Christmas Eve

It's Christmas Eve, and I am in my office, having finished our family service and waiting for our candlelight service.
My family--all thirteen of them--have gone home. They're going to watch a movie while waiting for me.
When I get there, we'll begin our Christmas celebration. That's really strange.
You see, I've only been in ministry for a few years--but I've been a mother, and grandmother, for much longer.
I'm not used to "working" on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve, like Christmas itself, is about tradition. And for me, I think, like almost everyone, that means family traditions. It's the Christmas Eve meal I made every year. It's the "you can open one present tonight" speech. It's hanging the stockings. It's putting out cookies for Santa, and food for the reindeer. It's watching my husband, and sons in law, assemble complicated toys.
It's going to a Christmas Eve service--not officiating at one.
There's a part of me that really, really, really wanted to go home with them. There's a part of me that says "my family shouldn't be watching a movie tonight. They should be doing Christmas things. They should be doing the things that we always do."
And then I realize. They're probably just fine. It's me who is feeling strange. My daughters made the dinner I used to make. We ate it mid-day, just not at night. And I'm here, in my office, and not at home. I'm the one who's out of my comfort zone. And, like most times of sadness, it's really, when I think about it, all about me. What I want. Not what--like a worship experience--I can give other people.
When I think about it, perhaps Christmas isn't a time to be "stuck in tradition". After all, the birth of the Christ child was hardly traditional. It was, instead, an unprecedented event, an event that changed everything. From that moment on, nothing was ever quite the same.
I'm not giving up on tradition, of course. The eight and nine year olds will still be awake when I get home. The stockings will still have to be tended to. But I will have shared, in ways I never have before, the Christmas Eve experience. I hope that in my life, now, every Christmas Eve will have something just a little bit different, something it's never had before.
Merry Christmas. And many more.

The Pageant!

People are running down the hall bearing mounds of fluffy fabric, leaving behind trails of white fuzz.
That can only mean one thing--sheep costumes! Lots and lots of sheep costumes. And cows. Lots of cows.
Because in the best tradition of the children's Christmas pageant, the smallest kids are the animals that crowd around the manger.And we have lots of small children.
They're unbearably cute. However, getting them up onto the chancel, where they can be seen, all at one time, all in more or less one place, all singing more or less the same words--well, during practice, chaos is the word that comes into my mind as one takes off down the aisle, a couple of more explore the piano, our little cow princess takes a twirl in the center of the floor. I think I'll take a moment here to explain about our cow princess. The princess, a lovely and very bright pre-schooler, insisted that she play the part of a princess in the production. Rebecca, our gifted and incredibly patient director of Children's ministry, told her that there weren't princesses in this story. "Well", said the little one, "there are kings. If there are kings, there must be princesses!"
Its hard to disagree with that. Suddenly envisioning a plethora of princesses, Rebecca responded nobly. "The cows have a secret princess. You must not tell anyone that you are, under this cow pancho, a princess!" Which I think is working, but we'll see.
Chaos. However, I think it probably was chaotic two thousand years ago. We're used to seeing the lovely representations of the Nativity, Joseph and Mary beaming down at the sparkling babe, animals standing around reverently, shepherds bowing.
Except Bethlehem, that night, was full to overflowing. People were everywhere, trying to find a place to sleep. I suspect that Joseph and Mary weren't the only people who couldn't find room at the inn. Many of those travellers must have come on donkeys--creating a animal gridlock and stabling problem. Children were probably running around, with parents trying to keep them close. The sheep, I am sure, weren't lined up neatly. Sheep never line up neatly.
Which brings me back to our little animals. They probably won't line up neatly on the 16th, for the pageant.
Cows and sheep may be wandering off, or dancing to the music in their heads. And that's going to be great. Because Christmas isn't, to me, about perfection. It's about a child being born. He was welcomed then in confusion and chaos. We will do that too, this year. We will, in confusion and chaos, once again welcome the Christ child in our midst.

Hello, God

Since this is the first post, I suppose I need to do let you get to know me--at least a bit. You can read my bio elsewhere on the site--so I won't repeat it.
But I think I should say that I am as surprised as anyone else that I am now a pastor in the Presbyterian Church.
Looking back, I can see lots of signs that I had an interest in, an affinity for, things spiritual. Hindsight is easy.
And of course I ignored it all. I can make the excuse--and its true--that there were few role models in the religious world if you weren't Catholic and didn't want to be a nun. In my Protestant world, men were ministers, preachers, and women did Sunday School. Not interested. But that wasn't really the issue. The issue was that I ignored everything about me that felt connected to something greater. Until I just couldn't do it anymore.
I spent most of my life treating God as a telemarketer--you know, "God calling? Sorry, I already have religion. I gave at the church. Thank you, and have a nice day."
However, it seems that no matter how many times I hung up, God kept on calling. Until I finally listened. And so here I am. Not without faults, not without doubts, not without false starts, and not at all sure of what I am doing, most of the time. If you read this blog in the future, I feel sure the faults, the doubts, the by-ways of my journey will be amply demonstrated.
But I have learned that God exists, and has purpose, and that we, if we choose, can be a part of that purpose, that we can live lives that have meaning beyond our immediate joys and sorrows. And most of all, that although a faith journey is highly personal, and for many of us somewhat private, it is not something to be taken alone. We are in this together. And I hope that some of you, reading this, will take me along for your journey, and join me in mine.