Love’s pure light…

-Silent night, holy night, Son of God, love’s pure light, radiant beams from Thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth, Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.

–“Silent Night” by Joseph Mohr, 1816

-Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim You, who walk in the light of Your presence, Lord.

–Psalm 89: 15

-Be salty. Stay lit.

–paraphrase/meme of Matthew 5: 13-16

I was hit with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia this morning.

For the first time in countless years, I couldn’t get to East Walle on Christmas Eve.

Nestled humbly in the middle of farm fields and prairie, “Ost Valle Kirke” is the most beautiful, the most perfect of the hundreds of Norwegian-Lutheran chapels that dot the Midwest landscape (I could be a little biased). It has been the worship center of my mother’s family for generations. After every service I attend, I make the short walk over to the graveyard to say hello (“Hi, Grandma! How about those Twins?…Hey, Dad! Miss you…”). No matter how many places I’ve lived, no matter how long I’ve been away, it will always be my home church.

Especially on Christmas Eve.

Before I even walk through the doors, I’m already anticipating my favorite part…

Silent Night.

Someone hands me a candle as I enter the sanctuary, and my inner kid starts squealing…

“We’re gonna do Silent Niiiiiiight!!!”

I take in all the lights, the garland, the poinsettias, the tree, the nativity, the music. It’s magical. Mysterious and magical, and full of uncontainable joy!

Like the Savior’s birth.

Then the moment comes…in the program, what’s up next…I’m mentally bouncing in the pew.

Far from town, suddenly, we are plunged into total darkness…save, on the altar…

The Christ Candle.

From that First Flame, person to person, that golden glow grows ever brighter, until the tabernacle is filled…

And we begin to sing.

Then the last note fades out…

Silence.

Peace.

The benediction…poof, puff, poof! Smouldering wicks. Hugs all around. Off into the world.

This memory triggered another…

Grafton, Massachusetts. A New England Christmas. The colonial church, all creamy plaster and stained glass, faced the town common, which, despite the brown grass of a dry winter, was as quaint a Currier and Ives scene as you can imagine. We worshipped in festive, soul-warming celebration…with something new! “Don’t blow out your candles,” they instructed, “take them out with you still burning.”

As we exited, the choir was on the steps all around us, carolling “Joy to the World…”

A snow-globe world.

While we were inside, fresh fluffy snow had blanketed the earth, and sparkling-jewel flakes floated down around us and on us…

Our flames illuminating the path before us.

With a shake of my head (or maybe a finger aside of my nose, like St. Nick), I’m whisked back to 2025 with a new conviction…

It shouldn’t end at Christmas.

First of all…I can be filled with that excitement, that amped-up praise, that childlike wonder and awe every Sunday.

Every day.

What a miracle it is to be alive!

What a miracle is this world!

What a miracle is Jesus!!!

And He is ever present and eternal…all the year round.

Second…as I go forth…

From my church…

From my front door…

I won’t blow out that candle.

I will keep that light burning.

Let it shine for all to see.

Matthew 5:16–“In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”