Christmas Eve
Scripture Reading for Today:
Not This Year
by Jenn Burnett
I start decorating my home for Christmas early. It isn’t really out of excitement, more practicality. Thanksgiving is actually my favourite holiday, so over the years, I’ve collected a bunch of decor for the earlier celebration. Orange is my favourite colour, fall is my favourite season and way back when I was a varsity athlete, Thanksgiving was the only weekend in the fall term I had enough days off in a row to go home. Then as a pastor, it was the main holiday I had the most flexibility around my work. This all means that there is a transition of decor rather than moving from nothing to something. My rhythm is: thanksgiving decor after October 1st, add a hint of child-friendly spooky items and jack-o-lanterns after Thanksgiving weekend, re-box and clean between Halloween and Remembrance Day while simultaneously pulling out the Christmas decor, ensure there are no decorations at all November 11th, but the house is prepped and boxes waiting for a November 12th decorating start. Usually here in Kelowna, we haven’t had cold enough temperatures to freeze the earth, so it is early enough to get the lights up and blow-up creatures pegged into the ground properly. But more importantly, this has always been the short window before Advent begins. The beautiful but hectic beginning to an increasing pressure and intensity at work.
But not this year. My church plant closed. I lost my job.
This year I questioned whether I keep to this usual rhythm or let it go. When I looked around, November 12th seemed a bit early. Obviously not in the stores — they would have all of us believe Christmas begins mid-October, but in our neighbourhood, in public places, it is early.
This year I’ll have time in December.
I’m not desperately brushing up on my Christmas carols and hymns on guitar—note: those were not written with easy guitar in mind! I’m not sifting through Advent readings and reaching out to enlist people to participate. I don’t have to pull out the boxes of church decor to be carefully organized to be unpacked and repacked easily for 5 services. As a church planter, I haven’t had the luxury of setting up once for the season.
The multiple boxes of advent candles I purchased on sale a few years back can stay stacked in my closet. It’s hard to find the right colours — 3 purple, 1 pink, 1 white — for advent wreathe candle lighting. One year after compromising considerably on the colours during Advent I found a whole bunch of packages of the four coloured ones on clearance at Michael’s after Christmas. I was sure I’d checked there in late November when I needed them, but here they were just a couple of dollars for each, a perfect pack. I’d bought all 5 they had, satisfied that the price was right and that I could check that task off the list for the next 5 years.
These perfectly boxed candles now sit in the closet as a reminder that I’m not a pastor this year.
This year I’m having to tease out what Advent traditions I will uphold just because…
I like them?
They are good for me?
Because I want to pass them on to my family?
Maybe those are enough of a reason. For so long my motivation has been to nurture faith and space for a community AND my family within that. Sure, I’d always picked pieces I loved, but I loved them for others. Could it be that I was enough reason to dig into these practices? And sharing what I love with my family enough?
I pull out our wooden Advent wreath. During COVID, a member of our congregation had generously made one for each household so that each family could light their own when we were walking the season of longing during lockdown. It is a beautiful gift and I remain grateful for this centrepiece. I decide to keep this tradition for our family.
I love candles in December. Here in the Northern Hemisphere, I need something to pierce the increasing darkness and the dancing flame seems so much more spiritual with its warmth and reaching upwards. Plus, my kids will voluntarily light the candles and fight to be the one to blow them out. Both these things require one to be near enough to the table to participate.
We still haven’t settled into a church regularly so there is nobody else leading our family through a journey to Christmas. Admittedly, I’m not sure how ready I am to follow. Not because I can’t appreciate someone else’s creativity and leadership but because I still tend towards jealousy quite easily. Why did God call and equip them to flourish in their leadership while I floundered in mine? Why do they get to be serving the body of Christ in this way? In my way? In my place? Few pastors would name theirs as an enviable position, but my insecurity welcomes that green-coloured emotion far too quickly still.
So for now, my kitchen table has become the altar upon which the tea light candles are lit. My house is peppered with an eclectic mix of decorations. A few are sentimental, some were gifts and many were scavenged second-hand from thrift stores and summer garage sales. Maybe this year I’ll finally properly finish the homemade stockings that I began so many years ago for my eldest son’s first Christmas. The chaos that accompanied the arrival of the next three has left them all functionally though not artistically complete.
I reflect on another firstborn son — Jesus. One, seemingly insignificant family, working to make sense of the unfolding story — re-telling the details to one another of angelic visitations and crazy dreams. Perhaps this tiny family reflected on the prophecies of old around their table, the connection to their own child becoming clearer and clearer. Ever so slowly, the story grows beyond them, to neighbours and visitors, until this story extends over all people and sheds light over every heart.
There is a dull ache longing for the external ordering of time and the task of being a pastor at Christmas. But lighting the candles — warm and fragrant and burning — helps me be present to the worship space that is my home, and the congregation that is my family. I’m slowly re-differentiating myself from a role I had come to hold too tightly in favour of the faithful worshipper I am still called to be.
Today we’ll pause to light the last candle: the Christ candle. I will look to the one who is the light in the darkness, the light in my darkness, and trust that my own little family might too become stewards of this re-told, ever-expanding and enfolding story.
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