I grew up going to church three times every Christmas Eve. From the age of three until I was 14, my Father was the minister in a three-point pastoral charge and although most Sundays my siblings, my mother, and I would attend only one of the churches, on Christmas it was a whole afternoon and evening’s affair. Each service had its own special magic, and I think back on them fondly.
That tradition changed for a number of reasons when we moved to the Townships, but I continue to feel like Christmas isn’t the same if I’m not listening to my dad’s sermon on the night of the 24.
He won’t be behind the pulpit of any church this year, but I can still ‘go to’ the Christmas Eve service he’ll be broadcasting from his living room and under these challenging circumstances, I’ll take that.
My Take: By Gordon Lambie
