Reflections of a Canadian Churchman

In 1861, the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, following the tragic death of his wife and the outbreak of the American Civil War wrote a poem entitled “Christmas Bells,” which has come down to us as the carol, “I heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” It tells of a man who hears the bells ringing Christmas morning, but the tragedy of his life has made him deaf to the Good News and glad tidings they proclaim: “Then in despair I bowed my head; ‘There is no peace on Earth,’ I said, “For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth good will to men.” For many, these words will resonate. For each of us there will be moments and events, both in our personal lives and in the world at large, that seem to rob us of our hope, and rob us of our joy. For many, a loss that occurred around Christmas time makes this season all the more difficult. Yet, the remarkable Good News that rings out into the brokenness of our world and the brokenness of our dreams is the news of a God that willfully chooses...

Last Saturday night I drove to Peterborough to join in the Christmas festivities at a party thrown by my oldest and dearest friend and his family. The night air was crisp, the heater was on in the car and the radio was tuned to a classical music station that played heavenly versions of all the best-loved Christmas carols and sacred music of the season. The traffic was mercifully light and this made for a time of solitude, peace, and reflection. As I traveled and hummed, and yes, sung along, I realized how deeply this music was embedded into my soul and the very core of my being. I don’t remember learning this music. I suppose it has always been a part of me. And then I realized that the music of Christmas is a metaphor, or perhaps more accurately, a sacrament of my faith. I don’t remember becoming a Christian. To be sure, while I have had moments of conversion and awakening throughout my life (gentle, though these have been), I have always been a Christian. On that journey to Peterboro...

In the quiet of the night, in lowly estate, the Lord bared forth his holy arm before the eyes of the slumbering nations. The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us. In the darkness of the darkest night, in poverty, in humility, in the womb of a virgin mother, the Creator of the Cosmos came, and entered into our humanity so that all the ends of the earth might see the salvation of our God. And on this morning, as the shepherds return to the their sheep, and the angels’ glorias fade into the waning night, as a young mother comforts her newborn child, we know that the Lord has indeed comforted his people. Comfort – comfort in our weakness. He came, for those who could not come and kneel at the foot of the manger – he came. Comfort – comfort in our sorrow. He came, for those who had lost hope that God could ever be with them in their despair – he came. Comfort – comfort in our darkness. He came, for those who had turned from the goodness and mercy of God – he came. He came to his own and ...