The Christmas Ache

It’s hard to say what truly was my favorite Christmas of all time, as there were many. I’m sure though it must have been one from my childhood. There is magic in a child’s heart that knows mystery and love in a pure fashion unencumbered by most world woes. Magic, lights, fantasy. Such is the mix of Christmas - at least it was in my middle-class suburban mind back in the 1960’s.

My daddy was the pastor of a big Lutheran church where momma taught at the Lutheran school. She also wrote and directed the Christmas Eve program in those saintly days of yore. We managed to pull off five services any given year. Being of musical decent, I usually sang at all the services, or played the harp, or violin, or all of them – depending on the mood of my mother that year. Nothing like having your mom also be your manager. (Listen to link; “Someday” and “We Sense a Fountain” as you read – if you want...)

MSL Lutheran’s did church big and with elaborate pageantry. My poor Presbyterian church has been putting up with my efforts to bring some sense of aesthetic beauty into their services for decades now. And I must say I have made some headway when I worked there, but the ghost of Calvin keeps the lid on things. Can’t say I blame them. It is their tradition. Not too much muss or fuss. My tradition on the other hand…

My first solo, outside of family gatherings and daily bathtub oratorios, was on Christmas Eve was when I was four years old. I remember it quite clearly as I was all decked out in a black velvet jumper complete with patent leather shoes and a rhinestone tiara. I reluctantly conceded to wear a cherub choir robe over my dress that night, and to hold a red lightbulb candle, but pitched a fit when they tried to take off my tiara. That may not surprise some of you … 

During those Christmas Eve services Santa made his stop at our house. My family scrambled home for the 2-hour break between the 4th and 5th service. That’s when the magic started. Mom would crank up the most beautiful wooden carved music box that played the Silent night as we sang along. Next was a mad dash to open our presents. Daddy’s gift to me was always opened last as it was a very special thought-out treasure. We both waited, with the same anticipation, to see the expressions on each other’s face. The gift was usually some special piece of jewelry that dad gotten by fenagling a great deal with his friend, a Jewish jeweler, that really took special care of my him. Daddy was sure he was trying to bribe him, the pastor, to put in a good word for him with the Jesus…just in case. It was a mutual win-win situation.

Brats and Germans potato salad followed the hauling in of the stash. We wolfed it all down with the coffee and stollen (German fruitcake of sorts) before we had to go back for the last service of the night; the midnight candlelight communion service. It was my favorite. The huge church was adorned with 30 foot trees all bathes in red lights and gold ornaments. The adult choir would join the angels chorus and the organ purred. Truly, it was a time our Lutheran hearts bonded with all humanity as we kneeled in the darkness and took Communion together by candlelight. My dad would close the 1 ½ hour service with the most beautiful benediction accompanied by the Silent Night hums of the choir. With great love he directed the very end of the blessing directly at me;” May the Lord Bless you and keep you…, …and give you Peace.” My special Christmas gift from daddy. It was magic. It was holy. Baby Jesus in the manger, candlelight and carols, and my family doing what we did best – welcoming the baby Jesus into the world with a bunch of loving slightly tipsy Lutherans at midnight in the sub artic temps of a Chicago winter.

My first Christmas Ache came unannounced when I was 28. Something deep in my heart knew that that particular Christmas Eve would be my dad’s last benediction, although we had no outward indication of illness other than him complaining of sheer exhaustion. It was as if an angel that night urged me to memorize every moment. I obliged, and with tears streaming down my face tried to make the moment last forever memorizing every word and loving glance. Daddy looked at me longer than usual during the last benediction as if he knew too. He was gone in October. My world was changed forever.

After he died my mom and I got creative in our avoidance of the Ache, as Christmas Eves were never the same again. For years we traveled about unable to go back to the church that held our memories. But that is not to say we didn’t find new joy’s in the season. We saw concerts and went to huge cathedrals all over the country.

One stood out over the rest however: Robert Schuler’s Christmas pageant in the Crystal Cathedral. There were real camels walking around, donkeys braying, and a 600-voice choir along with Mary, Joseph and the usual entourage. Best part were the angels however. There really were singers flying overhead suspended by cables wearing 20 foot long flowing angels robes. I kid you not - it was over the top and put us Lutherans to shame. Oddly enough, that night when I was given another miraculous Christmas gift. During the ‘Gloria In Excelsis Deo’, when the angels were suspended hovering and singing I swear I actually heard the real heavenly choir pierce through the veil for a brief fraction of a second. The sound was so exquisite that it went straight through me making me gasp. That moment was so glorious that I felt if I had heard any more, even a second more, I would be unable to stay earthbound. It was the first Christmas my heart stopped hurting…quite as bad.

