Then, to focus on the suffering can seem an uncomfortable juxtaposition. Certainly, in the song it is such, but it is useful - perhaps, even, necessary - if we are to fully explore our faith, the nature of Christmas and our relationship with God. Bringing in the brutality of the crucifixion is not necessarily a reactionary measure of a Christian trying to reclaim Christmas from the popular clutches of Santa and Frosty. No, it offers insight into the eternal nature of God, man and existence. Consequently, the modernization of the music by artists like Mr. Stevens is all the more appropriate because, on a more meta level, it is an apt reflection of the timelessness of Christ as demonstrated through the construction of the lyrics; it is this construction, both in terms of the subject matter and the juxtaposition, that provides the aforementioned insight.
A few years ago, our former Minister, Greg, led an Upper Room get-together in which we discussed St. Augustine's Confessions. Specifically, we discussed Augustine's thoughts on the nature of time, and the idea that the human experience of "time" came to our species with the bite of an apple. Though humans experience time as a linear progression of events, there is no reason to believe that this way of gathering, storing and assessing information is the actual way that existence unfolds; indeed, in its purest form (a form we would have experienced before the fall, and hope to experience after our temporal life), existence does not unfold, it merely is. This interpretation of the existence of time dovetails nicely with Presbyterian theology. (It also challenges popular notions of fate, providence, free will, pre-destination and creation.)
With our flaws comes an inability to fully and properly understand the intricacies of God and His creation. In this mortal world, to gain any understanding of existence requires experiencing existence linearly, but this linear progression of time is more a human construct than an elemental truth of God's creation. As such, considering Christ's birth an individual event, divorced from the context of his earthly life and beyond, is to err (however, considering Christ's birth as an individual event is a valid coping mechanism in our broken world). In isolation, Christ's birth is not the significant event that popular culture would have us believe. Even, in isolation, Christ's death is not - if I may be so bold - of utmost importance. It was - is - His birth, His life, His pain, His death, His time in hell and His resurrection that is important.
Language is important here. I do not write that these events are important; I write that these events is important. Though we understand them in the plural, they compose a singular, and they compose a present-tense singular (for if we are to put a time constraint on the eternal, it must be the present). Conjugating our verbs to facilitate our imperfect interpretation of God's existence and creation has a purpose, but too often we let our limitations in understanding some eternal truths unduly restrict our understanding of all eternal truths.
This, then, is what What Child Is This? has brought us. It is the reminder that Christmas is not merely a precursor to the ensuing life, death and resurrection of Christ, nor a stand-alone event in Christ's life, but an inseparable part of Christ's full existence.
It is, certainly, more straightforward for us to think of Christmas, then of Good Friday, then of Easter Sunday; the sequence helps us both in processing Christ's existence as well as the 2010/2011 calendar year. We experience the joy of Christmas. Later, we experience the joy of Palm Sunday, which leads to the trepidation of Maundy Thursday, which leads to the sorrow of Good Friday and, finally, to the joy of Easter Sunday.
But these are not separate, or even sequential, events, even if our living would so lead us to believe. They are not linked by a process or a serial dependency, but are all a part of the experience of being a follower of Christ. The joy of Christmas is the sorrow of Good Friday. The sorrow of Good Friday is the joy of Easter. We cannot separate each event from one another, nor should we even try. We will distinguish between them, but such compartmentalizing is only necessary because of our broken nature. Again, it is just a construct that we require in order to approach God, after having fallen so far from Him. Artificial though it may be, it still holds value, but its value is as a guidepost on our journey to Christ. It is not the destination.
So it is good to be reminded, during this time, not just of the birth of Christ, but of the suffering and of the resurrection. Holding all these events together in our hearts will bring us greater meaning, and will bring us closer to Him.
Christmas is Good Friday. It is Easter.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Sunday, December 19
I was delighted by Andrew's choice of sermon topic this morning.
