This Christmas Eve, linger a bit
A little rural church basks in Christ’s light
by Donna Frischknecht Jackson
We had just finished singing Silent Night. The Christmas Eve service was soon to be over and I felt like a child who had just opened the last of her Christmas presents. I was still overjoyed, but I didn’t want the magic of the night to end. 
I wanted more of this holy night. I wanted more of the beautiful circle of light embracing the sanctuary of the little rural church. I wanted more of the beaming faces illuminated by the candles they held.
The echo of the last note slowly vanished into heaven. I was not ready to put this gift away and give the benediction. And so, I stood there. We stood there. Together. Finally, I spoke.
“This is a beautiful sight. Christ’s light shining from you all. Take a moment to notice this gift before you,” I said, “For this moment is a gift.”
And it was.
The gifts of silence and candlelight were being given to us, allowing the depth of meaning of this night to enter our hearts.
I just didn’t want to rush this moment, for I knew after the candles were blown out and the sanctuary lights went back on, the holidays would kick back into high gear.
For some gathered in the sanctuary there were more relatives to visit after the church service. For others, there were late suppers to feast on. For still others, there were overly excited children to wrangle into their pajamas and get the plate of cookies and glass of cold milk ready for Santa before finally getting to bed. For me there, was a glass of eggnog and pickled herring waiting at home — a combination my husband still doesn’t quite understand.
Soon the candles would be blown out and my treasured Christmas Eve tradition at the little rural church would begin.
The last person would say “Merry Christmas” to me. I would then walk back into an empty sanctuary to my office to take my clergy robe off and get my boots and coat on. As I walked down the aisle I would notice how the sanctuary looked like a Christmas hangover — bulletins strewn onto the floor, candy cane wrappers left on the cushions and the stray glove or mitten homeless till next Sunday when its owners would claim them.
With my coat and boots finally on, I would take one last look around the sanctuary and kitchen and bathrooms and fellowship hall to make sure all lights were off, all candles extinguished and all doors locked.
Once outside, I would notice the last light flickering from the candles in the luminaries on the steps of the old church. I would then stand there in the silence of the night and look up at the stars and wonder.
Who on this holy night left this little church with the gift of Christ born again in his or her heart?
Who?
For now, though, in this moment, the candles burned brightly in the sanctuary. The Christmas Eve service was just about over — and we lingered.
It was time to give the benediction, one I came upon the first year I was a pastor and one I have used ever since. I lifted my candle and I said to all gathered:
May the joy of the angels, the eagerness of the shepherds, the perseverance of the wise men, the obedience of Joseph and Mary, and the peace of the Christ Child be yours this Christmas; and may the blessing of God almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, be among you and remain with your always. Amen.
The candles were extinguished, the harsh lights went back on, and the holiday frenzy kicked into gear. I smiled. For as the faithful left, they took the Christ light with them. They took it out out into the village, back to the farms, and all throughout the fields and rolling hills and mountain views in which the little rural church has stood for many a Christmas as a witness of a faith — and which will stand for many more Christmases to come.
Rev. Donna Frischknecht Jackson, interim editor of Presbyterians 
Today, is a former NYC magazine editor who traded in her heels for a good pair of barn boots when she was called to serve First United Presbyterian Church in rural Salem, New York. The little village sits on the Vermont border. She hopes to get chickens and goats one of these days. Till then, she writes, edits, preaches, tries to garden, quilts and shares the funny and moving moments that comes with being a rural pastor on her blog accidentalcountrypastor.com. Drop her a note at editor@pcusa.org.