Christmas should offer young people chance
to find God's grace
My daughter, Michelle, is traveling all the way from Brussels,
Belgium, to spend Christmas with me. Well, she does want to see others, but in my mind she is coming
to be with me, and I'm eager to see her. The arduous travel has
become part of the Christmas tradition. I call it "the season
of return," when young people hop airplanes or gas up the
old car and drive for days to return to the bosom of their families. And when they get home, the expectations pile up. "We'll all be going to church on Christmas Eve, so get
used to the idea," Mom says. "All day Friday we'll be baking pies and cookies, so get
used to the idea," Dad says. "Yes, and on Thursday we're going to finish up the Christmas
shopping, so get used to the idea," Mom says. It's that first idea we instruct our children to get used to,
the one about going to church on Christmas Eve, that rings loudest
in the old belfry. You almost can hear the kids' thoughts: "I
never go to church. Why do they think they can make me go to church?
I'll just go to bed early, pretend I'm sick or something." But then Christmas Eve comes and, reluctantly, your offspring
don their holiday finery and go to church with the rest of the
family. In churches spanning the country and the globe, that generation
earnestly tries to reconnect with faith. Sometimes a wreath of faith, intertwined with life, begins
to emerge. But if a gnarled old pastor shakes a bony finger at the congregation
and scolds members for being only Christmas and Easter Christians,
then this fledgling light of faith could go out. It would be easier
to declare these children spiritually dead at the beginning of
the service and let them all leave then. You can't win friends
through scolding. Some of these young people dread going to church because they
feel guilty about their lifestyles. Maybe it's sex that troubles
them, or even drugs. But it's a forgone conclusion: When the kids
move away, they sometimes play too hard. And they fear that church
will condemn them, forcing them into an alien existence, cut off
from family, church and friends. If instead the pastor offers a message of grace, that generation
will reconnect, because it's an amazing thing. Grace resides in the bosom of the church, the central doctrine
of faith. It lies dormant in some congregations for years but
then leaps to life like a tulip in spring. It can't be bought
or sold. It belongs to God alone, a huge gift of pardon handed
out to the worthy and unworthy alike. Whenever I write or think about grace and young people who
may have left the church, it reminds me of a young woman I once
knew who came to church on Christmas Eve after many years of absence. She was 25, college-educated, working in a fine job and making
a fine salary. She was perky and pretty, and she knew it. But
this night, she sat in the darkened church, thinking about her
current relationship, wishing it were over. She knew when she
returned home something had to be done. She also thought about
all the other men in and out of her life, some who had mistreated
her, some who had been too good for her. She started to feel guilty and yearned to change. But she also
knew she wouldn't be able to forgive herself -- never in a lifetime
of self-confessions. She sat rigid, waiting for the ultimate rebuke,
waiting to be sent home in tears. The pastor -- a tall man looking every day of his 52 years
-- stepped into the pulpit. He began to talk about how the fallen
sinner can be resurrected. In everything the minister said, the
young woman recognized herself: self-indulgent, selfish, a betrayer
of friends, a liar, once a thief. She was the fallen sinner caught
in a merciless trap. She listened intently in the preacher's message for a way out,
for some force to spring the trap so she could crawl away, wounded
but alive. And, then, mercy was delivered from the pulpit in a message
of grace, that mysterious, undeniable force from God. "I don't care if you've been with a hundred men or a hundred
women, I say there is unconditional love for you," the preacher
said. "I say there is grace for you and forgiveness." The words were like the sounds of a whip, sharp snaps catching
her attention. There was a way out, and it was an escape through
a bearded Galilean once nailed to a cross. The young woman smiled and laughed a little. It was Christmas,
and she was rich in grace.
Clark D. Morphew
Posted For December 26, 1998