St. Andrew’s Advent Calendar 2023 Edition

December 25

Koko NyeBessi

In Yaoundé, where I grew up, Christmas arrives amidst the dry season, a time when the air carries the scent of brown dust and the delectable flavor of nutmeg-infused chin chin.

In this vibrant city, Christmas resonates with noise, music, and the booming beats of car stereos. The people are lively, and vendors vie for attention through their loud and spirited enticements. Families prioritize donning their finest attire, often choosing matching outfits to celebrate the festive day.

Christmas embodies happiness and an abundance of food – the enticing aroma of jellof rice and fried chicken, miyondo and beef soya, the fizzy sounds of drinks being poured limitlessly, and the joyful laughter of children. It's a celebration, where an unpredictable number of guests will drop in bringing cheer and are ensured a hearty meal and an affectionate welcome.

For me, Christmas is infused with familiarity, specifically the redolence of cypress trees that adorned homes, filling the air with their refreshing scent. I recall my aunt Mmannchong once surprising us with a grand 10-ft artificial tree. Her grand gesture did not land well, especially with me the baby of 8 kids.

 I remember crying "it does not smell like Christmas."

Mammy and Daddy had not choice but to promptly replace it with an authentic real tree which we all cherished.

In the heart of this festive season, church plays a significant role. With my mother serving as an elder (PCC Bastos) and most of us kids in Junior choir, Christmas involves lengthy days at both the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day services. The harmonious voices of all three choirs (back then, now there are more than 10 in our home church), singing together in unity and concluding the night with candlelights, create a spiritual and joyous atmosphere.

"Love Came Down at Christmas

Love a lovely, Love Divine

Love was born at Christmas

Star and Angels gave the sign"

Above all, Christmas is love. It's the warmth of being surrounded by loved ones, the joy of surprises, and the creation of new memories while reminiscing about the old. And so our family continues the tradition when we can, meeting together or in small groups in various parts of the world. This year we are home in Ottawa and my sister and nephew have joined from Virginia. We have a real tree with much gratitude to James, Laurie and Allan who solved my Christmas tree crisis. And my siblings and mom celebrate in Abidjan, Frankfurt, Houston, Taipei and Yaounde. 

Christmas is Awe. It's the embodiment of God's love, symbolized by the birth of a baby, reminding us of the profound significance of this joyous season.

December 24

Ian Mackay

Our busy and traditional preparations for Christmas often centre around light. This is the time of year when we try to preserve and manage light by stringing lights in our homes, lighting candles, and stoking fires. Sometimes, however, light catches us by surprise – stops us in our tracks. Last year, I stumbled into a most extraordinary light.

If I had passed it once I had passed it hundreds of times: a beautiful, old twisted oak tree along an Ottawa River parkway that no doubt had stories to tell. Now that I think about it… didn’t Champlain log a remark on massive oak trees spotted on the shoreline as he passed through what we now know as Ottawa? I digress…

This particular tree has a different complexion each season but I always thought it looked its best in autumn after shedding most of its leaves. Last year, I finally found time to grab my camera, trudge across a field and try to photograph it during the golden hour of a perfectly clear day.

I scouted out different angles with the sun at my back but as I approached the tree I noticed a hole passing straight through the trunk and an extensive hollow in its heartwood. I was intrigued about it all and walked around to check it out. As I turned and faced west I noticed that the setting sun was almost perfectly aligned with the hole.  Excited by the discovery, I fumbled with the camera and managed to grab a series of photos on various settings hoping that one might turn out. I then lowered my camera, paused, and just stood in awe of an extraordinary sight and a brilliant light. For days after, I shared my discovery with friends and family, showed them some of the photos on my phone and thought how fortuitous it was to have stumbled onto the tree, on that day and at that time. I couldn’t help but wonder if I found the light or the light found me and how many others may have been witness to it over time.  

We spend much of Advent reading and rereading, learning and relearning about darkness and light. These stories are allegory and analogy, prophesy and parable but most importantly, they are truth. The prophetic readings from the Hebrew Scriptures speak of a coming light, a great light for all people. The Gospels tell of those prophecies fulfilled in the incarnation, life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We are told that Jesus is the light for all humankind, light from light, true God from true God. And we are reassured that light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

What of that light for us today and in this season? Do we seek it and bask in it? Do we point to it and admire it in the distance? Photograph and paint it? Perhaps. But how can we justify a lukewarm response to such an extraordinary light?  

