'Twas the Week Before Christmas
Posted: Monday, December 19, 2011
by Jack H. Schick
My dad seldom went to church. My mom did half the time. We belonged to her family’s church—the Reformed Church out on Broad Street. When I was about eleven, for some reason, my dad suddenly got involved. My mom, or the minister or somebody roped him into being a volunteer. He taught younger kids Sunday school. It didn’t last long. Maybe he was just doing vacation relief or something. I doubt if they asked him to quit. I know how it is when you get bull-dogged into volunteering. It lasts forever.
When my dad got involve, we had to start going to Sunday school, too. At least he wasn’t our teacher. But, it meant an hour of that, a half hour in between, then an hour of church. It was incomprehensible. My brother whined and pretended to be sick a lot. I got mad and protested, “That means we have to spend two and a half hours at the church!” I kept envisioning him before, in the lounge chair in his pajamas reading the newspaper when Mom dragged us off just for the church part.
“It won’t kill you,” he said. “It might even do you some good.”
That episode, way back when, came to mind when we got home at 8:30 last night. I just shook my head and grinned. I’d spent about seven hours at ‘the church.’ Of course, time races by at a much faster clip when you get to be this old. It actually seemed shorter than those long, long Sunday mornings when I was a kid. Hanging around there yesterday could have done me some good, I guess. It just struck me as sort of funny and ironic, though.
Quakers don’t really celebrate Christmas; at least not officially or as a group. But, a lot of Friends like to get into the spirit and go check out other church services at holidays. Almost all of us are converts that grew up in some other denomination or religion. Most of us have non-Quaker families so we ‘act normal’ about Christmas out in public. The Meeting does have an annual Peace and Light celebration, though.
We have a pot luck dinner at the school house, sing Christmas songs, put out luminaries then go over to the Meetinghouse to have a special Meeting for Worship. The lights are dim the turned out after everybody gets seated. There is a large sand table full of candles in the middle of the room. We meditate or pray and, as they are inspired, people come forward and light a candle. They give thanks for something, wish for something or ask that someone or something be ‘held in the light’ (that’s like asking for prayers by regular Christians). Soon, from the combined candles and the hope and love of all the people, the Meetinghouse is light. That’s what we did last night.
But, that was just the end of a long day. My wife and I were responsible for “coffee” this week. That means we had to provide a luncheon for about 25 people after regular First Day Meeting for Worship (First Day is Sunday in old Quaker-speak—Friends don’t like to call days names derived from pagan gods like Woden’s Day and Thor’s Day, or stellar objects like Sun’s Day and Moon’s Day, when we’re in the Meetinghouse at least). We got there about 10:00am to set up for “coffee” in the schoolhouse.
I like to attend Meetings for Worship so I went over to the Meetinghouse at 10:30. I need the group meditation session to settle down from the week past, and get into a good state of mind for the one coming. I have my special spot. There are a couple of books I leave in the pew that I read while the Meeting is settling in. Nobody usually sits in front of me, so I can close my eyes, lean forward and put my head on the back of the pew when I get down to meditating. It sometimes leaves a red mark on my forehead, though.
It was an especially satisfying Meeting yesterday. It was still and quiet. I seemed to easily latch onto and meld with the consciousnesses of the other people in the room. I tingled from the intensity of the Spirit and the Light I felt there and was much refreshed and invigorated. That physical sensation, that tendency to quiver or quake when the Light is strong, is how the sect got its name. Unfortunately, I had to leave early to help finish setting up for the luncheon. I sneaked out when the kids came in for the last fifteen minutes of Meeting, like they always do.
“Coffee” was an uneventful social gathering. The school house was decorated for the holiday. There is even a Christmas tree this year that the kids put the finishing touches on during First Day School. Everybody seemed to be in a good mood and were talking about the preparations for the Peace and Light celebration that began at 5:30pm. A couple of the kids filled luminary bags with sand, while their moms scraped last years wax out of the candle holders.
I’d made the mistake of putting my two cents in on a topic a couple of weeks ago and was asked to join the committee. I tend to get lassoed even more frequently than my dad did. So, after “coffee” I had to stick around for a meeting. I didn’t get home until almost two o’clock. My wife was lying on the couch watching football. Since she’d cooked a bunch of stuff for “coffee,” she didn’t have anything to prepare for the potluck supper. She’d already brushed up on the Christmas songs at the piano, so she could relax and focus on the game.
The place was already crowded when we got there. The dinner was nice. Just like other churches at Christmas, there were some people there we didn’t get to talk to that often. Everybody was still in a festive, friendly mood. I ate too much pasta, and then overdid it with the chocolate chip cookies, but there was plenty for everybody. I don’t sing Christmas songs—much to the delight of anyone who’s heard me try—but I hummed along for some of them.
It was cold so we had to put our coats on to walk the ‘luminary trail’ over to the Meetinghouse. We had to take them off again right away because the new heat system we spent a mint on last summer to bring the 150 year old building up to snuff works real well. My wife said she likes the smell of the place; that it’s like an old library. I told her it’s actually from mildew growing in the crawl space under the antique floorboards, but the property committee is working on it. I felt a little uncomfortable when she plopped herself down in a spot other than my usual one, but it didn’t really matter in the dark. You can’t really meditate with people going up front to light candles all the time, but it was neat and satisfying.
We finally got home about 8:30, in time for her to watch most of the Sunday Night Football game. I hadn’t slept well Saturday, so I packed my lunch and got ready for bed. As I lay there reading, I couldn’t help thinking about my long day and all the people I'd seen. I thought about the old Reformed Church. They changed it's name and moved it over to Park Avenue, but they still have the same Christmas Eve service. I couldn't help smiling about my dad teaching Sunday school, about my brother getting sick every Sunday morning abd about my mom getting dressed up and dragging us along. But, I guess, that's the kind of stuff I'm supposed to be doing this time of year.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Your articles are so interesting because they are so personal...felt like I was there for a moment.I guess I've got to write about what I know. Thanks
I can sympathize with your dad. The one day I wasn't able to go to church with my family, they came home announcing my husband had signed me up for Sunday school duty. I did it for one year. He had signed himself up for something too, but it lasted a couple of weeks. I never let them go without me after that. I agree with Elle's comment Jack. I enjoy your stories.Thanks so much!
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