Eve of Christmas Eve

A precious few of us will remember those cold (sometimes snowing), dark nights seven hundred years ago when a group of us would gather in North Georgia for our annual Eve of Christmas Eve service. This non-traditional-nobody-ever-knew-what-would-happen-next service was held in a carriage house. There were lanterns for our seeing and bales of hay for our sitting. We read scripture and poetry, sang “Joy to the World” and “Twelve Days of Christmas,” and we sang this song: 

O come, O come, Em­ma­nu­el,
And ran­som cap­tive Is­ra­el,
That mourns in lone­ly ex­ile here
Until the Son of God ap­pear.

This was a coming-together service. It was created to be a put-aside-our differences and lean-on-in service. There were old folks and young folks, city people and country people, folks infected and affected by HIV. It was a service that tried each year to hold gently and playfully the spirit of Christmas. It did that for me. Light shined in the darkness each year as I looked from face to face. [I remember one year I had to run back out to the car to get something and when I came back toward the barn, I could see light coming through the cracks around the windows and doors.] We always closed the service with each one holding a candle, passing the light from one to another, singing “Silent Night.” Light shined in the darkness and the darkness could not overcome it. 

O come, Thou Wis­dom from on high,
Who or­der­est all things migh­ti­ly;
To us the path of know­ledge show,
And teach us in her ways to go.

I sorely miss that service. I am holding it close to my heart today on this Eve of Christmas Eve. I’m remembering the drives up and back from Atlanta to Cartersville with the guys from Common Ground and remember watching Mom and Dad leaning-in toward one another for body-warmth. I remember the laughter with the songs we sang and remember the tears when the stories were told, and poems were read. I remember trying to play the chords on my guitar when I couldn’t feel my fingers and I treasure the memory of seeing Gay-Baby’s laughing eyes as she watched it all unfold. 

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spir­its by Thine ad­vent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark sha­dows put to flight.
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So many of those folks have now passed on from this world to the next. It’s not the same without them. Part of Christmas for me each year is sitting in front of fire or lighting a candle, holding something good and warm in my hands and re-membering the sights and sounds from those services. Those gatherings in that old carriage house held so much and more of what this season continually means to me – what I am holding onto and what needs to now fade away. Stories and songs, bales of hay and the wind blowing in through the cracks. Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel. God-is-with-us.
 
(Thanks Jan for this picture - once a girl scout always a girl scout)

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