February 7, 2022
I’ll be honest: one of the things I miss the most about life in the Church is Christmas Eve service. Growing up, it was one of the best things about Christmas.
Here’s some more honesty: even today, I don’t think there’s really anything wrong with Christmas Eve service. It’s much different from your normal church sermon. All you’re really doing is listening to a (usually talented) live band perform Christmas songs that you’re probably already hearing on the radio. The only real downside is when the pastor gets up on stage and reads the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, but at this point, even that is almost like it’s own Christmas song to my ears. Or maybe Christmas spoken-word poetry? Whatever.
So it really didn’t surprise me when I felt tempted to go to my old church’s Christmas Eve service.
But here’s the thing—I didn’t just have the idea to go. No, it didn’t even occur to me until I found myself in a spur-of-the moment situation.
Story time.
Late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, I decided to go for a walk. It’s something I do regularly so that I can take time for some contemplation, as I described here. One of my favorite places to walk is around the lakes that are adjacent to my state’s university.
My old church is located right on this walking path. That means every time I take a walk around these lakes, I pass by my old church. I’m fortunate in that this doesn’t bother me or trigger me—half the time I barely notice it. I think that’s a great place to be for someone who has deconstructed his faith and left his religion.
Anyway, I wasn’t paying attention to the clock when I went for my walk, and when I passed by my old church, there was a prominent sign out front advertising the times of their Christmas Eve services. I checked the time on my phone. It had started about ten minutes before.
As soon as I realized that, I paused. When I focused, I could hear the Christmas songs coming through the walls of the sanctuary. Not only that, they were being sung by one of my old youth group kids who was always in my Bible studies throughout his high school years. He’s extremely talented, has an amazing voice, and back in those days he played in the youth group’s worship band. Now he’s the lead singer in the church’s main worship band.
Despite some of my past failures as a youth leader, I still root hard for those kids, and always will. When they were in high school, they were fantastic young men, and they were far more intelligent, articulate, and dedicated to their faith than I was at their age. I haven’t spoken to this particular young man in a while. He would have graduated from college by now. It felt amazing to stand there and listen to him sing again since he’s so goddamn talented. It was surreal. It had been about a decade since I’d last heard him perform.
After standing there for about five minutes and listening to this guy sing through the walls of the church, I suddenly had the thought: “Dude, just go in.”
I wasn’t afraid of the idea. I knew that sanctuary well, and I knew precisely where to walk so I could sit in the back and out of sight.
I also remembered how the church operated. There was staff that was specifically tasked with looking out for people they didn’t recognize so they could engage and get them “plugged in.” Since I looked like I’d randomly wandered in from a walk around the lakes (athletic clothes and all), I’d be their wet dream—they’d view me as an opportunity from God. I could almost see the way they’d approach me with a wide smile and a hopeful look in their eyes, like they were following God’s command. I know that look well because I used to do the same thing.
And I knew exactly what I would tell them. “Yeah man, I used to go to this church a decade ago. I don’t believe in God anymore. But I was passing by and heard the Christmas music so I thought I’d pop in. It’s cool you had the balls to walk up to me, but you won’t be seeing me here again.”
But just before I went in, the front door of the sanctuary opened and out walked a guy who I knew. He was from a past life, back when I was still a Christian. It was surreal seeing him there, still at the same church, in the same town, after I felt like I’d lived an entirely different life since the last time I’d seen him.
He didn’t see me. He was with his wife and two kids. They were leaving early for whatever reason and were heading toward the parking lot. I didn’t stop him to talk. I just watched him from afar.
Seeing him reminded me that that church wasn’t full of total strangers. Although there were surely people inside who I’d never met, there would also be people who I knew from back when I was a Christian and hadn’t seen in ten years or more. Some of them might even recognize me.
I knew that if I were willing to be honest with the people who approached me thinking I was a visitor, I’d have to be honest with the people who knew me. I’d have to answer their questions truthfully.
- How long have you been back in town?
- Where are you going to church now?
- Would you consider coming back to church here?
I don’t feel the need to lie about any of that stuff, but it was Christmas Eve and I wanted to keep my day peaceful and focused on family, relaxation, and cheerfulness. Plus I’m an extreme introvert anyway. Any other day, I might have been ready to tackle those conversations.
So after listening to my ex-youth group kid sing a little bit more, I continued on down the path.
But those few minutes I spent lingering in front of my old church were very profound and interesting. I was surprised by the sudden desire I had to go inside. I’d literally never felt that since I left. I guess it’s because, as I said earlier, Christmas Eve service is the thing I miss the most.
I don’t ever walk around those lakes on Sunday morning, but I wonder if I did, if I’d feel the urge to pop in on the sermon. Probably not, but who knows?
But more than anything, I’m happy to be at a point where I can walk by my old church and entertain the idea of going in out of sheer curiosity. That shows how far I’ve come.