If you don't get anything else out of this . . .

My preacher has two sentences he often uses in sermons.

The first is, "Shake your head yes, no, or maybe, it'll go faster" after asking a question of the audience. 

The second is, "If you don't get anything else out of this sermon today, I want you to get this."

The first sentence usually gets a chuckle out of me. 

The second sentence, to me, is a signal to "listen up!" because I'm about to hear a main point.

Has this been any other year, last night we would have had our Christmas Eve service.  We would have sung along with our praise team, listened to our preacher's take on Christmas, and then ended with a rendition of "Silent Night" as each congregation member held a lit candle.  

2020 has not been any other year.

I had wondered if we would do an in-person Christmas Eve service this year, and a couple of weeks ago, I got my answer:  No. Instead, we would do a virtual service, as we did for so many months this year, from March until November (and as we still offer for those who don't feel comfortable or safe coming to an in-person service right now.)  

When the plans for the virtual service were announced, we were told, don't worry, we are still going to do our candles!  

So last night, Christmas Eve, at 5 p.m., with the rain falling outside mixed with either a bit of sleet or snow and the temperature hovering in the 30's, we pulled up our chairs to our dining room table, in front of my PC, and we watched as, thanks to the talents of our tech team and our praise team, and thanks to several families from our church, we listened as we celebrated Christmas in song and story.  

Members of our praise team, standing six feet apart, sang; members of our church (both kids and grownups) read portions of the Christmas story. 

And our preacher spoke. 

Since, for the past couple of years, Christmas has now become a debate about what Mary did or did not know, our preacher tackled the song "Mary, Did You Know?" and said that no, she didn't.  The angel Gabriel did tell her, "you will have a son and he will be the Messiah."  She knew that.  

She didn't know that she and her husband would have to flee for their lives, as refugees do today; that perhaps, when they returned to Nazareth, their family would probably be the subject of rumors and gossip ("Son of God? Really?"), and that she, herself, would wonder at least once if her eldest son was out of his mind.

She didn't know that a crowd that welcomed him with "Hosanna!" on Palm Sunday would scream "Crucify him!" mere days later. 

And she didn't know that death would not have the final word; that resurrection would.  

But, our preacher pointed out, Mary knew the faithfulness of God.  Mary was a Jewish girl who would have known of a prophesied Messiah.  She would have known the story of the Exodus, the story of Joshua, of David, of Solomon, of the exile to Babylon and the return home of the exiles.  

Over and over, she would have heard how God took care of his people. 

Mary may not have known the future, but she knew the past faithfulness of God . . . and although my preacher didn't say these words, I thought of the sentence, "If you don't get anything else out of this, get this."  

We have suffered through a long, difficult, weary year; a year of so much loss, so much suffering, so much anger, so much exhaustion, so much isolation. No one on earth has been unaffected. 

Personally, while I have lost no one to COVID, nor have I lost a job, I also have struggled this year with the effects of isolation, with the fallout of COVID and of the racial unrest in the US and the US presidential election and its aftermath.  I've adjusted to a spouse now working at home and dealt with a son doing digital learning through the computer.  I've asked questions about God, about faith, and I still have more questions than answers at times.

But I cannot get away from what Mary couldn't get away from, either:  That although neither of us know the future, we know the past faithfulness of God. 

God has not always done what I want Him to do when I want Him to do it. I don't understand why he does not directly intervene to stop COVID, stop the evil of racism, open the eyes of people so that they can see truth, make it obvious who can be trusted and who cannot be. 

But I still believe that God is faithful. I still believe that God cares, that He became human for a time to show us that yes, He does love us; yes, He was willing to become one of us to tell us, yes, I suffered when I was tempted so I can help those who are being tempted. He was willing to die for our sins because He wanted a relationship with us.  

Last night, at the end of our service, we were told to get our candles and light them, while a recording of our praise team singing "Silent Night" played over videos of candles.  

My family took three candles and lit them. And we watched the computer screen as we sang "Silent Night", a homage to a virgin mother and child, a story of shepherds quaking and glories streaming, and of a Son of God that is "love's pure light".  

If you don't get anything else out of this, get this;

Even through a computer screen, in this year of masks and social distancing, of Zoom, of an increasing "us vs. them mentality" . . . there is a God who is still faithful, a God who still cares about his people, a God who loves them.  

Just as a young girl named Mary did, I count on my past experiences with God's faithfulness to believe that He will see me through an uncertain future.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.