I remember thinking at the time that there was no better place to be on Christmas Eve. The heavenly music of the choir, the smiling faces around us, and the feeling of good will in the air.
The highlight of the service was when the lights in the little wooden church were extinguished, and the sanctuary was plunged into darkness. It was comforting to know that my parents were beside me. Finally, the Christ candle flickered, indicating the birth of a savior.
Christmas Eve was magical alright and filled with family traditions — holding Dad’s hand on the walk home with the steeple bell ringing in Christmas Day, leaving carrots and cookies for Santa, and placing Baby Jesus in the manger at the edge of our huge Christmas garden. We never questioned the wisdom of putting a sleeping baby inches from a lumbering freight train complete with steam and whistle.
Traditions come and go. Our garden grew smaller, then faded away; it was a lot of work. My sister and I outgrew Santa. My mother even threw away all the worn tree ornaments and bought shiny gold ones. One thing didn’t change. We always knew where we would be on Christmas Eve.
The little gray wooden church on Fullerton Avenue, just a block from our house, grew into a stately stone structure with a slate roof, oak pews, and a Moller pipe organ. December 24th was the most popular service of the year; sometimes folding chairs had to be set up in the center aisle. Dad referred to the visitors as ‘the C and E crowd’ — neighbors we only got to see on Christmas and Easter.
When I married and had a family, we started our own traditions. John and the boys trudging through the woods in search of the perfect Christmas tree. John reading the Christmas story to the boys at bedtime, and of course, the Christmas Eve candle-lighting service. Three little boys, with that exquisite excitement known only to children on Christmas Eve — swinging their legs beneath the pew and taking it all in — the stained glass window above the altar, instrumentalists playing at the front of the church, and dozens of poinsettias.
Chopping down a tree eventually gave way to buying one from the Lions Club. The year John came home from work with an artificial tree, Christmas seemed cheapened somehow — until it dawned on us that we no longer had to trim branches or sweep up needles, or crawl beneath the limbs with a watering can.
To accommodate an aging membership, the mid-night service was moved to 8:00 pm and took on a new dimension. Each member of the congregation was given his own small candle. As in previous years, following the sermon, all the lights in the sanctuary were extinguished, and the drama that was our candle-lighting service, would begin.
The minister spoke of a world ‘wrapped in darkness, where freedom belonged to only a few and justice was a mere vision. And then, as darkness reigned supreme and the times were filled with such evil and despair that it seemed they could hold no more — the Light shone…’ At this point, he lit the ‘Christ candle’ which was passed in turn to the elders and then to the congregation. Wax drippings on carpets and pew cushions and hymnals seemed a small price to pay.
Some Christmas Eve services are more memorable than others. Like the year of the Christmas deep freeze when the choir sat huddled beneath blankets while the organ made hi-pitched whining sounds. The little flames gave the welcomed illusion of warmth. After the service, our poinsettias froze and turned black on the short walk to the car. And there was that year my flame got too close to the soprano sitting in front of me — although I never quite understand all the fuss. It was just one of her long, blond hairs that caught fire; and it isn’t as though it flamed up. It just kind of melted and disappeared — leaving a stench that wasn’t even as bad as burnt toast.
John has a different role in the service these days. Before the lights are extinguished, he slips into a small room off the chancel with a mini-light, a 
microphone, and a script — and closes the door. He wears his Christmas Eve suit (the one with wax on the jacket and pants.)
From that dark room, comes the bass voice of God, describing a black world filled with sin and misery. Then the minister speaks as he lights the Christ candle. At the appointed time, a choir member taps lightly on the door — a sign for God to speak once more. God’s hearing is slightly diminished this year so the tap on the door will need to be more forceful than in the past…
The size of our congregation has diminished; it’s been years since we’ve needed folding chairs in the aisle. Our children and grandchildren aren’t sure if they’ll make it home this year but one thing is for sure. We know where we’ll be on Christmas Eve…
17 Comments
What a wonderful blog…made me cry. I too, cherish the true meaning of Christmas and I thank you for sharing such special memories in this blog. I wish you and your entire family a very blessed New Year.
