In Good Faith: Christmas Rising

 Merry Christmas! Here's a column I wrote for the local paper. 

Christmas Rising

One of the great things about living in South Florida in December is the ability to take morning

walks along the beach. I mean, technically I could have done this when I lived in New England, but it would have been a lot less pleasant. Jack Frost nipping at your nose, and all that. Frankly, I really don’t need to see my breath ever again.

But I love taking our dogs for walks on the beach every morning and watching the sunrise. Like snowflakes — which I also don’t miss — no two sunrises are alike. The interplay between light and clouds, horizon and sky leads to infinite possibilities and a kaleidoscope of ever-changing hues. If you ever wonder whether there is, in fact, a God, I highly recommend daily walks along the beach. And this has absolutely nothing to do with that whole “footprints in the sand” business. 

One of the things I can’t help but notice on these walks is the number of people holding up cell phones to capture the moment. At one level, I get it. When we experience stunning beauty, we want to capture it, or memorialize it by adding it to our phone’s camera roll. We want to relive special moments, or what I would consider glimpses of glory, over and over again.

Of course, there are two problems with this. First, despite all the advances in cell phone technology, our amateur images can’t possibly capture the wonder of creation. They can’t recreate what your eyes see and what your heart experiences when the sun breaks the plane on the horizon at the dawn of a new day. 

And second, I want to yell in my best grumpy old man voice, “Put down your phones! Look at the beauty that surrounds you!” I don’t do this, though. Mostly because it would scare the dogs. I simply wish people would delight in the natural beauty of the earth rather than trying to be the next great Instagram influencer. 

One of the great spiritual gifts is the joy of wonder. Not trying to capture an image of wonder, but simply the wonder itself. Christmas is a season of wonder. I don’t mean this in the “It’s the most wonderful time of the year” kind of way. Because that just makes me think of a car commercial. Nissan, I think. 

But to revel in the “wonders of his love,” as we sing in Joy to the World, is at the heart of the nativity story. The shepherds quake, the angels sing, and the world rejoices as God enters the world in human form. For Christians, the Son of Righteousness shines brighter than even the sun itself. And all we can do is gaze in wide wonder as the Christ child is born anew in our hearts and in our world.

However and wherever you celebrate Christmas this year, whether with us at Bethesda-by-the-Sea in Palm Beach or at another spiritual home, please know that you yourself are a wonder of God’s love. The same God who created the heavens and the earth, the moon and sun and stars, also created you and loves you with deep and reckless abandon. 

Through the birth of God’s son, a light truly does shine in the darkness at Christmas. May the wonders of his love be with you and your loved ones this holy season.

Photo credit: Juergen Roth 

Unsolicited Christmas Sermon Advice

For clergy all over the world, ’tis the season to stress about what to say on Christmas Eve. The

criteria for preachers is simple. Your sermon should be: welcoming, insightful, funny, profound, moving, relatable, invitational, and short. No big deal, right?

Having preached over 20 Christmas Eve (and Christmas Day!) sermons over the years, I thought I’d share some unsolicited advice for preachers. I’ve surely violated some of these over the years, so please don’t take this as homiletical self-righteousness. Just a few tips I’ve picked up along the way. 

Most of these are probably obvious. But, having also listened to a number of Christmas sermons over the years, they may not be as obvious as one might expect. The thing is, Christmas Eve should be a night not just of tradition, but of transformation. And preachers have a unique opportunity to share the gospel with many who are yearning to hear a word of hope. 

1. Keep it short. This is not the time to try to say everything you ever learned about Christmas. That’s for the pre-Christmas dinner grace that you will be inevitably asked to say.

2. Let Scripture and music do the heavy lifting. Generally speaking, our preaching can’t hold a candle to how people will be moved by St. Luke’s account of the birth narrative, or the singing of the familiar carols. We all know that nobody leaves church humming the sermon.

3. Avoid words like homoousious. You may be really jazzed that Jesus is “of the same substance as the Father.” So am I! But this is not be the time for a Greek word study. Save that for your popular 18-week series on the Nicene Creed.

4. Don’t throw Santa under the bus at the pageant service. Actually at any service. You just never know who may be nestled in those pews at Midnight Mass.

