Christmas Eve, and I’m working (I know, I know). I could have taken vacation time, but I convinced my wonderful manager to let me work from 6am to 2pm and forgo my lunch, so as soon as the clock strikes I’m out of here, headed to the beach, to reunite with my family and eat, drink, and be merry.
I need some music to get through the day, as I usually do. I’ve already blown through episode 3 of the Serial podcast, as is my new Thursday morning tradition, and I moved to the Christmas tunes. I’m not really one for Christmas music, mostly because I’m turned off by the commercialization that Christmas has become, but I usually enjoy the music the week leading up to the 25th.
Bounced around Spotify for a bit, and listened to my two contemporary favorites (in case you’re wondering, they’re Christmas Wrapping by The Waitresses and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by The Barenaked Ladies and Sarah McLachlan). I’m really one for traditional Christmas music, as it reminds me of growing up going to a big, Episcopal Cathedral and never missing a Christmas Eve service.
Christmas Eve was always magical and beautiful in our church, with the addition of lots of flowers, candles, brass instruments, a harp, and all of the choirs. The church is old, grand, and very traditional and formal. Growing up, this is just how church was, so as an adult, anything else seems strange.
One of the hardest services to get through for me was the Christmas Eve service after Hank died. Hearing the music, singing those beautiful hymns along with hundreds and hundreds of other people in a packed church, and the French horn, and my family standing next to me, was overwhelming. It’s usually overwhelming in general, and usually makes me cry, but once I started to cry that year it was hard to stop.
I finally got myself together. The last hymn of the service is usually very joyous. It was most likely Joy To The World or something equally rousing. The choir processed out, and there was a murmur of voices during the hymn and the congregation was turned around, pointing.
The back doors of the church were open, and there was a very high, very bright light shining down on a huge arrangement of white flowers that covered the baptismal font in the back of the church when not in use. Behind the flowers, with the open door, in the light, you could see it had started to snow.
My words cannot describe this scene or what I felt. To see something so white and so pure in such an overwhelming moment in a place on a day where I had always associated the most beautiful and peaceful moments is a memory I’ll always have but will probably always fall short of explaining what it looked like or how it made me feel. That was a great present, though, that year. And not every gift is meant for sharing.
Merry Christmas.
Anne, I was remembering that service just this week.
I remember that oh so well. The whole evening was very moving.