“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.
