Loud Night, Holy Night

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

In the early 1990s, my sister, Virginia, came to visit me the week before Christmas. It was her idea to go to a bar. My suggestion that we cozy up with our jammies, hot chocolate, popcorn, and a Christmas movie was met with great disdain. Virginia enlisted the help of my roommate, Kristen, to convince me to go. Of course this was long before I was married with children, so I was as footloose and fancy free as a Presbyterian pastor could be. As far as Virginia and Kristen were concerned, there was just no good reason to stay home. That is why I found myself stuck in a smoke-filled bar that reeked with drunken breath and bad music. Random barflies belted out very bad renditions of Madonna and the B-52’s. Each person who took the stage gloried in a briefest encounter with stardom. Those brave enough to take their chance at fleeting fame, sang to a largely disinterested crowd that showed no mercy or compassion for effort.

This is precisely why I was baffled when Virginia decided that she and Kristen should do a duet together. Mind you, they have talent. Both studied voice in college and grew up singing in a church choirs. But why, oh why, would they stand before a raging sea of intoxication to display their talent? Surely that sea would engulf them in humiliation. To make matters worse, they decided not to choose a number sure to please the crowd. They chose a song they knew. Mind you, they only knew church songs. Kristen has a beautiful soprano voice, a perfect match for my sister’s alto harmony. Compared to the scantily clad and heavily made up faces of the women before them, Kristen and Virginia looked like they were trying to play a game of “which one doesn’t belong.” Looking every bit the choir girls they were, the two took the mic and told the Karaoke DJ they wanted to sing, “O Holy Night.”

“Oh please,” I groaned to myself. “Just let this night be over.” The music began amidst the noise and clamor of the bar. I braced myself for the cackles and the booing that previous singers provoked. Instead the most amazing thing happened. When Kristen and Virginia opened their mouths to sing, their voices floated over the chaos and seemingly sprinkled it with calm, peace and quiet. Everything came to an abrupt halt. Each head turned to see where the creamy blend of melody began. It seemed that no one moved. No one cheered. No one booed. No one did anything but stare at the choir girls and listen.

I will never forget that moment. As I watched the scene freeze before my eyes, I was stunned. People who had come that night for some fun and escape from their dull lives, found so much more. People who sought to drown out the misery of lost dreams and hopes in a few drinks, turned to listen to a promise. People who came to be famous for a moment, stopped to hear a song about true worth. They all stopped that night---the patrons, the bartenders, the waitresses --- they stopped for a moment of holiness. For an instant, that bar became a place of worship. For a brief space in time, the hope of the Christ child filled a room and brought it peace. It was as if someone, somewhere had pushed a pause button on crazy chaos, and it was all so glorious. But as soon as the song ended, insanity played again. An explosion of wild cheers and applause erupted for Kristen and Virginia. Ecstatic joy expressed unlike anything I have ever seen in the many churches I have attended.

It was Holy night in that smoky Trenton bar. For a moment, it felt as if Christ had appeared and the souls gathered together to feel their worth. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoiced that night. For that very moment, I will remain eternally grateful. When forced to leave my comfort zone, I heard the angel voices in a way I never had in a church service. “O night, O Holy Night, O night divine!”

Humans forced to leave their comfort zone to discover Holiness has always been God’s story. It was certainly part of Mary and Joseph’s. May Christ appear to us on our journey to Bethlehem this year. May he transform the uncomfortable places we encounter into holy places. For in that holy space, our souls discover their true worth.

Manger Gazing

Years ago, I was an Associate Pastor for family ministry. As such, one of my responsibilities was the annual Christmas pageant. Directing such an event is certainly not for the faint of heart or weak in spirit. It was an annual test of my faith and fortitude. Challenges included---but were certainly not limited to---every parent wanted their child in the pageant, but all were too busy to attend the desperately needed rehearsals. The costumes were ancient, but could not be replaced because the saint who made them 30 years earlier was still a member of the congregation and no one wanted to hurt her feelings. The shepherds, mostly boys, and the angels, all girls, did not want to stand near each other. And so it went each year,a mad and oddly joy-filled free-for-all.

One unforgettable occasion, a little boy was supposed to read the prophesy from Isaiah 11:1-10 filled with beautiful promises such as, "The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them." Instead of reading Isaiah's promise, the child read the same verses from the book of Daniel (Lord only knows why). So as the baby Jesus doll laid in the manger, the narrator read, "At that time, I Daniel, had been mourning for three weeks. I had eaten no rich food, no meat or wine had entered my mouth, and I had not anointed myself at all for the full three weeks. . . My strength left me, and my complexion grew deathly pale, I retained no strength. . .I fell into a trance, face to the ground."

Mortified as the director, I felt my strength leave me and my complexion must have grown deathly pale. I sat in the front pew wishing that I could fall into a trance, face to the ground, but no such luck was to be had that Christmas Eve. In fact, Joseph, obviously bored with Mary and the baby, went to go hang out with his far more interesting friends, the shepherds. The shepherds had learned that one could "hook" an angel with their shepherd hooks and so they tormented the angels behind them. There was no peace in that Bethlehem scene. Just pushing and shoving amongst the angels and shepherds, a Joseph that had lost his focus, and a narrator reading words of doom instead of promise. The only exception to the nightmare was Mary. Sweet, amazing Mary somehow managed to ignore the frenzy around her to stare intently at the Madame Alexander baby doll as if it were truly the baby Jesus. Though I do not remember the child's name, I have never forgotten her inspiring tenacity. It was a Christmas gift that has returned to me each year.

The image of that lone child surrounded by a wild cast of characters portrays God's call to each of us during the Christmas season. We listen for Christ's promise, even when words of doom are proclaimed by a misguided soul. We keep our focus even if someone who is supposed to stand beside us decides to wander off into mischief. We remain calm and keep our balance as we kneel before prince of peace, instead of getting "hooked" by the bad behavior of others.

The world could use some more Marys. Both the Mary in the Bible and the little girl who gave an Academy-Award-winning performance in that Christmas pageant. For it is the Marys of the world who allow Christ's love to be born on earth---even in the midst of chaos and brokenness. Mary is the one who says, "Let it be with me according to your word."---instead of according to the frenzy surrounding me. This Christmas season, I am going to try to be more like Mary. Even if the miracle of the Christmas story doesn't unfold seamlessly or perfectly in my life, I am going to fix my gaze upon the Christ child.

May God bless each of us with the willingness and courage to gaze upon the promise of Christ throughout the Advent Season. For the miracle of Christmas comes not from directing others to behave in a way that pleases us. The miracle of Christmas comes from pointing our gaze toward the manger of divine love, no matter how badly others are acting. So come, let us adore him so that God's gifts of peace, love and joy can unfold on earth.