There’s something about Christmas Eve, for some of us, the most serene night of the year.
There’s a calm this night.
And more than 2,000 years ago, the Bible tells us, no place for Joseph and Mary at the inn, and no place for the child of God to lay his head on that cold night. It was Bethlehem, and for more than 2 billion Christians, the greatest story ever told.
No place in the inn, we’ve come to know, and a couple reconciled to a stable for the coming of Mary’s firstborn, and the coming of the Lord — a carpenter who would live 33 years and save us from our sins and transgressions with a promise, for those of us who believe, everlasting life.
Imagine, if only you will allow, that majestic night in a stable with a child asleep in a manger.
This is Christmas Eve, and there’s something poignant about this night.
The hustle and bustle
We tend to lose sight of the true meaning of Christmas.
After all, there’s the last-minute holiday shopping for the gift we may have forgotten. There’s always one last present to wrap, and where’s that red ribbon you seemed to have misplaced? And the Scotch tape. It was just here with the scissors, and you can’t find the scissors, either. Six o’clock is near, and the mall is closing soon. Oh my! Did you forget the AA batteries for the electric candles, and can I make it to Walgreens in the nick of time?
There’s the Christmas Eve service at Brownson Memorial Presbyterian Church along May Street in Southern Pines, and “O Holy Night” to sing with a lump in your throat. My hope this year is that Virginia doesn’t lose her glove under the tree by the pulpit, like last year, and has me scrambling to find it during the service. And if memory serves me correctly, she almost spilled the communion grape juice, too. From there, a short trip toward the little town of Vass, where I still can remember Mama telling me so many times about growing up in that little Moore County town and her Christmas Eves as a girl at the Vass Presbyterian Church.
And I have to be at Mama’s grave just down the way at the little, white church, with my candle … because I never want Mama to be alone on Christmas Eve, and just to be sure Mama knows that she is loved by a son just as she was for all of those 60 Christmases we shared by the Scotch pine with the white lights vertically draped on the tree slathered in artificial snow and the twinkling star atop.
Once home, Virginia will fill the silver cups with eggnog and a splash of Southern Comfort. She’ll say a prayer, and we’ll share a toast to Larry, the husband and father of her children now grown, and lost too soon at age 40 in 1978. A toast, too, to Harry, who later came into her life. Another toast to our parents, and mine particularly for Mama.
And then Virginia will worry me about which gift she can open, because, “You always open one gift on Christmas Eve.”
She’ll be like a kid at Christmas, with her Santa cap perched on her blonde hair. She’ll have one of those $9 Christmas cards for me by the tree. I’ll have my usual $0.50 Christmas card from the Dollar Tree for Virginia.
Epilogue
All of us have our Christmas Eve traditions.
There’s something about Christmas Eve, for some of us, the most serene night of the year.
There’s a calm this night.
And more than 2,000 years ago, the Bible tells us, no place for Joseph and Mary at the inn, and no place for the child of God to lay his head. It was Bethlehem, and for more than 2 billion Christians, the greatest story ever told.
Blessings to all on this Holy evening, the most serene night of them all.
Bill Kirby Jr. can be reached at billkirby49@gmail.com or 910-624-1961.