The importance of choice must not be undervalued. Throughout scripture, both Old and New Testaments, we see example after example of the importance, the absolute necessity of choice for our humanity. As far back as the second chapter of Genesis, human choice affects and effects history. But despite the prevalence of examples, we often read these stories without appreciating the essential character of the choices made by the people immortalized in holy literature. Too often, we are comfortable discussing the "wrong" choices made by some - Adam and Eve, Cain, the citizens of Sodom, Pilate, Judas Iscariot - but dismiss the "right" choices as merely submission to the will of God or that person's destiny, ordained by God.
But choice is important. It is essential to our humanity, and it is essential to our relationship with God. Through Jesus Christ we are given a most monumental choice: to accept His salvation and His yoke which comes with it, or not. He gives us the choice to accept the conditions of a relationship with the Divine. What is also remarkable is that even His conception came with a choice.
As Denise Levertov writes in her poem, Annunciation,
Andrew's reflection on the word used by Mary as related in Greek, "doula", was particularly fitting and struck me very personally - and, truly, isn't it always best we are personally touched and affected by scripture? The word originally meant simply "servant" but now, as Andrew noted, it is used to refer to women who attend other women before, during and following birthing. As one who has birthed a child while attended by a doula, who will do so again in just a few months, and as a woman who is also preparing to become a doula myself, I found this linguistic connection struck me very personally. The use of the word "doula" relates that Mary doesn't merely agree to be a vessel, an incubator for the Messiah: she agrees to help the Almighty bring this Saviour into the world. She agrees to help God birth.
A phrase often used in the birthing and doula community in defining the role of the doula in a birth is that she "mothers the mother". Truly, Mary consents not only to birthing the Christ-child, but to being His mother. She agrees to carry Him in her body, but also in her heart. To care for Him, but also about Him. To love Him.
- Darlene M
The importance of choice must not be undervalued. Throughout scripture, both Old and New Testaments, we see example after example of the importance, the absolute necessity of choice for our humanity. As far back as the second chapter of Genesis, human choice affects and effects history. But despite the prevalence of examples, we often read these stories without appreciating the essential character of the choices made by the people immortalized in holy literature. Too often, we are comfortable discussing the "wrong" choices made by some - Adam and Eve, Cain, the citizens of Sodom, Pilate, Judas Iscariot - but dismiss the "right" choices as merely submission to the will of God or that person's destiny, ordained by God.
But choice is important. It is essential to our humanity, and it is essential to our relationship with God. Through Jesus Christ we are given a most monumental choice: to accept His salvation and His yoke which comes with it, or not. He gives us the choice to accept the conditions of a relationship with the Divine. What is also remarkable is that even His conception came with a choice.
As Denise Levertov writes in her poem, Annunciation,
But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.
She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.
Andrew's reflection on the word used by Mary as related in Greek, "doula", was particularly fitting and struck me very personally - and, truly, isn't it always best we are personally touched and affected by scripture? The word originally meant simply "servant" but now, as Andrew noted, it is used to refer to women who attend other women before, during and following birthing. As one who has birthed a child while attended by a doula, who will do so again in just a few months, and as a woman who is also preparing to become a doula myself, I found this linguistic connection struck me very personally. The use of the word "doula" relates that Mary doesn't merely agree to be a vessel, an incubator for the Messiah: she agrees to help the Almighty bring this Saviour into the world. She agrees to help God birth.
A phrase often used in the birthing and doula community in defining the role of the doula in a birth is that she "mothers the mother". Truly, Mary consents not only to birthing the Christ-child, but to being His mother. She agrees to carry Him in her body, but also in her heart. To care for Him, but also about Him. To love Him.
- Darlene M
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, December 12
This year, I am particularly enjoying the progression of the Sundays through Advent, the order of the celebratory candles we are lighting. We began with Hope, with looking forward to what can and will be, accepting the possibility of new and unexpected blessings. It allows us to experience Peace, both peace in our hearts and peace in our lives: we have no need for fear, for we already carry the Hope of Christ. And through that Hope and Peace, we arrive at Joy.
