lessons & carols

Tonight's final congregational hymn was "Oh Come, All Ye Faithful". The rafters shook as jubilant voices, chancel choir, brass instruments, hand-bell choir, and pipe organ literally pulled out the stops. On the sills under the stained-glass windows, white candles danced along. Through my boots, my toes felt the vibration of our happy noise.
A service of Nine Lessons and Carols was just what the doctor ordered for my tired soul. Beloved familiar scriptures were eloquently and sincerely read from the pulpit. The tale of creation, Adam's fall, Old Testament prophecy, and the birth of Jesus were food and drink to me on this chilly, dark evening. This, interspersed with the choir, instrumental selections, and congregational singing, held me transfixed. Admittedly, there was the tenor in the chancel choir that was the spitting image of Mr. Bean (much to the merriment of #1 Daughter and Friend #12...) and the lady two pews ahead whose long hair was definitely a morbid shade of gray-green, but other than those few distractions, I was able to focus on the service.
Afterward, over Sergi's pizza, (extra-large, half dressed, half pepperoni, anchovies on the side) we thoroughly reviewed the evening. So, it wasn't the Potsdam Brass Quintet concert- (that's tomorrow night. I must've read the poster wrong!) but it was still worth attending. Plus, we got to participate by singing. And see a number of musical friends that we didn't expect .
Another perk: although all week I have attempted to get the house decorated and spread some Christmas cheer, until tonight it felt akin to labor. I have a feeling that tomorrow morning will dawn with a different attitude. Call it Christmas Spirit, if you will. In years past, I might have looked down upon applying such a silly term to my life. But even at age (almost) 45, I suppose I can be taught a lesson.
Or nine.