A Banner Christmas Eve

by Jeff Cook

Rev. Julie Woodson always looked at the candles first when she entered the sanctuary for Christmas Eve.

Hope, peace, joy and love – three blue candles and one pink one, four candles encircling the center white candle – the Christ candle. All suspended somewhere between three and four feet above the main floor of the sanctuary, resting in a wooden wagon wheel like wreath, held in place by a chain descending from the ceiling of the sanctuary.

Every Sunday during Advent different people would light the candles and lead the congregation in the Advent reading for that week. Rev. Julie found something fascinating and comforting about candles, but also something unpredictable. In some ways, having Advent candles was like living with a teenager for four weeks each winter.

It always seemed to be on the third Sunday of Advent, the Sunday when the pink candle of joy is lit, that one candle went on strike. Rev. Julie knew her thoughts were drifting into way too much personification, but it had happened again this year.

Dana and Deanna Zytnyk, and their mother Gail had been lighting the candles. The blue candles of Hope and Peace had been lit and burned during the services of the previous two weeks. After they had been extinguished at the end of the services, no one had paid much attention. Since she had been the one to blow out the flames, Rev. Julie figured she probably should have looked, but she didn’t.

The wax pooled around the wick to such an extent that the wick of the candle of peace disappeared under the hardening wax. When Dana tried to light it, there was just a small tuft of wick showing. She held the lighting candle into the hollow of the candle, and nothing happened.

“It’s not lighting,” she said to her mom. Gail helped steady Dana’s hand and hold the candle steady, melting the wax enough to allow a tiny flame to catch.

That flame lasted about 20 seconds, so while the congregation was joined in saying the Advent prayer, the flame of the candle of peace went out.

If she hadn’t been standing before a congregation leading worship, Rev. Julie might have slapped her forehead. Just about every year one of the Advent candles wouldn’t light on Advent 3, and every year Rev. Julie made a mental note for next year to check the candles mid-week and hollow out the wax so the wick was exposed.

And every year Rev. Julie remembered that she had forgotten, and so the light of peace had gone out. She made a mental note to remember to check the candles before the Christmas Eve services. Then she made a mental note to remember her last mental note.

Then she announced the next hymn - #7 in the hymn book: “Hope is a Star.”

Larry Reeder came forward during the singing of the second verse:

Peace is a ribbon that circles the earth, giving a promise of safety and worth.

Rev. Julie was curious, because Larry was not supposed to be coming forward at any time during the service.

He walked deliberately to the Advent wreath and removed the candle of peace. With his back to the congregation, he whispered in Rev. Julie’s direction; “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a Swiss army knife. Rev. Julie remembered Larry once showing her the Swiss army knife. He had the Boy Scouts model, with various blades and a can opener and a pair of small scissors all folded into the handle. Larry had told her that he always carried it in case of emergency. He said it was like having a portable tool box.

Larry carried the peace candle back to the pew in which he had been sitting. As everyone else was singing verse four (Love is a flame that burns in our heart..), Larry sat down and began carving out the wax around the wick.

The children and youth were supposed to go our for Sunday School at the conclusion of the hymn, but of course all of them had their eyes riveted on Larry. When the hymn ended and the congregation was seated most of the children made a bee line to Larry.

Their eyes widened as they watched him hollow out the top of the candle.

“Neat,’ said Brenda Wegner.

“Can you carve me a wolf?” asked Deanna Turnball.

“That’s lame,” said Kevin Martins. “How about a light sabre?”

“I’m just fixin’ the candle,” said Larry. With a smile he held up the candle which now had a fully exposed wick.

The congregation, which by this time was also totally focused on Larry and the group of children gathered around him, broke into applause.

Larry walked back to the Advent wreath. He set the peace candle on the communion table while he lit the taper candle used to light the Advent candles. Then Larry held the peace candle while Andrea Henderson used both hands to hold the taper and light the peace candle. Larry put the peace candle back in place on the Advent wreath, and the children, realizing that the most exciting part of the worship service was probably now over, left the sanctuary with their teachers to go to their classes.

One mental note Rev. Julie had remembered this Advent was to take better care of the baby Jesus. Last year she had lost baby Jesus. More precisely, she had lost the ceramic baby Jesus which was the focal point of the nativity scene on display at the base of the pulpit.

