Why I Am Happy I’m Not Going to Church This Christmas Eve
By: Bebe Nicholson
Tags: Christmas, Tradition, Holidays, Church, Family

Why I Am Happy I’m Not Going to Church This Christmas Eve

One of my church friends remarked during a Zoom meeting that we were too late to get reservations for church services on Christmas Eve.

“All services are filled to capacity,” she said. “They’re not allowing anybody else in.”

Our sanctuary seats 1,000, but to maintain social distancing, the church only accepted reservations for 250.

I’m glad those 250 people will be able to attend church, but I’m also glad I’m not going. It’s not that I don’t like Christmas Eve candlelight services. I’ve attended every year for as long as I can remember, and it is always a reverent and moving experience.

After an hour of Christmas music alternating with scripture readings, sanctuary lights are dimmed and we end the service by singing Silent Night, holding our flickering candles high until the entire sanctuary is filled with the glow of candlelight and the harmony of believers expressing their faith in both the birth and the everlasting victory of Jesus.

But there is also this: Every year we have to arrive 45 minutes early to get a seat. Then, for the next 45 minutes, we fend off people to save pew space for my daughter and her family, driving from two hours away.

Ushers are visibly irritated as we reject their efforts to cram other families next to us in the space we’re trying to save. Pews fill, and I shift uncomfortably as we wait for my daughter, who is making sure farm animals are fed, Christmas breakfast cakes are made, five children are ready, and Christmas presents are loaded in the car. By the time they dash into the church and squeeze beside us, ushers are glaring and the service is about to begin.

I have cooked all day, to get a head start on Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas breakfast. I wonder if everything simmering in crock pots will be ready by the end of the service, when everyone will tumble into the house, ravenous.

It’s our tradition to drive around after the service and look at Christmas decorations. My partner has already scoped things out, deciding on the best houses with the most lights.

The kids ride with us, but they have already ridden for two hours and sat through an hour-long church service. Their first priority is food. My partner, not one to relinquish tradition so readily, drives down one street after another, where he knows the brightest, most impressive holiday displays are.

The children moan and complain that they are hungry and have seen enough lights, but we are relentless, determined to fit this Christmas Eve light show into our schedule.

I keep quiet, torn between tradition and the things I still need to do: get dinner on the table, make sure kids are asleep in time for Santa’s visit without me having to wait them out until one or two in the morning, and after dinner, watch a Christmas movie. The movie is another tradition we can’t dispense with.

By this time, the peaceful spirit evoked by a reverent and lovely service has vanished. I hit the ground running as soon as we pull into the driveway.

But this year, I have a different plan. No one expects to go to church. We haven’t attended since March. My daughter’s family will come straight to our house, unload their packages, and we will eat when everyone is hungry. There will be plenty of time to drive around and look at lights, then come back and watch a movie.

And I am going to hold my own service.

I told my son-in-law to bring his guitar. I will light candles, and in their flickering, incandescent glow, beside my glorious Christmas tree, we will sing Christmas carols and read about the birth of Jesus.