Quiet Christmas

“Have a holly, jolly Christmas. It’s the best time of the year.”

     Maybe. But then again maybe not. It is hard to be the one who must admit to a less than warm heart and glorious good cheer as the whole world seems to be having its customarily wonderful, entire-month-of-December celebration. That’s the holiday where gifts are perfectly wrapped, children are perfectly behaved, and everyone who should be at the table is.

     Sometimes the stress overwhelms us. Sometimes the burden we assume when we seek to make everything perfect does us in. And sometimes – many times – someone who should be at the table isn’t. Death may have invaded in recent weeks or months or even years. A child may have become estranged from a parent. A marriage may have died. And no matter how much time has passed, something will always be not quite right.

     It was years ago during my seminary days that I first heard a pastor reflect on the need to acknowledge pain during the Christmas season. He was a wise man who understood the human heart. In fact, he understood the human heart so well that he left ministry near the end of his career in order to serve as a counselor at a state mental hospital. This wise man said he always devoted one sermon in the Advent season to the Christmas “blues.” Those who experience Christmas with a sense of loss and longing need to know they are not alone.

     It was much later that I learned of the tradition of offering an opportunity for worship that publicly acknowledges those struggles. Some are called a “Longest Night” service, taking place on the evening of the winter solstice just a few days before Christmas, literally the longest night of the year. Others are called “Blue Christmas.”

     The tradition at Seneca Presbyterian Church began just before my arrival. We have modified its format over the years. Now we call it “Quiet Christmas” because loss isn’t just death; it’s a loss of what was – health, security, friendship, relationship, confidence, even hope – trapped in the time before what is to be has been found. That hoping against hope is what Advent longing is all about. So we seek to make this opportunity for worship simply an oasis of quiet and calm amid the world’s chaos.

     We are offering this year’s Quiet Christmas service on Wednesday, December 16 at 5:30 p.m. The service will center on song, scripture, silence, and prayer. We will offer the sacrament of communion. We will also offer a time for personal, private prayer for healing. That portion of the service will be entirely optional. Within that option, three practices are possible for each person who seeks them.

     The first option is simple. It would be to express a personal concern and ask for a spoken prayer addressing that concern.

     The second is an option for the laying on of hands and prayer. Hands are placed on the person’s head or shoulders and these words are spoken: Spirit of the living God, present with us now, enter you body, mind, and spirit, and heal you of all that harms you. Those words are borrowed from the service of healing prayer held each Tuesday evening at the Abbey Church on Iona, Scotland. They affirm our belief that all healing comes from God and takes whatever form God deems best.

     The third option is new for me. It is anointing with oil. It was the practice of early Christians to anoint the sick and pray for healing. Oil was used to clean wounds and was considered to have healing powers. Throughout scripture, oil was also a sign of blessing and God’s favor when used to anoint kings and prophets. Its fragrance reminds us of God’s healing mercy. Yet it is a practice unfamiliar to most Protestants.

     When we gather on Wednesday evening, I do not know if anyone will seek this option. But as a pastor, it is my desire to make available any tangible way for my people to experience the presence of the Spirit and the grace of God. These practices are merely the means of conveying that grace, which is the true source of healing.

     My preaching this Advent season has been more somber, more “shadowy” than usual. The times seem to require it. That mood will change as we approach the Holy Night. It is my prayer that those who join in the service of “Quiet Christmas” will receive a gift of presence, peace, and hope that they can place in reserve for whenever it is needed. For the Christ child was born not only on Christmas Eve. He is born whenever we believe that, despite the longest night, the grace of God is from everlasting to everlasting.