At first glance, it would seem a little unrelated to focus on the ministry and prophecy of John the Baptizer during the Sunday when we light the Candle of Joy. As Dr. Johnston noted in his sermon, the words of John were not particularly joyful or upbeat, but instead he preached repentance and our intense need to a change of heart, a radical altering to our way of life to save us from damnation. But that's just a part of the journey. Our experience as Christians doesn't culminate in our repentance, but in our redemption. As Andrew said this morning, it is only through acknowledging darkness that we can see and appreciate light. It is only through acknowledging our sinfulness and our desperate need for God that we can properly turn towards Him and experience most fully the joyfulness of His offer of salvation.
I truly appreciated the substance of the sermon today, as it is often so easy to become caught up in the "doom and gloom" so often professed in Christendom. Andrew's relating of the failure of the Pharisees and the Sadducees to observe their faith properly was particularly telling: we, too, must not focus only the practice of acts as a marking of observant religion, but must use our practice as a means of turning to God, of reminding ourselves that we alone are insufficient. We need God Almighty and the favour and salvation He affords us.
The final hymn summed up this theme beautifully. Herald, sound the note of judgment: because it is only through judging ourselves to be in need of redemption that we can fully experience it. Herald, sound the note of gladness: we are not alone! Emmanuel! Herald, sound the note of pardon: our salvation is now at hand. Our Saviour has come! Herald, sound the note of triumph: Christ is victorious over the grave. Our ransom is paid and we can live in the light of God's Grace!
Darlene M
UPDATE: The recorded sermon is available here.
At first glance, it would seem a little unrelated to focus on the ministry and prophecy of John the Baptizer during the Sunday when we light the Candle of Joy. As Dr. Johnston noted in his sermon, the words of John were not particularly joyful or upbeat, but instead he preached repentance and our intense need to a change of heart, a radical altering to our way of life to save us from damnation. But that's just a part of the journey. Our experience as Christians doesn't culminate in our repentance, but in our redemption. As Andrew said this morning, it is only through acknowledging darkness that we can see and appreciate light. It is only through acknowledging our sinfulness and our desperate need for God that we can properly turn towards Him and experience most fully the joyfulness of His offer of salvation.
I truly appreciated the substance of the sermon today, as it is often so easy to become caught up in the "doom and gloom" so often professed in Christendom. Andrew's relating of the failure of the Pharisees and the Sadducees to observe their faith properly was particularly telling: we, too, must not focus only the practice of acts as a marking of observant religion, but must use our practice as a means of turning to God, of reminding ourselves that we alone are insufficient. We need God Almighty and the favour and salvation He affords us.
The final hymn summed up this theme beautifully. Herald, sound the note of judgment: because it is only through judging ourselves to be in need of redemption that we can fully experience it. Herald, sound the note of gladness: we are not alone! Emmanuel! Herald, sound the note of pardon: our salvation is now at hand. Our Saviour has come! Herald, sound the note of triumph: Christ is victorious over the grave. Our ransom is paid and we can live in the light of God's Grace!
Darlene M
UPDATE: The recorded sermon is available here.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Sunday, December 5
“God with us” – Emmanuel
This morning we celebrated the second week of Advent, in preparation of the coming of Christ to the world two thousand years ago, as well as the second coming, and took part in the Lord’s Supper. I love the combination of these two. It feels like we are celebrating and committing ourselves to the birth, death, and then the second coming of Jesus all at once. These two events, I think, depict God’s complete commitment and steadfast love for us, now and forever. (Even so, I caught myself busy thinking about things-to-do for the fast approaching Christmas season. That would be some kind of advent activity on a personal level, wouldn’t it?)
When Andrew spoke of “our” song, Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel, I felt that it could easily be “our” song for everyone who believes in God, whose presence is in us for every moment of our life, hence, Emmanuel, “God with us.” It was not us who came up with that name, or title, for Christ, but it was God himself who gave that name to His only son. Perhaps, this was God’s way of saying that He wants to be with us, among us. I just hope that my thoughts, words, or actions would not muck up His desire to be with us, or hinder anyone else wanting to get closer to God.
Jonathan K.
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