Taking Time to Savor the Savior

It's likely that neither our son or our daughter will be able to attend tonight's Christmas Eve Candlelight Worship service.

That's a shame, because my daughter told me once that the service is the highlight of the year at our church for her.

It's definitely one of the real highs on my annual calendar. It's been that for me, either as a lay worshiper or worship leader, for thirty-two Christmases now.

On the face of it, there's nothing special about the service. We sing some Christmas songs. We hear the Christmas story. I share a Christmas message. Near the end of the service, I read John's majestic overture to His account of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection by candlelight and then, everyone holding candles, we sing Silent Night, Holy Night.

I suppose some of what makes the service so enjoyable each year is all the sentimental attachments of the season and the annual renewal of a kind of ritual that brings back a flood of memories of Christmases past.

It's difficult as we sing the words of Silent Night the way we have all these years, not to remember those who have died with whom we've sung this song before.

I also remember the sanctuary of our home church in Columbus, decked out in greenery, full of people who helped me come to faith in Jesus Christ. The congregation no longer exists, having merged to form a new church and moved to a different site. But the memories are still there.

I remember the German-American congregation I was privileged to serve as pastor for six years when I first was ordained. Although we sang every verse in English, we also sang the Christmas classic in German. I can still hear the voices of those wonderful people as they sang: "Stille nacht, heilige nacht..."

But sentimentality aside, because sentimentality has nothing to do with being a Christian, I think there's another more important reason I find the Christmas Eve Candlelight Service so meaningful.

It's a rare moment in our bustling, nervous, spasmodically-energized culture for us to simply

...stop

...and turn out the lights

...and turn off the background music

...and by candlelight, hear our own imperfect, but earnest, voices sing about the love and power of God.

It's a love so deep and a power so great that God willingly cast aside the advantages of heaven in order to become one of us,

to serve us,

to die for us,

to rise for us.

God came into the world in Jesus Christ so that all who turn from sin and believe in Him will live with God, in all His love and power, for all eternity.

In The Magician's Nephew, C.S. Lewis portrays how the Christ-figure of his Narnian tales, Aslan, sings the world of Narnia into being. The entire event is witnessed by four persons from our world and a witch from a dead place called Charn.

Seeing this dazzling display of love, creativity, order, and power--of unmitigated goodness, the witch and a cunning amateur magician are repulsed. They hear the singing and they want it to stop. They see the power and close their eyes. They can't stop talking about wanting to leave.

Meanwhile, the other three, including a simple cabbie from Victorian London named Frank, stand in awe and reverence.

Finally, upset with the noisy, selfish cynicism of the witch and the magician, Frank turns to them and says, "Oh stow it...Watchin' and listenin's the thing at present; not talking."

That's what I love about the way we sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve. It's also why I think it's so meaningful to us.

For a single, still moment, we stow all our talking and our busy-ness and our frenzied striving.

We watch and we listen and we remember that God so loves the world--so loves each and every human being--that He gives His only Son so that all who believe in Him will not perish, but have life forever with God!

We take time to savor the Savior...and that's a very good thing!