Every year the Worship Committee decorated and prepared the sanctuary for Advent and Christmas, putting up a tree and lights and the crèche scene. Every year they gave the ceramic baby Jesus to Rev. Julie to keep in her office until Christmas Eve, when, just before the worship services, she would place the baby Jesus in the ceramic manger. Last year she had carefully wrapped baby Jesus in tissue and placed him inside a Kleenex box so that he wouldn’t accidentally get chipped. Unfortunately, come Christmas Eve she couldn’t remember where she had put baby Jesus.

It had been eight year old Ashley Berwick and her new-found friend Mike, the Elvis impersonator, who had found the ceramic Jesus and brought him back to the ceramic manger.

Rev. Julie had not forgotten the lost baby Jesus. Neither had Ashley Berwick. Every Sunday in Advent, Rev. Julie had found Ashley waiting outside her office after the morning service.

“I’m here to see baby Jesus,” Ashley would announce. “You haven’t lost him again, have you?”

Every Sunday Rev. Julie assured Ashley that baby Jesus was quite safe and would show her the baby Jesus, resting atop some stick on name tags inside the four inch by three inch plastic box the tags came in.

“Well, don’t forget to put him in the manger for Christmas Eve.” Ashley always said. Then she would look at the ceramic baby Jesus, and say “God bless you Jesus, and don’t let Rev. Julie lose you again.”

This year Rev. Julie had placed the ceramic Jesus in the manger right after the conclusion of the Advent four Sunday service.

This evening – Christmas Eve – when Rev. Julie walked into the sanctuary, Ashley was already there. She had come early with her parents, who were ushering again this year. Ashley was standing in front of the crèche. She looked up at Rev. Julie.

“You remembered,” she said.

“Yes, Ashley, I remembered,” said Rev. Julie. “Thank you for helping me to remember.”

“Anytime,” Ashley said, then skipped down the centre aisle to help hand out bulletins in the narthex area.

The sanctuary looked beautiful, as it always did on Christmas Eve. This year there was a new addition to the sanctuary – a banner of Mary and the baby Jesus. The banner hung at the front of the sanctuary, just to one side of the choir loft.

The banner had been made by Adelle Jenkins and Carla Franklin. About two years ago Adelle and Carla had taken on the ministry of making banners for the sanctuary. They had recruited Adelle’s daughter-in-law, Sharon Jenkins, to design the banners. Sharon had an artistic flair and enjoyed the opportunity to create sketches for the banners.

This banner showed Mary cradling the baby Jesus in her arms. Over Mary’s right should is the town of Bethlehem. Stars surround the scene and an angel hovers in one corner blessing the scene. On the bottom of the banner appear the words “A Child is Born.”

As the congregation sang the last lines of the hymn “Away In the Manger,” Julie stood in the pulpit, prepared to deliver the Christmas Eve reflection. She could see Larry in the front pew. He had told her he wanted to be at the front in case there was a problem with the candles again. Rev. Julie assured him that during the week she had burned the candles for awhile and poured off the excess wax, so everything should be okay.

“For Christians, Christmas is a time of story and of song,” said Rev. Julie, “and a time of art and image.”

“We hear the story of the birth of Jesus, as told in Luke’s gospel. There were no cameras present for that birth, but we have all seen many paintings and drawings and sculptures of that scene.

“Christmas cards carry paintings of the baby in a manger, with Mary and Joseph leaning over him, and shepherds kneeling near by. Nativity scenes come out with Christmas decorations in many of our homes, and in this sanctuary, just in front of this pulpit, we have just such a nativity scene.

Ashley, who was standing on the last pew, shouted out, “Rev. Julie didn’t lose Jesus this year! I reminded her!”

Everyone chuckled. Rev. Julie made a mental note to suggest to the Board that next year Ashley be asked to chair the Nativity Scene sub-committee.

“This Christmas Eve, we are blessed with a new depiction of the nativity scene, a banner, designed for us by Sharon and created by Adelle and Carla. It is a beautiful banner, with Mary so gently holding baby Jesus, holding in her arms the one we will call the Saviour, holding the one, who in some amazing way, is both child of Mary and child of God.”

Nathan Morris was sitting about eight pews back from the banner. Nathan was 9 years old. His brother Darren, who was six years old, was sitting beside him.

“How many stars do you think are on that banner?” Nathan asked Darren.

Immediately Darren began counting. Nathan could him counting softly, “One, two…three…”

“The black background of the banner,” said Rev. Julie, reminds us that we hear this story as happening in the evening, but also reminds us that it is in the times of darkness that we are able to see the stars shining in all their mystery and beauty.”

