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?