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.

               

In the Neuro-Trauma ICU

I don’t know if blogs collect dust, since they are digital creatures, but if they could, this one certainly would. The reality is simple. You get a busy week and realize there just isn’t time to post a blog entry and write a sermon. Since the latter is pretty much expected, it becomes the priority. One week becomes two, and then three. Before you know it, you have forgotten how it used to be possible to do both.

I guess it’s something like sleeping in on a Sunday morning. The more you do it, the easier it becomes. Since I might need to use that human slippery slope to chide a church member someday, guess I’d better get back into the business of blogging – for the sake of the few of you out there who may have noticed my absence.

                The saints of Seneca Presbyterian Church have had some challenging days of late. Not long ago, we learned that two in our community had been diagnosed with life threatening diseases. One underwent intense treatment for leukemia. We are grateful to God that at the moment he is doing well. That’s a testament to his faith, his family, and his courage. The other is learning how to cope with A.L.S. And he will do it with the same faith, family, and courage – though I’m darn sorry he has to.

Then last Friday afternoon as I was working on that sermon, I read an email from a church member. She was taking her mother to the hospital because something was dreadfully wrong. Her mom had just arrived in Seneca from Madrid, Spain. It’s a long and fascinating story. She was ready to begin a new era of her life back in the states under the watchful and loving care of a daughter and her family. On Friday night, she was admitted to the neuro-trauma ICU unit of a local hospital. The diagnosis was three hemorrhagic strokes – in three different areas of her brain. She died Thursday morning.

Last Saturday morning, I was on my way to check on her when I received a call from the son of a member. His dad had died in his sleep that night. Totally unexpectedly. There are times when you simply don’t believe what is happening around you. And then you remember if it is so amazingly challenging for you, how much more challenging is it for those families? We celebrated his life as a church family yesterday.

So the pastoral components of ministry have weighed heavily on my mind this week. What does presence mean? What words are most meaningful? Can simply being human suffice or are pastors supposed to have more? That is a sincere dilemma, not just a rhetorical question.

In my final year of seminary, an early mentor in my ministry spoke to a class on death and dying. His simple yet wise words have stuck with me even though they were spoken 36 years ago. “When you are present in the midst of death, the only one who easily knows just what to say is the undertaker.”  It is in those times that you hope the relationship you have with “your people” before the moment of crisis speaks in the midst of the silence and mediates, through the grace of God, the holy and powerful presence of the Spirit. Because sometimes that’s about all you have.

As I reflect on this past week, I am once again deeply grateful to these two families who allowed me into some of the most intimate moments of their lives. I learned much about them as I heard their stories – and watched them laugh through the tears. Literally.

We know that God is our refuge and strength – and always there in times of trouble. The psalmist says that means we will not fear. Living from that faith, I believe we are meant to be a refuge and strength for each other. As I continue to reflect on this week, and ponder the weeks that are to come, I invite you to reflect with me.

• How can a pastor most effectively care for her sheep?
• How can we best become a refuge and strength for each other? 

What the Dying Teach the Living

It has been a very busy week around Seneca Presbyterian Church - full of good meetings with great people who care about this church and God's kingdom. But this pastor has been distracted, so this post for Sunday is coming very late in the week. This Sunday we will be diverting just a bit from Joseph in order to celebrate All Saints Sunday. I will be reflecting on the experience of dying and what it teaches us, especially as we approach death from the perspective of our Christian faith. So even on Friday, you can help me by reflecting with me. Here are some questions to spur your thinking.

• Have you ever experienced a "good dying"? If so, what made it so?
• What have you learned about how to face death that supports the one who is dying and strengthens friends and family for the long journey of grief ahead of them?
• What lessons for your own life do you take from the privilege of walking with another person in the journey of death?
• How has experiencing death deepened your faith?

I thank you for reflecting with me.

I am the resurrection and the life, says the Lord.Those who believe in me,

even though they die, shall live, and everyone who lives and believes in me

shall never die.