Sharon Kennedy: The wonder of Christmas Eve
For me there’s something wondrous about Christmas Eve much more so than Christmas Day. The latter is filled with cheers or tears over gifts given or those not received. The former is peaceful as people attend church services, gaze at the doll in the manger and reflect on what that piece of plastic represents. Regardless of weather conditions, the eve seems to spread a blanket of calm over the land. Perhaps I notice this more than others because I live alone, but I don’t think so. I think even the poorest and most downtrodden among us sense something special is about to happen.
Most of us are aware the Christ child was not born in December. According to Biblical scholars, the birth occurred somewhere between spring and fall, but the fact we celebrate the momentous occasion in winter doesn’t matter. Nor does the fact that Jesus was a Jew and more brown than white deter us from our belief in our Savior. We picture the Messiah as a tall, handsome man with blue eyes capable of piercing our very soul. In “King of Kings,” Jeffery Hunter was probably the best-looking Jesus I ever saw. He, alone, would have made me a believer had I been an atheist.
We overlook many fallacies on Christmas Eve because they don’t dampen our belief in the Second Person of the Trinity. Those of us who believe in Him pay homage as dark overtakes dusk. If it’s a clear night, the stars appear brighter. The snow is whiter and sparkles in the moonlight. Traditions like watching the sky for Santa’s sleigh and leaving a plate of cookies and a cup of hot chocolate for him continue through the years. As parents tuck their children into bed, they read Moore’s classic poem, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas.”
Whatever presents have been purchased are wrapped and placed underneath the tree. Special gifts from Santa are taken from their hiding places only after parents are assured their children are asleep. The house is quiet, guests having left hours ago. Dishes are washed and put away. Carols are playing on whatever listening device nearest. Couples drink eggnog, spiked or otherwise. They relax, thankful they made it through a frantic month of trying to balance their bank account with the wants of their offspring. Logs crackle and pop in the fireplace. Kitty rests his little head on Rover. All is well.
Yet somewhere in the night the quiet is broken by the sound of parents weeping in their car because tomorrow will hold no joy for their children. Miles way, the heart of a single mother is breaking because there are no gifts, no tree, no treat for a phantom Santa. A distraught father turns to drugs to dull the pain of a recent divorce. He’ll not see his children tomorrow or ever again. The peace of Christmas Eve does not go unnoticed by such people. For the heartbroken, it’s magnified. It’s a promise that next year will be better. That Christ — who has long since left the manger — will somehow give them hope if they can just hang on a little longer, be a little braver, trust a little more.
How do I know this? Because I’ve been one of them — the homeless, the single mother, the poor, the obscure—and I’ve survived as they will because suicide brings tranquility only to the one who dies. My hope is that the peace that surpasses all understanding and comes only from God is with each of you this wondrous Christmas Eve.
— To contact Sharon Kennedy, send her an email at sharonkennedy1947@gmail.com. Kennedy's new book, "View from the SideRoad: A Collection of Upper Peninsula Stories," is available from her or Amazon.
This article originally appeared on The Holland Sentinel: Sharon Kennedy: The wonder of Christmas Eve
