There was something about the light this morning as I made my way across the yard to the barn. First stop: the release of the mad collection of chicks, hens, geese, ducks and ducklings. That’s when I realized there was something in the sounds as well, or to be more precise, the lack of sound. Most of the hens were still very sleepy on their roosts – it’s quite a lovely sight, made more lovely by the tree branches we’ve used to make their roosting spots, stretching across one side of the coop in unsymmetrical fashion – but there most of them were at a little after six this morning. I’m not used to waking hens up in the morning for breakfast!
Sarah’s version of a manger scene.
The sky was dark, sounds were muted, the wind was insistent, and I thought that if it were simply 20 degrees colder and the trees stripped of green, it would qualify as a classic late November morning. I heard the whisper, the one that will become steadily more insistent.
The world may be upside down, but the days will become shorter and the winds of winter will blow…
Every year, a week or so before Christmas, the SouthWest choir and favourite guests invite everyone to the church for our Carols by Candlelight. It used to be in the evening, but, for the past few years, we’ve gathered at dusk, and the candles shine brighter and brighter as the service wends its way. Our only real tradition is that it always happens, that we meet in celebration and leave the church with a smile.
There have been years when certain pieces have been prominent or certain guests regular features, and if I sit back in my chair for a few minutes I can fill my mind with the sounds of these memories. The singers we’ve had in the choir, the instruments to accompany, from bagpipes, drums (yes, Donald!), tubas, French horns, violins, viols and cellos, hand bells, cornetto, trombones and sackbuts. All these players and choir members have been so special, and made every carol service so memorable. It’s our tradition, and it’s always different. I loved the year Georgia, Lexi and Stephanie were our presenters, and the years the kids from the Alleluia choir came to sing, and I also remember last year with the reading of the Gift of the Magi, even though some thought it too long. But that’s always been an essential element as well – the review and classification as ‘one of the best of all time’, or simply wonderful!
And in exactly four months, real time, it will be Christmas.
The candlelight service will fill the church with light once more and we will gather in celebration. There are no plans yet – what we will be doing or singing – but for me that is also a tradition: puzzling out the candlelight service when the leaves are still on the trees.
There are people we will miss in a painful way, but we’ll take time for that too.
Sorrow borne in the company of those who share in the same memories is a sorrow that leaves room for the recollections that bring solace as well.
We may be singing through masks, but I’m sure Dorothy will have something organized so that the masks are in some way festive!
A wise person once told me that we should always have something to look forward to. This can be a perfect cup of coffee after the morning chores or a glass of wine at the end of the day. A movie or a hockey game, cruise on the Mediterranean Sea or a walk on the shores of a lake in the Laurentians. Something on our own horizon.
So, I move that we all look forward to this year’s Candlelight Service. Starting now. You have no idea what it will look like, but you never do! You know that the candles will be lit, that we’ll sing, and that we will honour our Christmas tradition.
Now, for a perfect cup of coffee…
Sarah