Christmas Eve, 10:30 a.m. - I am finishing up Christmas preparations by distributing worship aids among the pews. It's been a wonderfully long month - long because 17 straight workdays, wonderful because there is no place I'd rather be, no activity I'd rather be doing. I've hooked my playlist up to the sound system in this 75 foot ceilinged cathedral. Three funerals this week and now I hear "I heard the bells on Christmas day, their old familiars carols play... There is no peace on earth I said, for hate is strong and mars the song..." As the final verse approaches I thank God for a little wink - the church bells are shaking the steeple above me, ringing clearly from the highest point in Watertown. "God is not dead nor does he sleep."
Christmas Eve, 9:48 p.m. - During the middle of our first Choral Lessons and Carols program, I am thankful for how respectfully and careful the choristers read Scripture. There is evidence of deliberate rehearsal. For Mass, one goes through training on how to proclaim Scripture. This time a few choristers haven taken the cue, reading with emotion, but not overly dramatic. May God's Word not return void on any ears that hear.
Christmas Eve... er Day...12:05 a.m. - The second choral lessons program has gone quite nicely, better than I anticipated. Nervousness covers a multitude of sins. Sister welcomes the congregation to Midnight Mass with "Good Morning." I give a smirk to the choir assuming she has misread the greeting on her sheet. It's not til 9 hours later during a morning service that I realize she was correct. 12:05 is morning and I had written the greeting incorrectly. I give my third attempt to bring the alternate harmony to our first hymn, "O Come All Ye Faithful," a version used a few hours earlier at Kings College with boys singing the descants in a pure tone. I'm not satisfied with the dozens of wrong notes, but no one really cares since its far more obvious that I have taken my hands off the keyboard and some trumpet pipe has decided to maintain its drone. It's done the same for me in personal practice time but never before in a service. "The Lord Be With You," Monsignor declares after a few awkward seconds. "We have decided to insert a special solo for you this evening." I blush and do not laugh with the congregation. At earlier Masses we sang "Silent Night" the sentimental way with guitar. This time its for real.
Christmas Day 1:30 a.m. - I joyfully skip out of church to my car to head home for a nap. The snow falls softly. A best friend prepares a snowball. This is a joyful day. "Angel's and men rejoice for tonight darkness fell into the dawn of love's light."
Christmas Day 8:43 a.m. - There is nothing like realizing the worship aid you printed has a typo in the creed. Straight up heresy. How horribly easy it is to get a few thousand people to declare together that they believe something their ancestors were martyred resisting - because you merely made a typo! Well, thankfully it's not too obviously heresy. Nothing about the hypostatic union or the filioque. The Chreasters won't realize what happened. The faithful congregation has it memorized and isn't looking to closely. Only Monsignor gives me a quizzical look.
Christmas Day 10:49 a.m. - It's been a long, full, delightful celebration. I reflect on the different types of service that have taken place. The evening Masses with its children's pageants attracted families; the times attracted two full buildings without enough chairs for all. The midnight Masses attracted a crowd I will deem traditional. A few more bells, whistles, and incense is included; they don't mind that it adds a few minutes to the service. For some of these octogenarians it brings back memories from another millennium. The morning services attracted quite a mix. Some were present for a Mass last night. Some have come to the conclusion of family celebrations and, well, might as well go to Mass. Many are there with huge servants hearts, musicians, ushers, proclaimers for the second time in 12 hours because they love building up the body of Christ.
