Christmas Eve Vespers

Only on a day like today does it make sense to say that the whole family plays a game of MouseTrap at 6am while gorging on chocolate for breakfast.

But I wanted to talk about last night's service, and I didn't get to it last night, so I muse on it this morning while the children explore their other gifts. It all started yesterday while I sat on the bed wrapping that same MouseTrap game and listening to the drone of voices on the TV. I was hearing Rick Warren speak on Meet the Press, talking about how--unlike the Catholic Church--the Protestant church has made a split. They are now two groups: one being the self-designated head group and the other the self-designated hands group. The liberals are the hands and feet of social doctrine, helping the poor live better lives now but putting little emphasis on the hereafter; while alongside them, the conservatives form the head group, preparing people for heaven while impoverishing them on earth by guilting these constituents into giving their last farthings for use toward vague, obscure charities. (OK, I over-dramatized it a bit. His was a more conciliatory presentation of this idea.)

I thought of my dream of how the fall of a skateboarding child would break that child's head and hands, and I wondered if the thought of these two warring factions of the church as head against hands is being more universally-given than just to me in my little dream.

And I thought about Psalm 73. Here it is Your birthday, and so we celebrate; but how does anyone really go about knowing You anymore? It is not a new dilemma:

The Psalmist says:
Psa 73:2
But as for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped.
Psa 73:3
For I was envious at the foolish, [when] I saw the prosperity of the wicked.

And I say:
I sat in a church and watched a pastor wave a checkbook from the pulpit and say, "You don't think there is enough in here? I'm telling you if you just have enough faith, God will put what you need in here so you can get that new couch!"

The Psalmist says:
Psa 73:5
They [are] not in trouble [as other] men; neither are they plagued like [other] men.
Psa 73:7
Their eyes stand out with fatness: they have more than heart could wish.

And I say:
I think of a pastor I know who feels no sense of disconnect between his life walk and his Gospel message, while I see a huge one. Am I wrong to draw attention to it? It is easily proven I believe by the fact that he chooses to live in an upscale, gated community even as he preaches about his close association with one who claims: "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air [have] nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay [his] head."


The Psalmist says:
Psa 73:10
Therefore his people return hither: and waters of a full [cup] are wrung out to them.
Psa 73:11
And they say, How doth God know? and is there knowledge in the most High?
Psa 73:13
Verily I have cleansed my heart [in] vain, and washed my hands in innocency.

And I say:
I wonder how You'll judge the righteousness of my Wiccan friend who shared the following story with me over breakfast the other day: she had to sit her children down and have a talk with them about the injustice of choosing friends based on the money they have to spend; talk to them about the soul-trap hidden in materialism. I was sad when I learned that she once went zealously by the name of Christian, but she met too many like those described above--and so in order to become more like Christ she became less like a Christian.

I wonder how You'll reward the righteousness of another friend who makes no bold confessions of brash faith in the institution known as the church, but who nonetheless hopes that Your nature is true. His is a heart after Yours, as he writes the following blog content about his recent work trip to New Orleans:
The devastation is still being uncovered here. Just today, a few miles from where we hand-mixed and poured concrete pilings, another body was found under a house. Some prefer to discuss the politics of indifference that left the poorest of the poor uninformed and unwarned until it was too late. Others prefer pick up shovels, mix concrete and pour foundations for the future. In the hours and days after Katrina, total strangers selflessly piled into cars and drove south knowing only that they would help, even if they didn't know how. Governments change, eventually. Politicians die, thankfully. People push forward, together.
And I think of how many churches I see building new lavish additions onto their already mega-structures, doing this before using that wealth to guarantee that these "poorest of the poor" have their most basic needs met with consistency. The Spirit is said to be sent to us by You as our guarantee of what is in Your heart for us...now what kind of guarantee are we being?

The Psalmist says:
Psa 73:14
For all the day long have I been plagued, and chastened every morning.

And I say:
My heart breaks over these things...for finding that floodgate that opens to the real You grows rarer every day. It shouldn't be so. But how does one condemn the church without closing the only possible gate even more firmly, crushing any remaining hope that the next generation will find You?

So the Psalmist and I both say:
Psa 73:15
If I say, I will speak thus; behold, I should offend [against] the generation of thy children.
Psa 73:16
When I thought to know this, it [was] too painful for me;
Psa 73:17
Until I went into the sanctuary of God; [then] understood I their end.

