vitalwholeness

Carrie Newcomer tells a story that is at once familiar and unfamilar to me.

The familiar part of her story is the description of Christmas Eve for a typical parish pastor. In my case, after a long season of preparation leading up to Christmas, Christmas Eve arrived with several services, the last of which was ordinarily some midnight candlelight service with communion. In the wee hours of Christmas morning, after the last soul left the church, the last light turned off and doors locked, I usually stood outside in the cold night looking up at the stars, taking a contented sigh of relief. That was the moment when Christmas finally settled in on me. But the unfamiliar and more interesting part of Newcomer’s story is this:

“I remember a conversation with two pastors serving two different congregations. They described how every year, when they both finished their respective Christmas Eve midnight services, they went to a favorite local bar located near their home. When the bar closed at 2am they would hold Christmas Eve service for anyone still in the bar. The owner and these two wonderful women would put a cloth on the pool table and light candles. They would hold hands around the table, tell a story of weary travelers on a weary night far from home, they would sing a few songs and say a prayer of blessing.

I asked them both why they decided to do this each year, when they were probably totally exhausted from all the responsibilities of the season. Instead of giving me an answer, they asked me a question, ‘Who needs a little hope and care more than the folks who are alone and closing down a bar on Christmas eve?’ 

They went on to tell me of how last Christmas Eve there had been a somewhat intimidating looking young man seated at the end of the counter covered in tattoos and piercings. He ended up staying after hours and stood in the circle with the other Christmas Eve refugees. After the gathering ended with a quiet Silent Night, the young man turned to one of the pastors and with soft eyes said, ‘you know, my mom would have loved this.’”