5. Preach the gospel. In the end, that’s all that really matters. “Christ the Savior is born.” 

6. Connect through story. If you don’t have a personal story of how love came down at Christmas and changed your life, that’s fine. Just lean on the nativity story. That never fails (“greatest story ever told” and all that). 

7. Please don’t forget to tell people Jesus loves them. Because it’s true. And also because people — especially those who don’t attend church regularly — don’t hear this nearly enough.

Preachers, know that I am praying for you this holy season. When you speak faithfully from the heart, the people in your congregation will indeed see a great light. Wherever you serve, thank you for your ministry. It makes a difference. And it matters. 

Merry (almost) Christmas!

PS. The image above is of St. John's Church in Hingham, MA (a place I preached 14 of those Christmas sermons).

In Good Faith: A Bedrock Christmas

In my (for now very occasional) In Good Faith column, I write about the ultimate Christmas prophecy: from The Flintstones.

A Bedrock Christmas

Did you know, there’s a Christmas episode of the Flintstones? It originally aired on December

25, 1964, as part of the original cartoon series. In it, Fred gets a part-time job at Macyrock’s department store to help finance the family’s Christmas. Mr. Macyrock initially fires Fred for being his usual doofus self, but reconsiders when he learns that the store’s regular Santa Claus has the flu. Fred proves a natural at entertaining the children and by the end of his stint, Mr. Macyrock proclaims Fred as the best Santa they’ve ever had. 

Oh, but that’s not the end of the story. On Christmas Eve, two of Santa’s elves, named Blinky and Twinky, appear to Fred as Macyrock’s is closing for the night. They explain to Fred that the real Santa Claus is sick and they ask him to help deliver presents to children around the world. As Fred steps in to save the day, we see him perched atop Santa’s sleigh shouting “Merry Christmas” in French, Italian, German, Dutch, English, and Swedish. 

This is all very nice, until you do the math. And you think, “Wait a minute. The Flintstones took place in the Stone Age. That was two-and-a-half million years before Jesus was born in Bethlehem.”

But as Christmas has become increasingly secular, it’s entirely possible to celebrate the holiday like the Flintstones: completely devoid of faith. You can celebrate Christmas without any sense of what it’s about or why it matters. 

Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with this. Many of the people we know and care about lean into this mid-winter celebration with great joy. They put up beautifully decorated trees and reverently place garland on their banisters. They gather friends and family for Christmas dinner, pulling out all the culinary stops, reveling in this most wonderful time of the year. This is all good and even holy in its own way. But, as with the Flintstones’ Christmas, there’s something missing. 

For Christians, the deep truth embedded in the celebration of our Lord’s birth is that God entered the world in human form. Not to condemn the world in its brokenness, but as an act of love. That’s the source of our joy; it’s what lights up the world, making it brighter than even the gaudiest holiday displays.

This season, I invite you to pause amid your own revelry to reflect upon the light that transcends even the brightness of the famous Worth Avenue Christmas tree. This is the light that shines in the darkness, but the darkness did not and cannot overcome it. It is the light that enters our hearts anew year after year. It is the light that offers desperately needed hope and meaning to our lives. 

Truth be told, I’m still not sure why Fred yelled out “Merry Christmas!” rather than “Yabadabadoo!” from Santa’s sleigh in that Flintstones’ Christmas episode. But however and wherever you celebrate this year, please know that you are deeply loved by the God who created you. And that through the birth of God’s son, God invites you into an ever-deepening and ever-unfolding relationship. 

Merry Christmas, friends. May the true joy of this season shine brightly within you.

The Rev. Tim Schenck serves as Rector of the Church of Bethesda-by-the-Sea in Palm Beach. 

In Good Faith: Dreaming of a White Christmas?

In my first column after a bit of a hiatus (moving, switching jobs, etc), I write about spending my first Christmas in Florida and how what never changes is the timelessness of the Incarnation.

Dreaming of a White Christmas?

This being my very first Christmas in Florida, after serving a church in New England for the past

14 years, I have a few initial impressions. The first being that I can’t fully wrap my head around the fact that it’s Christmastime. Taking the dogs for a leisurely morning walk on the beach in the days leading up to the 25th has dashed all my dreaming of a white Christmas. I couldn’t see my breath, my fingers and toes weren’t numb, I didn’t race home to build a fire in the fireplace, and there was certainly no backbreaking snow to shovel.