Ms. Peggy, Hope you and yours had a wonderful Christmas and New Years. The Neighbors kept the dogs barkin till midnight or under the covers an hour before midnight. Mike is starting the year off pretty good with some of his shows. Can’t beleive in March we turn 50. Is there any way I can meet him in person to give him a birthday hug? My only resolution and wish for the new year. Hope your year goes great. Pat from Auburn,AL
Mrs. Rowe, thank you for this beautifully written memory. It is so near to my own memories of this time of year that it made me cry. I too miss the way Christmas used to be. The way a lot of things used to be. Thank you again your this most beautiful gift of sentiment. -Michelle
Mrs. Rowe,
Congratulations on the success of your son Mike. I feel that children are a reflection of thier upbringing and parents. Good Job Mom!
I too have Eagle Scout sons. Three of them, and I am a very proud dad.
To that end, my last son made his Eagle in September 2011, in September 2012 will most likely be his last event he will attend as a Boy Scout, called Scout Expo being held here in Northern California at Beale AFB. We expect over 8500 Scouts and Scouters from all over California to attend.
I have tried to contact Mike to ask if he would be able to MC or be a part of the show, but haven’t had any luck. I would imagine you see or talk to him on a regular basis. What do you think the chances are of having him appear on stage for the Scouts in Northern California?
Anthony G. Scotch
Troop Committee Chair Troop 465
Scout Expo Arena Show volunteer
You have such a wonderful way of expressing what all of us feel but don’t have the gift of your writing. I have enjoyed all of your wonderful stories and look forward to more in 2012. I sometimes feel peace after reading your stories, I am not sure why. But thank you. God Bless you and your family this holiday season and may all of you remain safe.
Ok, I’m sitting here at work, wiping away tears, praying my mascara isn’t running down my face. But this blog is so beautiful, Mrs. Rowe. I love it – there is nothing more important than Jesus at Christmas and always. Thank you for writing this. It puts joy in my heart and I can feel your love and enthusiasm behind it. I wish I would have been able to read it sooner, but it is still a blessing nonetheless. I hope you and your entire family had a wonderful Christmas and that the New Year brings lots of blessings for you all!
I would love to be sitting there with all of you in the darkened church, your husband speaking from behind the door, your pastor saying “the Light shone” and then to see the Christ candle lit. The Light entering the dark world. For me, that says it all. It must have been a beautiful service.
I hope that you and Mr. Rowe had a wonderful Christmas spent with those you love and hold dear. A late “Merry Christmas” from me~~
Merry Christmas, Mrs. Rowe! And to your loved ones, too. It’s so hard to adjust to changing traditions. Divorces, marriages, deaths, and births all change the memories of Christmas traditions that we hold so dear.
I so long for the days when Christmas Eve brought magic and excitement and suspense… when the children listened to the Christmas story and sang carols while the women cleared the dinner dishes and the men laughed and told stories around the living room.
Now Christmas Eve is my small family of four and my recently widowed father-in-law opening a small mound of gifts. The children still get read the Christmas story, but for me, the magic is gone. After a very hard year, I find myself wondering if it ever comes back?
Yep, they say “change is good,” but we all know there is comfort to be found in that which stays true. Thank you, Mrs. Rowe, for illustrating that through it all the message remained intact. (Plus, Mr. Rowe wearing the same Christmas suit year in and year out falls under the guise of a small miracle, and gives hope to many of us!) Warm wishes to you, and the rest of your loved ones, on this First Day of Christmas!
Oops. I have to correct myself—make that the Second Day of Christmas!(Sorry, that was going to bug me.)But the wishes are still the same!
Traditions are wonderful! Merry Christmas to you and Mr. Rowe.
Beautiful and touching, as always. Merry Christmas to you and yours, Mrs. Rowe.
I agree Peggy, Christmas Eve services are so special, I swear when I’m attending them it feels like Jesus wraps his arms around me and give me a big hug.
Merry Christmas to you and John.
Tradition comforts and warms us . I believe others just as well as our own. Thank You and Merry Christmas.
What a wonderful Christmas blog, Mrs Rowe.
Merry Christmas!!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and your wonderful family!
Merry Christmas to you and Mr. Rowe!!!