However and whenever that light finds us it requires a serious response. For most, that response will be to follow, to change directions, and to work for a Kingdom that is better, more just, and more loving than the world we find ourselves in today.

As Advent closes may that light find us again and may we recognize it immediately as a gift. Let us freely accept it for ourselves, reflect it in good and greater works and may it shine through us on its way to neighbours and into the world.

I heard the voice of Je­sus say,
I am this dark world’s light;
Look un­to Me, thy morn shall rise,
And all thy day be bright.
I looked to Je­sus, and I found
In Him my star, my sun;
And in that light of life I’ll walk,
Till tra­vel­ing days are done.
Horatius Bonar (1808-1889)

December 23

Jeanie Hicks, writing from Paris

Give us this day our daily bread - Matthew 6:11

The rain continues here and it will definitely not be a white Christmas.

The Christmas markets are flourishing and the displays in the grands magasins are overwhelming.

Today I took a break during a walk and stopped to have lunch in a busy cafe.  It was comfortable and warm out of the rain and no one seemed in a hurry to rush off in any direction.  A communal table or separate tables meant everyone had a place to eat. 

After paying the bill and leaving I began calculating and realized I had paid for a ‘brunch’ instead of the single items I chose.  I was only several meters from the cafe when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw the young girl who had been on the cash when I paid.  She apologized and said she had overcharged me thinking I was one of the women who had ordered the brunch menu.  Once everything was settled I thanked her again and headed back outside leaving the Christmas music behind.  I  was grateful for her honesty and for taking the time to find me in the street.  I was grateful I had eaten well.  I was grateful for the day and its  joys .

Name of the café? 

Le Pain Quotidien.

Try and convince me that is a coincidence.

Prayer: thank you God!

December 22

– Jen Curtis

This is the day that the Lord has made;
    let us rejoice and be glad in it.- Psalm 118: 24

The Night at Simpson’s

One of the things that gives my life meaning is traditions—things that are done year after year, often in the same way. 

Christmas of course offers a galaxy of traditions, especially for a child.  When I was young, growing up in Toronto’s west end, I was blessed with parents who gave us magical Christmases replete with rituals and traditions that we came to adore. The memories have a sparkle to them that other memories don’t.

One of those was the night “at Simpson’s”.  Here’s how it went:  Mom would drive the three of us (me, my brother and my sister) downtown  where we’d pick up Dad on Bay Street after his work.  We’d walk over to Simpson’s, which at the time  (1960s) shared a block on Yonge Street with Eaton’s.   First, we’d go to Simpson’s, find Santa and get our picture taken on his knee.  My brother was shy and I would often speak to Santa on his behalf (as well as for myself).   We still have all those photos. My little sister looks downright petrified in most of them.

Then, we’d ride up the escalator to the 8th floor, where we’d step out to the grandeur of Simpson’s Arcadian court.  This venue is still there I see, but it has changed. Back then, the ceiling featured four or five giant lights, each resembling a firecracker,  and each with a zillion smaller bulbs hanging down.  They were ultra dazzling.  Even more amazing was the Christmas buffet.  Everything from cold salmon to chicken pot pie to jellied salads.  The waitresses, clad in black with white aprons, would replace the food the minute a plate looked less than full. I seem to remember OD’ing one year on devilled eggs. Despite that, while I don’t recall saying “awesome” back then, the buffet was totally completely awesome.

Then, came the windows!!  With the nightfall and the smell of the roasting chestnuts around us (as I write, I can smell and see the men and their stands on the streetcorners) we’d slowly walk up Young where both Eaton’s and Simpson’s outdid themselves with Christmas windows.  They recreated fairy tales, the North Pole, cartoons and other scenes.

I feel blessed that I can unearth that memory and remember the magic of those nights.

