When I served as pastor and teacher of the church at Old Monroe, Missouri, Wilbert would walk from his lake home to worship on Christmas Eve. Although he had become a member of the Roman Catholic Church sometime after his confirmation, he always came home for Christmas Eve. His holy pilgrimage was made through snow, ice, and mud. I recall the year that he fell among the bramble bushes and arrived at the candlelight service a bit tattered from the thorns.
Years later, I would walk from our country home down the half mile lane to the highway and walk to the 11:00 PM service at Salem United Church of Christ. After midnight, when the service ended and all the congregants had gone home, I would walk, lantern in hand, back home. Those were deeply spiritual times with the winter winds quickening my spirit and the moonlight falling across the glistening snow. Wilbert was my inspiration. His discipline taught me discipline. His Christmas pilgrimage informed mine.
I have not yet discovered a new place to walk on Christmas Eve. Since 2006, I have been adrift, often in transition as Christmas comes, traveling from New Hampshire to Missouri or Florida. It is a strange rhythm being so far from home on Christmas--too far to walk to the communion table and candlelight worship.
And even so, Christmas comes to me, to us, to a conflicted and confused world. The Nativity is near. God always finds a way to be near and to create a home where I may dwell. The Child is born. God's peace is here, Alleluia!
Years later, I would walk from our country home down the half mile lane to the highway and walk to the 11:00 PM service at Salem United Church of Christ. After midnight, when the service ended and all the congregants had gone home, I would walk, lantern in hand, back home. Those were deeply spiritual times with the winter winds quickening my spirit and the moonlight falling across the glistening snow. Wilbert was my inspiration. His discipline taught me discipline. His Christmas pilgrimage informed mine.
I have not yet discovered a new place to walk on Christmas Eve. Since 2006, I have been adrift, often in transition as Christmas comes, traveling from New Hampshire to Missouri or Florida. It is a strange rhythm being so far from home on Christmas--too far to walk to the communion table and candlelight worship.
And even so, Christmas comes to me, to us, to a conflicted and confused world. The Nativity is near. God always finds a way to be near and to create a home where I may dwell. The Child is born. God's peace is here, Alleluia!
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