And then there were the beautiful evergreen wreaths we bought for the front door of the rectory. They lasted a day or two before they were blasted by the sun and turned brown. But we’re quick learners, and they have since been replaced by artificial ones. 

Finally, certain Christmas carols and hymns land a bit differently down here. In the Bleak Midwinter? Not so much. Frosty the Snowman? Puddle of water. 

By the way, I’m not complaining. In fact, I am all in. I’ll probably be stringing up lights on palm trees next year.

But whether you’re trudging through slush or walking barefoot in the sand, what doesn’t change at Christmas is the timelessness of God’s love for humanity. God entering the world in human form transcends time and space, geography and weather.

And despite the nostalgia for a white Christmas with sleigh bells ringing and walking in a winter wonderland, it didn’t actually snow on that first Christmas Day. How do I know? I’m no meteorologist, but Jesus was born in the Middle East. So the odds of a blast of nordic air smacking the shepherds and angels gathered around the manger the night of Jesus’ birth were about zero.

Of course that doesn’t matter — it doesn’t change anything. Christmas isn’t about some bygone five-day forecast. It’s not dependent upon ideal weather conditions or snow-making machines. It’s about the hope of the world being born in less-than-ideal circumstances. It’s about joy entering our lives amid the mud and muck of a stable rather than a palace birthing room. It’s about a light shining in the darkness, and the darkness being unable to overcome it. It’s about remembering and reaching out to the least, the lost, and the lonely this season.

Wherever you are, whatever your faith tradition, whatever the weather, I hope you’ll open your heart to the Christmas story this year. When we receive it in a way that cuts through the sentimentality of the season, it can’t help but be a vehicle of hope and transformation. And let’s be honest — we could all use a dose of that these days.

If you are seeking a church home or simply want to celebrate the miracle of our Savior’s birth this Christmas, please know that there is always a place for you at the Church of Bethesda-by-the-Sea. But wherever you choose to worship, may God bless you in the year ahead and may you have a very merry, if not particularly snow-filled, Christmas. 

In Good Faith: Christmas is Canceled?

In my December In Good Faith column, I write about the inability to steal or even cancel Christmas. 

Christmas is Canceled?

In a normal year, many of us would be heading over the river and through the woods to
grandmother’s house. But this is not a normal year and we don’t want to inadvertently give grandma COVID. 

In a normal year, we might go Christmas caroling to wish our neighbors a Merry Christmas and demand some figgy pudding in return. But this is not a normal year, singing is a great way to spread the virus, and figgy pudding sounds dreadful. 

In a normal year, the faithful would gather at church on Christmas Eve “joyful and triumphant” to welcome the newborn king. But this is not a normal year and, because we love one another, we’ll be holding services exclusively online. 

Yes, there is much to mourn this year. We miss the joy of being together with friends and loved ones; we miss hugs and cookie swaps and the sharing of holiday cheer; we grieve for the family and civic traditions that won’t happen; Christians miss the sights and sounds of gathering in sacred space to mark this holy time. On the surface of things, it all feels different because it is all different. 

I stumbled upon a rather misleading headline in a British tabloid last week that proclaimed, “Christmas Canceled for Millions.” The subtext was a government decision to implement lockdown measures to combat a new strain of the coronavirus. And while I don’t doubt this will financially and socially impact many in England, the problem is, that’s not how Christmas works. As the classic Dr. Seuss story How the Grinch Stole Christmas reminds us, you can’t actually “steal” or even cancel Christmas. 

And that’s the good news as we prepare to celebrate Christmas in unique ways this year. The trimmings and trappings, the parties and presents fade away, leaving us with the very essence of the celebration: love entering the world in human form. That love may show up in a stable, but it’s up to us to bring that love into our own lives and then share it with the world. Love simply cannot be canceled.

Perhaps that’s the true miracle of Christmas in 2020. Not that everything is perfect — we don’t live in a Hallmark Christmas movie where there is always a predictable and happy ending — but that God sees our struggles and enters into them by walking right alongside us. God takes all that is not ideal in our own lives — the loneliness, the brokenness, the fear, the heartbreak, the grief — and through relationship with us, transforms it into a loving, liberating, life-giving hope.