In the years that followed there were continuous blessings and joys that helped heal the ache. I married, and so again did mom. Then Luke was born and gave life a whole new meaning to all of us. For a few years when he was a baby we’d still fly to her home in Chicago for Christmas Eve - even gaining the courage one year to go back into St. Peter. But those days were over and we knew it. One summer day she announced there was going to be a changing of the guard as Luke needed to make his own home Christmas memories. And with that proclamation began a whole new chapter of Christmas traditions. Soon, as if coming full circle, I was the one directing the Christmas programs and had Luke was the angel in a tinsel halo hovering about. Those were happy days.

Every year since I was born, my mother and I were together one way or another on Christmas Eve. She had always been hard to shop for and rarely asked for anything. She did cherish one gift however, and that was for me to sing a solo in the candlelight service; O Holy Night. Even though I was a professional singer and hired out to different churches before I landed in NC, Christmas Eve was always saved for my church and that solo as a gift to her. In the darkness, I could see her head tilt back mouthing along the words with me. Her eyes filled with pride – especially the fact that I used my talent to praise her baby Jesus. She loved him so very much. 

Children always grow up while we grow older. We all knew one day there would once again be the changing of the guard. Time’s angel whispered to my heart again a few years back; ‘Make memories child, this one will be their last together.’ And so it was. Mom stayed home to tend to her dying Joe in Florida, Luke was gone away to a girlfriend’s home, and for the first time I found myself totally alone on Christmas Eve. The most magical night of the year had become the greatest ache I had ever known. Thanks to a caring friend who had recently lost her husband, me and my golden retriever were brought in from the cold to share a glass of Christmas cheer and a midnight feast. She let me stay the night knowing my heart was in pieces.

The next year mother began to fail. I was still working for the church and needed to stay for all the services but she was too frail to travel for the holiday. She still wanted her special present however, so during the offering Luke quietly dialed her number and held the phone so she could hear me sing ‘O Holy Night’ one last. Again, I knew it was the last of a cherished tradition and have since passed on that solo to my petite Yaya, a beloved student all grown up with the voice of an angel. She now gives a special gift to her momma, daddy and us all on Christmas Eve. A new changing of the guard. And so it goes.

One doesn’t get to be age 60 without a few Christmas Aches. Many of us have lost our parents, survived divorce and/or managed to make it through some rough relationship times. Others have survived the unthinkable. Just this past year I peered over death’s shoulder and watched two friends desperately try to wrestle their daughter’s hands out of cancer’s clutch. Their grown babies, who they once dressed up in ribbons and lace on Christmas Eve, are gone and their hearts will never be the same. There are other friends who lost their sons – young men taken far too soon by tragic accidents of life. Too many boys. Too many girls. Too many husbands and wives. Soldiers. Aleppo. I pray special angels for them around Christmas as they have an ache only holding the baby Jesus can comfort.

All of us feel drawn back to the holiday traditions once brought us Peace, Love, Joy and Hope. To our childhood memories that brought us security and safety. The lighting of Christmas candles, or of the Menorah, lure us to rekindle times when our hearts were not yet crushed by the cruel blows of life’s harsh winds. We yearn for just one Holy Night a year when all is still and all is bright. Just one would do. That holy spark inside us yearns for Peace on earth, good will to men.

I am grateful this year beyond measure this year. My son is home and doing wonderfully well. Nothing else really matters to me. Yet I know the year’s events can change without a notice. Last year I was too defeated to go to church as Luke’s surgeries, and recovery away from home, sucker punched my heart one too many times. Both hope and reverence for the unthinkable hold me in check every day now.

Recently, when I was rehearsing a Christmas Cantata, a vague Christmas Ache fled across my heart. The music was so stirring that it brought back all those memories, traditions, and joys of yester year. The ache grew deeper as I tried to sing over it. But I couldn’t. My heart just plain ached as my mind was lost with the whirling ghosts of Christmas past. Tears welled up inside and begged release. Oh, the ache for one more chance to see their faces, hear their laughter, hold them close. The Ache was deep.

As the music continued I understood why the conductor, and friend, chose that piece for this tremulous year of uncertainty. He looked over and smiled with understanding. The message cut through all the tinsel and glitter of the season that keeps us distracted. For the first time I heard the words I was singing.

“We sense a fountain, a rising fountain, welling up in our hearts. We sense a stirring, a stubborn stirring, a sense that God will come among us. God will live within us, will be there among us in the struggles of life.”

Indeed, God is here this Christmas amidst the Ache my friends. He never promised we would get through our journey unscathed - just that He would walk it with us. As a sign, He sent us a baby in the manger for our hearts to hold close until the day comes when we call can see everyone again face to face. Let that be our tidings of comfort and joy this year. And may; “The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you, And be gracious to you; The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, And give you peace.”’