Thursday, January 1, 2009

Silent night, candlelight, ember, and flame

I was home for Christmas. It was great to be among the family again. Didn’t make much of an attempt at all to see other people. Once you start, where do you draw the line? I did get to catch up with some friends and neighbors, but the main goal was to be with Robin and the kids. I’d say “Mission accomplished,” but besides being a bit impersonal, that phrase has a hollow ring anymore and the experience was anything but hollow.

One aspect was a bit empty, however, at least temporarily. I did miss having a larger community to celebrate Christmas with. After 16 years of ministry at the church in our neighborhood, it felt a bit odd not to go there for the Christmas Eve service. But professional boundaries and courtesy being what they are, it wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to show up at First Church on Christmas Eve this year (or next year either, for that matter). I was keenly aware of the time that evening, and as people were in church just a block away for the last part of the service, Robin, Isabel, Tucker, and I were gathered around the piano in our front room singing carols. It was actually a lovely way to spend that part of the evening, singing with the family, but I was glad that no one suggested singing “Silent Night.” I don't know if the tradition still holds at First Church (though I assume there’d be a rebellion if anyone tried to change it), but that’s the carol that has concluded the Christmas Eve service there since before I came. The whole congregation stands in a circle around the sanctuary, candles in hand, the lights are turned off, and the flame is passed from candle to candle all around the room till the sanctuary glows with warmth as people sing that loveliest of carols.

A year ago at the end of the service, right in the middle of “Silent Night,” it occurred to me that that might be my last Christmas with First Church. I didn’t know what was ahead, but I had a feeling that 2008 was going to be the year that I made a change. That wasn’t a particular goal. I just knew the time was ripening. So, looking around the candlelit room one last time, I’d gotten quite choked up. It made it hard to speak the benediction right afterward. I’ve known many of those people for so long, did their weddings, baptisms, confirmations, memorialized and buried their loved ones. The warmth of candlelight ushers in a silence and reflection that we lose with incandescents and (especially) fluorescent lights. It was one of those moments I’ll probably always carry with me in memory.

So as we sat around our piano at home this Christmas Eve and sang, I was grateful for the silence regarding “Silent Night.” We did end up singing it as a grace for our family meal right afterward, but I sat silently, not wanting to break down and hijack the emotions of the evening. We went to a different church for a midnight service, and I was quite blue for the first 15 minutes or so, but by the end all was calm, and more bright.

Now I’ve just arrived back in London (I write this on the train in from Gatwick to Victoria), and it will soon be time to turn my thoughts to the coming year again. But not just yet. Though home is now, in very quick order, some 4000 miles away again through the bewilderments of modern travel, you always bring parts of it with you. It’s like those stories of the ancients carrying an ember from hearth and home to kindle their fire in a new place.

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