Caroling In the Neighborhood

Shortly before Christmas a group of St. Helen parishioners (adults, families, RCIA folks, singles, etc) joined with members from St. Mark's Episcopal to carol in the neighborhood. The event was conceived as an evangelization effort, trying to invite the unchurched to appreciate the beautiful carols of Christmas, their rich Christian meaning. To this end, Katherine from St. Mark's and Joan from St. Helen's put together a booklet, which we left at each house. The booklet included 8 popular hymns and their meanings, a message from the pastors of St. Mark's, Spinning Road Baptist, and St. Helen's, and also the Christmas service schedule for these three churches. After a pizza dinner at St. Helen's, the group of about 50 split into two and off we went, with amazing results. In the group in which I caroled, just one person did not respond, but: all others opened their doors, some stepped outside in the cold to join the singing after being given a booklet, one took pictures, 2 cried, all smiled, one told of a recent family death and said that this was so helpful for her, one said that in his 50 years of life this had never happened to him. We ended the evening with hot chocolate and cookies at St. Mark's. Did any attend our Christmas services as a result? We will probably never know, but our gratification was enormous. And isn't that just the way God usually works?

So This Is Christmas

In her book, In Search of Belief, Joan Chittister says that as adults we realize that the real meaning of Christmas is finding life where we don't expect life to be. Certainly in that Bethlehem manger that was true. Who would have expected to find new life in that setting - not only new life - but NEW LIFE ! - as we came to reflect on the Incarnation event. As I have looked for the truth of this statement in my own life, I have been surprised to observe how often this is the case - how often, as Chittister says, Christmas can be an everyday event, if only we have eyes to see. Sitting in a Kroger store recently with my 94-year-old father, waiting for his flu shot, I cringed as a straggly, greasy-haired young man took the seat next to me. His dirty clothes and unshaven face caused me to move imperceptibly toward my father's chair and turn my gaze to the distance. But when dad was taken back for his shot, this man turned to me to say how lucky I was to still have my father with me. His dad had died a few months earlier. He smiled kindly toward dad when he emerged and I stood to take his arm. Thanking the man, I left with my ego properly checked, thinking how we sometimes need others to remind us of our blessings, and to again chastise that part of myself that is so quick to judge. May you find new life in the oddest places, not only this Christmas day, but throughout the coming new year.