In Church, At Christmas Time

It’s Christmas week, and you know what that means–re-runs! I wrote this piece last year, but as our staff puts final touches on the Christmas Eve services for tomorrow, I am reminded, all over again, that the sacred community bears gifts of miraculous proportions. I’m sharing this again today, with great thanksgiving for all the people who ‘do’ church, and who make Christmas happen for others. Blessings…

The phone is ringing off the hook,

The sanctuary’s hard to book.

It’s pretty clean–dare you to look–

In church, at Christmastime.

One hard-working secretary

Is a little tried and harried.

Under bulletin notes, she’s buried,

In church, at Christmastime.

The kids are plenty sugar wired,

the moms all look a little tired,

and we all know how that transpired

In church, at Christmastime.

Cause church ladies are a soft touch;

they’ll never say you’re taking too much,

so there are extra cookies and such

In church, at Christmastime.

The dads compare their Rudolph ties–

the brightest & tackiest gets the prize–

cause that’s the way it is with guys

In church, at Christmastime.

The youth group flash-mob was a hit,

(the brave sponsors won’t soon forget)

and well, those kids aren’t tired yet,

In church, at Christmastime.

The band is running practice late,

the choir has too much on its plate,

the preachers holler ‘wait, wait, wait!’

In church, at Christmastime

The fridge is where we keep the candles.

The ‘hallelujah’ isn’t just Handel’s.

But at least (so far) we’ve had no vandals

In church, at Christmastime

Plenty of toys in the toy drive sack,

and the light bill broke the camel’s back,

in that old nativity we keep out back,

In Church, at Christmastime

Cans of food for the pantry shelves,

carolers march like happy elves,

and we all smile in spite of ourselves,

In Church, at Christmastime

The pastors look a little fried.

The first poinsettias have already died–

We knew that daggone florist lied

          In Church!  at Christmastime.

Coffee hour is all fair trade,

and cider replaces lemonade.

Somebody served, and somebody prayed,

In Church, at Christmastime.

All the green stuff has been hung,

Every bell, been shined and rung,

Let every tenor  bust a lung,

In Church, at Christmastime.

In waiting space– the quiet place–

there enters in a tiny grace,

and soon we might just see his face,

In church, at Christmastime.