This will be the first Christmas in 23 years that I won’t lead worship. I always worked extra hard for Christmas. I wanted to make the sermon memorable, make it a moment in worship that would appropriately and magnificently celebrate the good news of Christ’s birth. One year, at the church I served in North Carolina, I wove Longfellow’s poem “I heard the bells on Christmas Day” throughout my sermon and set up an elder in the church’s narthex to pull the rope on our old, hand-rung church bell as I escalated to my conclusion: “A voice, a chime, a chant sublime / Of peace on earth, good will to men.” Another year, at the college I served as chaplain, I designed the sermon to conclude in complete darkness, except for a small, bright star that appeared on the wall behind the pulpit. I was especially proud, though, of my last Christmas sermon, when I memorized Osip Mandelstom’s poem “And I Was Alive” and left the pulpit to recite it. I’m not gonna lie. Pulling that poem off was a rush. This year, I will sit in a pew. As I have attended my local Presbyterian congregation throughout Advent, my new vantage point on worship has been an odd and wondrous experience. I have felt a mix of emotions. First, compassion and appreciation for those leading me in worship … especially on Christmas. I understand the pressure to make Christmas Eve special – the pressure to perform for a larger than usual crowd – the pressure to convince those who only show up on Christmas and Easter that church is worth attending more than twice a year. ... You can find the rest of the commentary on our website. | 
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