This Saturday at 5:30pm, we offer a Blue Christmas service. It breaks up our routine, a bit, to be sure. We try to join in the chorus of the “hap-happiest season of all,” as Andy Williams insisted. It is for some. Others, not so much. Yes, every once in a while, the church will reiterate its hospitality to the whole human spectrum of feelings, recognizing not everyone comes to worship with the most positive life vibes for whatever the reason might be. Sometimes various portions of our worship help, including times for healing with anointing of oil, or other ministry groups will fulfill that pivotal role for those struggling. But during this season of nights and emotions and memories charged with nostalgia all magnified to the extreme, perhaps the church needs to intentionally offer a time and space to bare our soul before God, in a sense.
The Advent wreath tends to get lost in the shuffle (although, we could say Advent as a whole gets lost in the shuffle), amidst everything else that happens in a weekend worship, let alone our minds tend to focus on what’s coming later in December as opposed to these four Sundays leading up to that big day. For many mainline Protestant and Roman Catholic faith communities, we do our prayer, we light the needed candles, we sing a song and keep on moving. And then, soon enough, that collection of candles amidst a circular greenery will get tucked away in some closet, never to be thought of again for another 11 months or so. It tends to get lost in the shuffle (although, we could say much of our spirituality gets lost in the chaotic day-to-day living shuffle).
I am ever mindful that my “wandering” through this faith, this church, this ministry, this God has been significantly easier than others. I have not encountered many roadblocks to serving in the role as a pastor, and am not on the receiving end of questioning legitimacy or the like, as many of my colleagues have faced in the past, and unfortunately, still do today, even in our fairly forward-thinking Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA). So, I want to give space in recognition of The Rev. Elizabeth Platz, who 55 years ago, rattled our Lutheran part of the body of Christ for the better.
And now, it’s here. For most, that means tomorrow is here: the holiday that often brings distant family and friends together around a table overflowing with food, in hopes that will inspire a fair share of giving-thanks. But for some in two states in the Midwest, at least, the couple days after tomorrow are fervently and anxiously drawing near (although hopefully they can still manage some giving-thanks): for what many have dubbed “The Game.”
Since children have entered the picture, we haven’t ventured to Playhouse Square as much, but on a near-weekly basis, I sing through some Les Mis to warm up the voice on the car ride in before the chanting ensues on Sunday mornings. Part of the reason, I’m sure, is the entire storyline emerges from different pivotal moments in the history of France, a country I still hold dear because of my beloved high school French teacher. Another is all these entrancing songs that stick with me in the car and beyond.