Wherever and however you celebrate Christmas this year, I pray it will ultimately be about love. Not the sentimental kind, but the transformative kind that triumphs over every fear. The kind that reminds you that God delights in you simply for who you are, even when you’re feeling down or imperfect or overwhelmed. Because it’s not just true that God loves you, it’s the deepest truth there is.

So if there’s one thing to remember this Christmas, it’s that while everything is different, nothing ultimately changes. Merry Christmas, friends, and please do stay safe out there.

In Good Faith: Wait For It

In my December In Good Faith column, I reflect on household nativity set wars of the not-so-distant past, and share what they can reveal about theology.

Wait For It

In the not-so-distant past, great wars erupted over baby Jesus in our house. Not the actual, living, breathing baby Jesus who burst into the world on that first Christmas Day, but the small figurine that accompanied our crèche. Our household was evenly split on whether baby Jesus should be placed in the manger before Christmas or on Christmas. 

The argument for putting him into the nativity set earlier in December revolved around his being an

integral part of the scene. What’s a crèche without Jesus? It’s just a bunch of shepherds and wise men standing around a cold stable for no apparent reason. Not to mention the accusations flying around about not being in the proper Christmas spirit. What’s next? Not hanging a wreath on the front door?

The other side of the debate held that Advent, the liturgical season that precedes Christmas, is all about anticipation and waiting. Be patient! Jesus is on the way, but has not yet arrived. If you can wait until the 25th to open your presents, you can wait a couple more weeks to complete the nativity tableau. 

Once the boys got involved and started taking sides — opposing ones, naturally — baby Jesus ended up in a few tug-of-wars. In the absence of Jesus, the empty manger would invariably be filled with someone: Spiderman. Mrs. Incredible. A stray army man. Though, the Hulk was too big and knocked the whole thing over. And there was that one year, someone hid baby Jesus so well that he didn’t turn up until after Easter. 

In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor issue with which to contend. In a world where famine and persecution and natural disasters and crushing poverty is encountered every day, Jesus himself wouldn’t be overly concerned with precious nativity sets placed on mantle places, often more for decoration than devotion. 

But theologically speaking, both responses to the baby Jesus figurine conundrum are correct. Jesus is always present — that’s the Incarnational promise of Christmas, after all. That the Son of God entered the world in human form and abides with us through whatever we encounter in this mortal life. Yet that sense of anticipation is an integral part of our spiritual lives this season. It gives us the space to fully prepare ourselves to receive him anew each year. 

There are all sorts of nativity sets available on Amazon. In recent years I’ve seen one featuring Star Wars characters and another that’s comprised entirely of dogs. My favorite, though, is the Hipster Nativity Set ($59.95 on Amazon) complete with Mary and Joseph taking a selfie with baby Jesus, the Three Wisemen on Segways carrying Amazon Prime boxes, solar panels on the roof of the stable, and a shepherd in skinny jeans Snap-chatting the whole scene. 

In the end, if you’re setting up a crèche in the weeks before Christmas, I hope you’ll think deeply about the significance of it. Reflect on the characters, think about the story from their varying perspectives, and whatever you decide to do with baby Jesus, know that you are deeply and profoundly loved by God.

In Good Faith: Unexpected Endings

In my December In Good Faith column, I write about those insipid Hallmark Channel movies. Maybe, just maybe, we have something to learn from them? Yeah probably not.

Unexpected Endings

“Whoah! I did not see that ending coming.” This is a reaction that no one has ever had while watching a Christmas movie on the Hallmark Channel. The endless loop of these seasonal movies is nothing if not formulaic. 

If you’re not familiar with the genre, every movie has several common elements. They all

star a vaguely familiar-looking actress who used to star in Full House or the Wonder Years convinced that she will, once again, be spending Christmas alone. They take place in cleverly named fictional midwestern towns like Evergreen, North Dakota or Holly, Iowa. The male love interest is a chiseled, young widower with a perky elementary school-aged daughter. There’s a kindly white-bearded grandfatherly type named Nick who works at the small town hardware store and dispenses timely life advice. The budding romance has a seemingly insurmountable obstacle — a failing family business or a job opportunity in the big city. In the end, the obstacles are overcome, the couple falls hopelessly, if unexpectedly, in love just as it begins to snow, the Christmas soundtrack crescendoes, and the credits roll. 

