Reflection: something that shows the effect, existence, or character of something else.”–Merriam Webster Dictionary
By the time I was born, my family had all but given up church. My memories of going are more like snapshots, the first of which is of leaving.
It was winter in Connecticut. I was probably three years old and packed into the station wagon with the six other members of my family — the driveway exit from the church parking lot forced our car to descend a small hill — the tires slid on ice, and we bumped into the car in front of us. No one was hurt. My dad jumped from the driver’s seat to meet the driver of the vehicle he’d hit. Together they assessed the situation, concluded there were no damages, shook hands, and each of our families went on our way.
My next memory is of Sunday School at the Congregational Church we briefly attended in Houston, I was probably six or seven. My mother was the teacher, and although I have no recollection of religious instruction, I remember making candles: three purple and one pink, all for the celebration of advent. Mom told us the pink candle represented love, and it was my favorite. My mother’s teachings inspired a longing always to light the pink candle when we celebrated advent at home.
Even today, when I think of the Christmas mantle of my growing up, it conjures an image in my mind. Nestled together with my brothers, sister, and parents, candles lit, three purple candles — one pink — singing a song of peace, then swapping stories of our day in a room lit by candles and the glow from the fireplace.
By the time we moved back to Old Greenwich from Texas, going to church was reserved for Christmas Eve. I have fond memories of bundling up in warm clothes to attend the midnight service. December in Connecticut can be skin-splitting cold, yet it never stopped us from going. Together, arms linked, we would stomp off the chill as we entered through the enormous wooden doors of the First Congregational Church. Once inside, the joy of Christmas enveloped us–shoulder to shoulder in pews with other congregants, candles with drip guards clenched in our fists, and the sound of Christmas hymns that rose clear to the rafters above.
In many respects, our home was my church.
My parent’s insistence that anyone was welcome at our hearth never wavered throughout their lifetimes. It was not unusual to find an extra plate set at the table, one of their friends who more times than not would have otherwise dined alone.
The holiday season is here, and I find myself grateful for the parents I had.
The days are drawing closer to a time when our family of five — the family Jimmy and I grew — will be together. And I realize that even now — my home, our home — home is still my church.
What a lovely concept. I can see so many positives in your approach! I’m not a big church girl…God is everywhere.
Indeed….
You’ve said something I’ve long thought, too, that soulful work can be done any where. Your family gathering sounds like they were wonderful. Thanks for the bright spot in my day.
Thank you for your warm comment, Suzanne. And yes, I quite agree…it can be done anywhere.
I completely and totally agree with you. I didn’t have a church upbringing, and I did not raise my children in a church. Home is where we “church”.
Thank you, Tam, for sharing. In the end it’s about the love…
You certainly paint the most amazing images with your words…. I can see the flicker of the candles on the mantle and feel the peace they brought you.
As my son grew, people would ask what church we attended and our answer was that we “home church” – we tried to fill our house with the acceptance and understanding that you described.
Another stellar piece that made me feel so deeply, Elin!
I love that, Ruth. “We home-church.” I do think that spirituality means many different things to different people. And the company we keep is a congregation of shorts too. Thank you for your sharing and for your kind words.
I love this idea of “home church” whether there is a structured religion or not. Great piece, Elin!
Thank you, Mary.
Beautiful words that stretch and warm my heart, Elin. As always.
Though my husband and I have attended (and taken our children to) the same church for more than 25 years as regularly as possible, it’s the Christmas Eve service that is a MUST every year. We sit in the balcony rather than our regular main floor pews so we can see the candlelight begin at the altar and spread from person to person until the entire sanctuary is lit with love and light. Then we sing Silent Night with no instruments but our voices. I tear up every single time. It’s a special night. Even now, my 29 year old daughter who lives an hour away says she MUST be off on Christmas Eve early enough this year to get to our house in time to attend the candlelight service.
Oh Lisa…I love what you shared here. Traditions like your Christmas Eve…well, just imaging what you described makes me feel the emotion. I would tear up for sure. Thank you for this…I will think of you this Christmas Eve.
Elin, this whole post touched me deeper than my words can do justice, assuming I could even find the right words to voice my emotions. You’ve taken me back to my childhood, a time of transition for my parents from devout Catholics to…I’m not sure, but I can safely say to people who found a different and altogether whole kind of faithfulness.
Thank you for sharing your childhood and opening your “church” to me through this beautiful post.
I rather like the sound of the transition and hope you will write about it, if you haven’t already. Thank you for your kind words too, I’m glad what I shared resonated with you.
I agree with Carol – God is everywhere. My home is my church and any place I go. Thank you for the story and the awareness. Lovely!
That’s so wonderful, thank you Carolann for sharing.
You really made me feel like I was right there with your family, Elin. What beautiful memories. When I was growing up my grandmother took us to one church and my mother took us to another. We never went on Christmas.
For the past 30-years I’ve taken my kids and now my grandkids on Christmas Eve. We are a very large group these days and I tear up every time.
I cannot wait to light my candles tonight, you have inspired me.
Love that, Doreen. Traditions shape us in ways we don’t necessarily appreciate until we are older and creating our own. Enjoy your candles, thank you…
I just knew I was going to love this when I read the title. I agree and can relate to all of your wonderful memories. Thanks for sharing during this stressful time of year. I feel better.
I am so glad. Thank you, Cheryl.
I don’t consider myself religious in the least. I certainly didn’t grow up religious either. Yet, I know that church is the equivalent of family to me. Church add family or home is where I’m the most comfortable, where the love flows easily. 🙂
Where the love flows, put so beautifully. Thank you!
I so agree. The values your parents instill in you have more impact than probably anything else. As that great theologian, Ziggy Marley, said, “Love is my religion.”
I love Ziggy Marley. And yes, I think we don’t completely realize the impact of those values until later in life…
I loved reading this very beautiful and touching story. The world needs more people doing this at home. Although I am very active in my church and love attending, I do believe that it all starts at home in the first place and if you don’t take it any further than that you are still doing what matters most. Going out to a physical church is just taking it the step further where we learn and share and serve others. My husband is an organist and does all of the music at our church and sharing his talents with everyone makes a difference in in the lives of so many others.