The last time I went to church on Christmas Eve was over ten years ago.
I was in seminary and my then-girlfriend had just proposed that morning. We sat together in the pew, sang carols, lit candles, and soaked it all in. Six months later we would be married in that same church. It was magical.
In some ways, that Christmas was the last time I attended church and didn’t feel “on.”
The ten Christmas Eves since were spent working - either leading worship services in the congregation I was serving as an intern or senior minister, or sitting with patients and their families as a chaplain at a trauma hospital.
These experiences were (and are) magical in their own ways. I was able to be present with families experiencing tragedy, horrendous loss, and fear when at the hospital. In church, I helped to create the magic of Christmas Eve for thousands of people over the years with the power of story, music, and candlelight.
The reality for clergy and their families is that the holidays are never the same as they once were. This is also true for musicians and other religious professionals, but there is a special stress on clergy when it comes to the holidays.
In some ways, I haven’t really celebrated a Christmas since that night.
The whole experience is so different - late nights working, eating dinner at 10pm after services are done, traveling far distances to be with family on Christmas Day. There really is nothing restful or quiet about any of it.
And now, here I am.
This is my first Christmas when I have not been “on” in over a decade.
Since I am not serving a congregation or a hospital right now, I have not been planning multiple services, finding the costumes for the no-rehearsal pageant, writing my homily, making sure we have enough candles and bobiches (yes, that’s a real thing), organizing volunteers, and dealing with last minute issues. I have not been frantically packing my things for that early Christmas morning travel, organizing boarding for the dogs, buying all of the gifts, and dealing with all of the stresses that the season brings.
This is the first Christmas I can remember (maybe since my childhood) where I don’t feel completely wiped out, exhausted, stressed, and overwhelmed.
And it is so strange.
Like, is it even the holidays if we aren’t balancing 8 million things on our to-do lists and stressing out about travel and obligations to family and friends???
Turns out, it is.
This year, I will spend Christmas right where I am - no traveling (well, not additional travel to what we have already been doing).
This year, I will eat my Christmas Eve dinner at a reasonable time while it is still hot.
This year, I will wake up when I want on Christmas morning instead of catching a red eye.
This year, I will be able to spend all of Christmas Eve with my wife and our dogs, and the family we are visiting.
This year, since it is my first spent outside the Northeast, I might do yoga OUTSIDE in the morning.
And I already miss the candlelight of Christmas Eve - watching the faces of my congregation glowing while Silent Night plays.
I miss the experience of creating a joyful and magical night for others.
I will miss seeing my family of origin for Christmas Day.
This year is different - in ways that are disorienting, and calming, and strange, and ultimately good.
I will not be stressed making sure all of the details are perfect for everyone else.
I will not be frantically running around.
I will not be sacrificing my holiday joy for the joy of others.
I will sit with my wife, looking at our two-foot fake tree from Target, listening to music and soaking it all in. I will breathe deeply with gratitude for this time to just be a normal person on Christmas again - whatever that looks like.
And my hope for myself - for all of us really - is the spaciousness to do the same.
I hope that, amidst the frantic errand running, and cooking, and wrapping, and traveling, you find a moment to sit and to soak it all in.
For those of you who are clergy or religious professionals or musicians, my hope for you is some time to have your special holiday too - even while you are creating magic for others.
My hope is that you know, deep in your soul, that you are enough; that you are loved just as you are; that this world is a better place because you are in it.
I’ll close with the words I use every year as the benediction on Christmas Eve. They are from Howard Thurman, and, to me, they are what Christmas means.
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among others,
To make music in the heart.
May it be so. Amen. Blessed be.
This week’s Invitation to Deepening: Put down the to-do list, put down your phone, and take five minutes to close your eyes, breathe, and be present.
Subscribe here for regular emails or share this reflection with a friend.