Hallmark Christmas movies are cheesy, predictable, and incredibly popular. Millions tune in during the weeks leading up to Christmas and for many, these movies have become an integral part of the season — at least as important as hearing an endless stream of carols in the mall or picking up a peppermint latte at Starbucks.

How do I have any clue about the plot structure of these movies, you ask? Hallmark Christmas movies are one of my wife’s seasonal guilty pleasures. She’s not addicted or anything but after a full day of work, she’ll sometimes relax by making a big bowl of popcorn and clicking over to the Hallmark Channel. I end up catching enough to predict the ending after watching for two minutes. They are that predictable.

But I think that’s the whole point. In a world full of uncertainty, people are drawn to the familiar and formulaic. There’s something comforting about knowing precisely how things will end up. Since we don’t have that luxury in our daily lives, we crave such control in other areas. Enter Hallmark who understands this at a deep and highly lucrative level. As one Hallmark executive recently put it, “We own Christmas.”

But this is where the Christmas of Hallmark and the Christmas of faith differ. People of faith are not seeking to “own” Christmas but to live Christmas. And when living Christmas, there are no formulaic endings. The Christmas of faith is about wonder and surprise and transformation. It doesn’t always go according to plan because that’s not how life works. There is pain and grief and anxiety and unmet expectations. Jesus enters the world to offer hope and light amid the dark places of our lives, not to tie everything up with a beautiful bow. 

I don’t begrudge anyone watching a Hallmark Christmas movie. Go ahead, pour some hot chocolate, put on your most comfortable PJs, and enjoy this seasonal cotton candy. But I encourage you to also embrace the comfort of the Christmas story this year. Christians draw comfort in the familiarity of Mary and Joseph and the manger and we know how the story turns out. We revel in the liturgy of Christmas, in singing the traditional hymns, in celebrating with one another. 

Yet we also know that many in our midst stand outside the warm glow of the idealized Christmas, and that God entered the world in human form to bring comfort to the lost, the lonely, and the least. This may not make for the picture-perfect, expected ending but it does add hope and meaning to the reality of the human condition.

Tots & Toddlers Christmas Eve Service

Six years ago on Christmas Eve, several visiting families arrived with their children for our popular 4:00 pm pageant service. Their great sin? They arrived at 4:00 pm thinking there'd be "room at the inn." Which of course, there wasn't.

Our sympathetic ushers offered them the chance to stand outside the worship space and be brought in for communion but, with young children in tow, they decided to just leave quietly in great disappointment.

When I first heard this story a few days after Christmas, I cringed. Majorly. I could only imagine a family who, with great effort and perhaps some trepidation about walking into a new church, got the kids ready and out the door with joy in their hearts. Only to be turned away.

But in the end I didn't just cringe. I decided to do something so this would never happen again. Out of this Christmas Eve fail our newly conceived 2:00 pm Tots & Toddlers Service was born.

Now I'll be honest. The Pageant Service had gotten a little out of control. There's a reason I affectionately (for the most part) refer to it as the "Zoocharist." It's loud and joyful and energetic and chaotic. The Christmas story is told through the annual children's pageant, interspersed with carols, I read my Christianized version of The Night Before Christmas, and we share communion before sending everyone home with a blessing and candy canes.

The idea in creating the new service was to take the edge off the Pageant Service and offer an informal service for parents of little children in a more relaxed environment. At Tots & Toddlers (which one parishioner still insists on calling Toddlers & Tiaras), we tell the Christmas story in an accessible way as the children help me set up the creche with all the usual suspects. We also intersperse the action with single verses of traditional Christmas carols printed in the bulletin.

Since there obviously aren't enough wise men and sheep and angels, etc, to hand out to every child, we hand out stars to bring forward and place in the creche at the designated time. This way all the children feel as if they are participating and placing a tangible piece of themselves into the story of Jesus' birth.

We then bless the creche, share communion, and send them home after 40 minutes to bask in the warm glow of Christmas expectation and wonder.

The first year we had no idea how many to expect and 85 people showed up. The next few years it hovered between 100 and 150. This past Christmas Eve, it jumped to 220 and became the second largest of our four Christmas Eve services.

Did it really take the edge off the 4:00 pm Pageant Service? Kind of. It's definitely not as chaotic or loud but we've since installed TV screens in the parish hall so latecomers (or those actually coming on time) can view the service on a live video feed. This year we also had our assistant minister go into Upper Weld Hall to celebrate the eucharist concurrently for the 85 people who couldn't fit into the church.

