Lessons, carols, and 'coming home' for holidays

As I write this, I am listening to the CD "Angelic Voices," performed by the choir of Lincoln Cathedral. The last selection I heard was a great favourite of mine, "Lo, he comes with clouds descending." How I love that rousing hymn, the more when I am at services where those who have not been to church since Easter are joining the rest of us.

Yes - I know this is not what I 'should' be saying. I suppose I should be bemoaning the empty pews at other times. Yet I do not see where people who come home only for holidays are any less a part of the family. Theologically, indeed I could trace how the Eucharist (and psalms...) held the Church together when nothing else could - Lord knows there never was agreement on doctrine from the days of Peter and Paul's argument at Antioch. But I'm going from the sublime to the practical today. Not everyone is a churchgoer - and whether one is or not often has little to do with one's degree of devotion.

I am of Meditterranean background - and many of such stock, though they are believers (...not too much... just enough), and may call upon God regularly (or, at the very least, have a nice chat with his mother), shall not be noted for a huge emphasis on word and sacrament. Thankfully, religious practise also is not coloured by some sort of rosy devotion to the family... not amongst people who already have more family obligations than they know how to handle. Family, marriage, children - it is all about commitment and responsibility, not glorifying the state, not seeing parents as latter-day angels. Were anyone to write this up as a theological truth (unlikely), it would boil down to - this is the covenant - so now, live it. If this involves churchgoing, fine - but I would far rather see people avoid common worship than merely attend because it is what society expects, or as a mark of respectability.

I'm Franciscan: bring in the thieves, the members of the 'sex addicts group,' whomever - one who first promised Paradise to a manipulative thief on the Cross will not mind. The Church is (and always was) a motley mess - let's not think that the Church already is holy (...an affliction of those who are in the pew a good deal at times), and that one must exclude those less so. (Even if one must be careful to watch one's wallet. Let it not be said that I came through 27 years of Franciscan life totally unscathed.) Let them in for Christmas... then to be smudged on Ash Wednesday (how very appropriate, now that I think of it)... then to join in again at Easter. This is home!

Let us not 'knock' those who 'came for the concert' either. (As long as they do not look down their noses at the coughing man or the crying baby.) If music and liturgy gets someone through the door, then let us bless that as a means of grace, not give them nonsense (such as I heard in many an RC circle) about "you need to bring the beauty inside yourself." (Methinks that is overestimating just how beautiful most of our innards are.)

For all my love of Christmas, all of my enjoying the eschatological focus of Advent, this is a 'blue' time of year for me. I miss my friends - those who have died (I'm much too young to have so many of those...), those whom I sadly cannot see this Christmas. I dread the long, bitter winter ahead, and so hate the cold and dark. For me, services (with good music) are a balm.

Yesterday, I attended a lovely service of Lessons and Carols. (As it happened, I had the crying baby in front of me... That amazed me because, in the particular parish, there is no evidence that people have babies. They have children, of course, but my impression had been that they are never tiny, but instead hatched at just the age to be sent off to school.) The church, which is large, was absolutely packed, both for that service and for the Eucharist to follow. Claustrophobic though I am, I was happy to see the crowd, knowing well that many there had not visited in quite some time, and even that some may not be particularly Christian in beliefs. My only regret was that, with so many people packed so tightly, I could not sing 'full voice,' and was reduced to unhappy crooning.

Let's rejoice at everyone who is home for Christmas. (Don't give them collection envelopes or suggest the Alpha Course, please.)