Jolly Old Time

Mother and I arrived half an hour early for the Christmas eve service last night-- unfortunate, because we were due to arrive a whole hour early. You'd think we would get Christmas down by now, but no. Mother was still wrapping presents up until we had to leave. When we arrived at the church, we found the power out on the first two floors of the building (the church is on the third). The poor usher spent his evening shining a flashlight up the stairs. (Had we been on time, we would have found ourselves locked out because of the outage. Turns out building management is hard to track down on Christmas eve) This new sanctuary where my dad's church is temporarily holding service has terrible acoustics, so even as we were climbing the stairs up, we could hear the roar of the congregation, the chatter, the frantic setting up, the screaming children. You'd think Christmas eve services would get old, that the setting up would run smoothly, but no. It's the same play, same songs, same service each year, yet always slightly different. The wisecracking wise men, the awkward transitions and stumbles, hilarious kids as sheep, the mumbling unenthusiastic youths, and the grand candle lighting finale at the end when everyone lights a candle and sings to Silent Night-- no, it doesn't get old. My Jesus doesn't get old. So if it takes all this bustle, chaos, and ritual to make us remember, then that's our shame, but I'm glad when we do remember. Jesus, Man, God, coming down then, coming again, that doesn't get old. That's a part of my every day.