But the real surprise has been the positive response from parents with young children who most likely wouldn't have attempted making it to church on Christmas Eve. It's also a way to draw our youngest children into the Christmas story in a fun, engaging, interactive way. Their faces make it all totally worth the extra effort it takes to add another service to an already full day.

I'm sharing this concept because several clergy have asked me about this liturgy. I'd be happy to share exactly what we do at St. John's with any parishes for whom this might be a viable option. Ultimately, I want every single person who attends church on Christmas Eve -- whether a longtime parishioner or someone taking tentative steps towards claiming a spiritual life -- to have a positive experience. We can't afford to turn anyone away. We just can't.

As you think about your line-up of Christmas services and what may work for your community, consider adding a Tots & Toddlers service. You may, like me, never look back!

In Good Faith: In the Bleak Midwinter?

In the Christmas edition of my In Good Faith column, I write about the rare (even in New England!) white Christmas. And why the Christmas weather really doesn't matter at all.

In the Bleak Midwinter?

Judging by the weekend weather forecast, it looks like we, yet again, won’t be getting that white Christmas we’ve been dreaming of. Bing Crosby can sing his heart out on the 24-hour Christmas music radio station your co-worker has been playing since Labor Day, but an actual white Christmas, even in New England, only seems to happen once per decade. Heck, last year it was 70 degrees on Christmas Day in Boston!

My first Christmas Eve serving my own congregation at a small parish just north of New York City, I remember opening the big oak doors as the candlelight service ended at midnight to see beautiful, fresh snow coming down in large flakes. It was such a stereotypical, idealized moment, yet I couldn’t help but acknowledge that it truly did feel holy. It was indeed a white Christmas! And if that can’t warm your heart, you’re a pre-conversion Ebenezer Scrooge.

I thought I was so special — it must have been the amazing sermon I preached — that this would undoubtedly happen every year. And…it hasn’t happened since. Nope. Not once.

But maybe that’s not so bad. Because in this era of fact-checking and fake news, it’s worth looking at this whole notion of a white Christmas. Certainly, the nostalgia-driven Christmas Industrial Complex adores the idea of snowfall on Christmas. Just look at the Christmas carols that perpetuate this state of yuletide perfection.

“In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan..snow had fallen, snow on snow.” And, “the snow lay on the ground, the stars shone bright, when Christ our Lord was born on Christmas night.” These are just a few of the hymns. If you look at the more popular seasonal music you’ll encounter, “Let it Snow,” “Frosty the Snowman,” and “Winter Wonderland.” 

That’s all fine, of course. It just didn’t actually snow on that first Christmas. How do I know? Um, because Jesus was born in the Middle East. So the odds of a blast of nordic air the night of Jesus’ birth is highly improbable. 

Of course that doesn’t matter — it doesn’t change anything. Christmas isn’t about some bygone five-day forecast. It’s not dependent upon ideal weather conditions or snow-making machines. It’s about the hope of the world being born in less-than-ideal circumstances. It’s about joy entering our lives amid the mud and muck of a stable rather than a sterile birthing room. It’s about God taking human form and changing the course of salvation history. It’s about a light shining in the darkness, and the darkness being unable to overcome it.

Wherever you are, whatever your faith tradition, whatever the weather, I hope you’ll open your heart to the Christmas story this year. When we receive it in a way that cuts through the sentimentality of the season, it can’t help but be a vehicle of hope and transformation. And let’s be honest — we could all use a dose of that now more than ever.

May God bless you in the year ahead and may you have a very merry, if not particularly snow-filled, Christmas. 

8 Christmas Eve "Welcoming Tips"

Hark! Christmas Eve is well nigh upon us! 

And this day offers congregations a unique opportunity to welcome and show Christian hospitality to visitors, seekers, strangers, and seasonal attendees. It's an exciting time to be in parish ministry and, while there's much to get done, it's also the very reason most of us have dedicated our lives to serve the church. As a former curate of mine likes to say, "This is our Super Bowl!"

There are some wonderfully creative ways to reach out to people and welcome them to your parish this season. From social media to musical offerings to invitational preaching, the options are abundant. 