“Twenty-six,” said Darren. “There are twenty-six stars.”

“Don’t think so,” said Nathan. “Better count again.”

“One, two, three…” Darren began his count again.

“Mary and Jesus are surrounded by the stars,” said Rev. Julie. Just as Mary cuddles Jesus, so they both seem to be cuddled by the stars, cuddled by and within God’s creation…”

“Twenty-six,” said Darren. “There are twenty-six stars.”

“Did you count the big one?” asked Nathan with that ‘I’m- so -smart -grin’ he always had when he knew he was right.

Darren shoulders slumped. Then he faced Nathan and said, “The big one doesn’t count.”

“Of course it does,” said Nathan.

“And one star shines brighter and larger than all of them,” said Rev. Julie. The one we have come to call the star of Bethlehem…”

“”See,” said Nathan, ‘I told you it counted.”

All eyes were on the banner as Rev. Julie talked about the angel watching over the birth.. talked about the angel as a messenger from God, bringing the promise of God’s love, reminding us that God was present in this birth, reminding us that this birth says that all of us are born into the promise of God’s love, all of us are children of God, all of us are embraced by creation, all of us join with the stars in singing God’s praises.

Following the reflection the congregation sang “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Rev. Julie thought she had never heard them sing that carol with such joy and enthusiasm. Many of them looked at the banner as they sang.

Following the service, Rev. Julie stood in the narthex entrance way, wishing people a Merry Christmas as they walked by. Nathan and Darren’s parents had stopped in the aisle to chat with some neighbours.

Nathan and Darren approached Rev. Julie.

“My brother has something to ask you,” Darren said.

Rev. Julie looked to Nathan. She was always wary of Nathan’s questions. Several months ago he had started regularly asking her questions. At first he asked the usual questions children ask, like “Why are there no dinosaurs in the Bible?’

Bur recently he had been asking questions to trick her. One Sunday, as Rev. Julie was heading to the choir room to pray with the choir just prior to the service, Nathan had stopped her and asked, “How many of each animal did Moses take on the ark?”

Feeling the need to reach the choir room, Rev. Julie had quickly replied “Two.”

“Actually it was none,” said Nathan. “Moses wasn’t on the ark. It was Noah.”

Then, a few weeks ago, she had found Nathan standing in front of the ceramic nativity scene.

“Rev. Julie,” he began, sounding somewhat like a nine-year old university professor,” is it true that some people think Jesus was the lamb of God?”

A voice somewhere in Rev. Julie’s head said “Don’t go there. Just keep walking and pretend you didn’t hear him.”

But she knew she couldn’t do that, so she began mentally formulating her response, that yes, Jesus was the lamb of God, but lamb was a way of talking about Jesus as being a person of peace and non-violence.

“Yes,” she replied, “some people call Jesus the lamb of God, but…”

She got no further with her theological expansion. Nathan had just been waiting for her ‘Yes’.

“So,” he said, “does that mean that Mary had a little lamb?”

Nathan grinned, winked and turned and walked away with his head held high and shoulders back.

Rev. Julie was tempted to go after him, but wasn’t sure she could talk to him without laughing. Sacrilegious as it was, she had to admit his response was clever. She made a mental note use it in a sermon sometime.

So, this Christmas Eve, Rev. Julie turned to Nathan with some trepidation.

“What is your question Nathan?” she asked.

“My brother and I were just wondering,” Nathan began, “how many stars are there on the banner?”

Rev. Julie didn’t look at the banner. She just stared straight into Nathan’s eyes and said, “Twenty-nine.”

Nathan glance quickly back at the banner, then back at Rev. Julie.

“There are twenty-seven,” he said.

“Did you remember to count Mary and Jesus?” asked Rev. Julie.

“They don’t count,” protested Nathan.

“Yes they do,” said Rev. Julie. “Everyone who reflects the light of God’s love is a star in God’s creation.”

Darren was grinning from ear to ear. Nathan looked at Rev. Julie for a moment.

“You’re getting better at this,” he said to her.

“Thank you,” Rev. Julie said, “Merry Christmas Nathan and Darren.”

After the last person had departed from the sanctuary, and shaken Rev. Julie’s hand, she turned and walked up the centre aisle, her head held high and her shoulders back. She paused to look at the banner.

“A child is born,” she whispered. “A star shines...and the candles of hope, joy, love and peace always find a way to bring light into our world. Thank you God.”