Being alone at Christmas … it just doesn’t seem right, does it? Yet, here we are pandemic-isolated, constrained from worshipping together as the parishioners of St. John the Baptist and unable to be with the family members with whom we want, so much, to celebrate.
In a strange way, I have almost always been alone at Christmas. Being the Rector of a parish did not allow me to go and be with members of my family, or my wife’s, to open presents and share a family meal. I usually had as many as three services on Christmas Eve and then at least one more on Christmas Day. Depending on which day of the week Christmas fell, there was not usually even time to travel and be with family in the days following. My side of the family understood (my father was a bishop, my two brothers were parish priests and my sister was on an Episcopal church staff) but it was hard on my wife’s extended family. As for my wife, Debby, and our son, Ben, I might just as well have been away for the days leading up to Christmas Eve because of all the time I took preparing. And by the time I got home after the last service on Christmas Day, I could hardly be counted on to stay awake during the gift-giving excitement or share the delicious meal with toasts to honor the two people at the table whom I loved so dearly. I was often so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.
Now retired, of course, things are different. I don’t have the same obligations which would keep us from going to be with our son and our four grandkids. We could host them here, also, were it not for the Covid crises. However, I have made a Christmas discovery which will change the way I feel about Christmas loneliness from now on. While Debby and I were decorating our Christmas tree the other day, I took some time to notice it—in some ways for the first time. There were the green branches covered with lights and smelling of pine, but it was the decorations I especially noticed. Some, like the lace snowflakes stitched by my grandmother, had hung at Christmas for all of my 73 years. Others were made by our grandchildren just a couple of years ago. There were toy soldiers and santas and Raggedy Ann and Andys, and reindeer and candy canes - some of which were made by my wife for Christmas Fairs in each of our parishes. There were bejeweled ornaments reflecting the lights, needlework Christmas bells and holly, or miniatures of each parish where I was Rector made by parishioners. There were ornaments representing trips which Debby and I had made to England and Savannah and New Orleans and Hawaii. There were ones which made me smile: like the red Webber grill (a tiny version of what I cook on year-round) or the bear with glasses, a clerical collar and a white Christmas stole which looks a bit too much like me. What company I have had over my many Christmases. Why did I think I was ever alone? The ornaments tell the tale, the truth.
There is one more ornament on our tree. It is a hand-painted Christmas Ball. On it are the words “Christmas is a Birthday” which was a theme we used at two of my parishes to remind ourselves and share with others: that Christmas is not about us, or the gifts or the decorations or the busy holiday. Christmas is a Birthday. And on a birthday, you think about the one who is born. This day is for Jesus, the One who is born to us, to be with us, for us. There amongst the other ornaments is the reminder that no matter our circumstances, we won’t be alone.