To enhance the conversation, I thought I'd add a few additional tips for parishes to help make visitors feel particularly welcome on this most holy night. Definitely try at least a few of these and I guarantee your church will be the talk of the town.

1. Instead of the bride's side and the groom's side, have ushers ask whether people would prefer the "actually a parishioner side" or the "who are you we've never seen you before" side. This will come in handy when the preacher later brings up separating the sheep from the goats in the sermon.

2. Refer early and often to "those people" who have "not darkened the door of the church" along with the phrase "You know who you are!"

3. Judge rather than help people who have trouble navigating the Prayer Book/Hymnal/Bulletin juggling act. Snicker when they try to find Hymn 100 ("Joy to the World") but can only find S-100, that ever joyful plainsong version of the Trisagion.

4. At the announcements, remind everyone in the congregation (in a sarcastic tone) that you really do hold services more than once or twice a year. Also, toss around the term "communicant in good standing."

5. Make no mention of Christmas Eve services on your website or church answering machine. Or, if you do, make sure you've changed the service times since last year. Nothing says "Ho, ho, ho" quite like showing up just in time for the dismissal.

6. Don't explain the logistics of communion. It's best to keep newcomers' anxiety

about appearing foolish or "doing the wrong thing" ratcheted up as high as possible. Don't forget to correct anyone who says "thank you" after receiving the host by hissing "you mean 'amen.'"

7. Encourage parishioners to come in a few days before Christmas to drape coats over their regular pews to reserve them.

8. Keep the large front doors locked since everyone knows you go through that side door near the kitchen to get into the worship space.

Well, I hope this has given you a few extra ideas to make your guests feel welcome on Christmas Eve. What's the worst that could happen? They'll just try a different church on Easter.

Trolling the Ancient Yuletide Carols

"Troll the ancient yuletide carol. Fa la la la la la la la la." (Deck the Halls)

Now that seems an odd thing to do in this age of internet trolls. Why would you want to undermine/harass/annoy a bunch of well-meaning Christmas carols?

This line from "Deck the Halls" is but one example of word usage from a bygone era that we've been singing for so long we no longer even pause to think about the meaning. Back in the day (i.e. since about the 16th century to "troll" meant to sing merrily and with vigor).

Nonetheless I thought it would be fun to actually troll (in modern usage) a few of the ancient yuletide carols by looking at some of the other strange things we sing this time of year. And, by the way, if you hear someone walking around singing, "Fa la la la la la la la la," you may want to have them committed.

"Lo, he abhors not the Virgin's womb." (O Come, All Ye Faithful)
This may be the strangest wording of all. I mean, was abhorring wombs a thing? Did he abhor all other wombs except the Virgin's? It sure is a bizarre way to say that God chose Mary to bear God's son.

"Don we now our gay apparel." (Deck the Halls)
This one is low hanging fruit. Rather than putting on festive clothing, it seems to evoke that TV show "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." Remember that one?

"Round yon Virgin" (Silent Night)
Phrasing that simply means "the Virgin over there" always makes me hear Mary saying, "Are you calling me fat?!"

"Veiled in flesh the Godhead see." (Hark! The Herald Angels Sing)
There must be some other way to describe the Incarnation that doesn't make it sound like a gruesome crime scene from CSI: Miami.

"Let every heart prepare him room." (Joy to the World)
Receiving Christ anew in our hearts is what Christmas is about. This line, however, makes it sound like room service at the Holiday Inn.

"Ox and ass before him bow." (Good Christian Men, Rejoice)
It's one thing to have three kings show up with useless baby gifts and bow before you. This just feels...wrong.

"God rest ye merry, gentlemen." (God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen)
This one is odd but it all hinges on the word "merry." It doesn't mean "happy" but rather strong or mighty. Think of "Merry Old England" -- a mighty power, not a bunch of happy Brits. Of course the resting part makes me think of a group of guys sitting in loungers drinking spiked egg nog.

"Silent night." (Silent Night)
 Um, have you ever hung out with a newborn baby? Silent is the one word that definitely does NOT come to mind!

Well, there you go. Enjoy singing these fine Christmas carols throughout the 12 Days of Christmas, odd language notwithstanding. There's actually some profound theology embedded in these ancient carols when you get past the familiar yet archaic language. My prayer is that you will hear them in new and life-giving ways this season.