’Twas the day of Christmas, and all across the land,
church members were trying their best to understand.
Oh, some things were the same — the ornaments and lights,
the sweets and treats, packages wrapped merry and bright.
But for many folks, it was still hard to believe,
that they had not been to church on that Christmas Eve.
They had not lifted their candles into the air;
they had not raised their voices in song or in prayer;
had not been able even to darken the doors,
for COVID had prevented this, and so much more.
This Christmas, though decorations filled up the rooms,
many loved ones were seen and heard only through Zoom,
or FaceTime, Google Hangout or some other name,
which was better than nothing, but hardly the same.
And so, this pastor wondered just what he might say,
to his flock watching on their screens this Christmas Day.
The more he thought about the truth of what he’d share,
he realized, for some, sadness had already been there.
For whether there’s a global pandemic or not,
people always mourn and grieve over what they’ve lost —
a job, a dream, a miscarriage, or other death;
the pain is real, each and every single Christmas.
The church is painfully aware of those who’ve died;
the loss is real, let no one never pretend otherwise.
By acknowledging this somber, serious note,
this pastor finds comfort in a poem of true hope.
For the faith in the child wrapped in swaddling clothes,
whispers that God became flesh in order to know,
the aching depths of human suffering and pain;
to be at one with us like the heat with the flame.
Yes, let us be grateful for what we have today:
for food and home, family, friends and kids at play.
And let’s acknowledge that we have all suffered loss,
(not that everyone has paid the very same costs)
but life has been turned upside down, inside out,
which means we might imagine those living without —
without the graces that we hold most dear and true;
let us empathize, and put ourselves in their shoes.
Yes, this is hard to do — “Impossible!” some say;
yet, God’s empathy’s why we celebrate this day.
The Almighty God became a helpless newborn,
to bring hope to the grieving, frightened and forlorn.
We are not left alone, deserted, forgotten;
because of love, God sent the only Begotten,
the son of heaven’s majesty and highest grace,
the same baby who … spit up! All over the place!
Aha! That’s not the Christmas image we’re used to!
But, O church, we have this great, messy work to do.
Of caring for others, as if they were our own,
for that’s how Christ renders our hearts as his home.
Whenever we give food, clothes or a kind list’ning ear,
the Risen Christ promised that he’d always be here.
It strikes this pastor that there’s a sermon in there, but …
Let’s not serve up too many words — it’s been quite a year.
Enjoy all you can of this unusual feast,
remembering Christ’s command to care for the least.
And let’s all join together in our hopeful prayers,
that vaccines will allow us to gather next year,
safe and sound in the sanctuary that we love,
making a joyful noise to the rafters above!
“May it be so” is the translation of “Amen” —
may God bless you and keep you ’til we meet again.
Now there’s just one thing left for this pastor to say:
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good day.