So even in my crushing grief over these things yesterday, You presented me with renewed hope in this reassurance: not all sanctuaries have shut Your nature out. Not yet.

Yesterday afternoon, we drove past fallow fields skirted by bare trees on our way to a small country church in a village whose name few would recognize. We passed small ranch-style farm houses with gravel driveways that were filled with cars, 20-25 cars packed together.

Finally in front of one such house, I exclaimed,"I can't imagine that many people got in that little house for a Christmas gathering!"

"They didn't," my husband noticed. "They're all in the pole barn."

Sure enough, the small house was set in front of a large metal barn...and it reminded me of how the first celebrations of You were made by humble people in a stable. I imagined the picnic tables and lawn chairs and kerosene heaters scattered in the barn...the tools hanging on the wall behind the aluminum Christmas tree. Brenda Lee playing in the background for the sake of the nostalgia of the elders, even as the children danced and laughed and compared her to Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Then we came to the church. There was no room in the front pews, so we sat in the back; but from there we could see everything. The late afternoon sun shone through windows that were stained glass, making rainbows of light whose sum-total was a golden glow against the creamy walls. First, my eyes grew misty as I listened to one of my sisters of the heart play the piano. She and her family were the reason we knew about this service. They invited us to it, as they were administering it. Years ago we served together in a larger church, working in music ministry with them. But several years ago we moved away from their hometown, and I had not heard her play for such a long time. Now as I listened, I remembered how much I loved to hear her. Her gift of musicianship is one of those rare ones that encompasses both technical skill and interpretive sensitivity. And tears streamed down my cheeks as I thanked You for letting me hear her again.

Then she left the bench so that a child could come and play her own introit: a heavy-handed version of Silent Night that made everyone smile tenderly. I teared up a little again as I listened to my soul-sister's husband, who serves as pastor in another Methodist church, offer the meditation as guest speaker. He spoke on one of my favorite verses:
Luk 1:45
And blessed [is] she that believed: for there shall be a performance of those things which were told her from the Lord.
Elizabeth gave the gift of these words to Mary when Mary was first pregnant; and indeed I have often thought of this couple as being like an "Elizabeth" to us when we have felt like "Mary." They have stood by us and supported us whenever we are reaching to believe those things that make true in us our Lord's admonishment that we "work out our salvation with fear and trembling."

And then, the third time I grew tearful was when I listened as this couple provided the special music with the help of their grown children: all four of them singing while two of them played piano and guitar a lovely, lively carol. Three generations of this family have gone into the ministry. Each generation walks with hearts that are large and eyes that are light, and I was deeply blessed to see them honored with this opportunity to share their gifts.

The service closed as Silent Night was reprised to a more adroit accompaniment, and as we sang it, we lit our candles. The sun had set, but the church walls still glowed, proving that even the minimal light of a single candle flame can illuminate a room richly when that source of light is passed along to others, and when it is treasured and kept aloft after being shared throughout the assembly. As the song ended, the gray-haired farmer who sat in front of me wiped his cheeks.

So finally, the Psalmist says:
Psa 73:24
Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me [to] glory.
Psa 73:27
For, lo, they that are far from thee shall perish: thou hast destroyed all them that go a whoring from thee.
Psa 73:28
But [it is] good for me to draw near to God: I have put my trust in the Lord GOD, that I may declare all thy works.

So finally, I say:
We have been in a family Passover celebration this last week...complete with a kick-off grounded in dreams of red-painted lintels all the way to the accomplishment of an intentional, week-long leaven fast for the entire family and a telling of why we did such a fast to the younger generation. ("So can we eat bread now?" asked the youngest one last night, and I know You smiled down on us.)
For this is Passover: a human response to a God-given edict that says: show me your belief that I, your God, will soon break a bondage, release you from the authority of a harsh power, and lead you into a new day more fabulous than you can even imagine. Historically, this responsive celebration was to be started and ended with holy convocations. For us, the ending one was this Christmas vespers service.

Many gifts were exchanged this day, but I must note that the one from You was quite tender, as You led us deep into the wilderness to find this service that still spoke about the truth of You: the humble beauty, the gift of soul song, the promise of Your faithfulness through the generations, and the sharing of the light with whoever in the world is willing to receive it.

Thank You.