Prayer: God we pray for families, for the memories they are making, the traditions they are keeping. Bless them and keep them

In Jesus name, Amen

December 21

By Althea Williams-Goodman

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. Psalm 23:1

My earliest memory of Christmas, was when I was about seven or eight years old in Jamaican. There was no gift shopping or gift exchange involved in the Christmas celebrations. And, it didn’t occur to us as children to want or expect a gift. It simply was not part of our culture. 

At Christmas, we enjoyed caroling door to door on Christmas Eve and going to church the next day wearing a brand new outfit -  for me it was a red dress with matching frilly red socks and a white hat with red flowers.  Then, for several days, families and friends dropped by each other’s homes and enjoyed small slices of home made black cake (rum cake), glasses of sorel (a drink made from hibiscus flower pods), and lots of loud conversation while listening to Christmas music and playing dominoes.  Extra food was prepared for each meal with the expectation that neighbours, friends and family members may drop by unannounced. 

My greatest joy came from the trip to the beach, where we ate warm freshly roasted peanuts in paper cones and scoops of grape nut ice cream from cart vendors, and rode the merry- go-round that was especially set up for Christmas. 

But, my fondest memory of that Christmas is of my grandfather sitting in a chair that everyone knew to be his chair, cutting the thinnest slices possible of what we called an ‘American apple’.  It was, at that time, a rare treat to have an apple that came from the US. My grand father wanted to make sure that each grandchild had a taste of the apple, so one apple was sliced thinly so that 13 children could have a small piece.  None of us went wanting. 

Prayer - Thank you, God, for providing us with all that we need and blessing us with such abundance. 

December 20

This is a story about a Christmas turkey! – Ray Boomgaardt

Philippians 4:6-7
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

From 1979 to 1981 Mary Ellen and I lived in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, East Africa, with our little girls, Najma and Rachel.

Christmas far from home makes you want the details of Christmas past: a turkey dinner and family. And for Christmas 1980 we were going to have both: Mary Ellen had purchased a frozen turkey from the Commissary, and we had family living in Tanzania - my Dutch cousin Brecht, and her family.

Brecht was a daughter of my father's younger brother, Rein. During several stopovers in the Netherlands in the early 1970s, I had gotten to know Uncle Rein, Aunt Ank and their 4 youngest children, but, until we went to Tanzania, I had not seen the two daughters who were my age, Brecht and Ank, since 1952, when we were children. On more than one occasion Uncle Rein had taken time from his busy schedule to spend hours with me, visiting relatives and graveyards. Rein had been the publisher of a Christian daily newspaper and I was always inspired by his generosity to me, his quiet wisdom, and his kind stories of the people he had known.

We had visited Brecht and Albert Oosting, and their daughter Anke early in 1980. Albert had volunteered with a Lutheran Aid Mission to supervise the building of a technical school in Legeruki, a village not far from Mount Kilimanjro. Although I had not seen Brecht since we were 4, we had an instant (re)connection. Indeed, all of us hit it off. We made a plan for the families to spend Christmas together. Bonus: Ank would also be there, visiting from Leningrad.

It was an 8 hour drive, with the frozen turkey safely towed in an insulated container. About 2 hours from our destination, as we reached a crest in the highway, we saw the white peak of Kilimanjaro. The road was beginning a mile long gradual descent, so the peak was astonishingly high, and seemed detached from the bonds of earth. Breathtaking. We arrived. It was nice to see the Oostings again, and finally to meet Ank again. We presented our lovely turkey, and Brecht's eyes widened. Mount Meru filled the view from the verandah, and Colobus monkeys chattered at us from the trees.

Prayer: God we pray for those who are going to be travelling and on the road this Christmas, that there might be home to welcome them and food to nourish them, that they will know your love, in Jesus name we pray Amen

Christmas day we went to the local church and then we had Christmas dinner. Christmas was almost perfect.

Today, 43 years later, the snow on Kilimanjaro has almost all gone. Brecht and Albert have volunteered in Israel for many years, working with Christians there. Ank still works for the Navigators in the city now called St Petersburg. Mary Ellen has passed, but my memory of her, including our wonderful Christmases together with family, is as strong as ever.

Snow (in Africa!), family, turkey. The highlight of Christmas dinner was.. turkey stew! Brecht didn't have a big enough pot, so she and Ank cut up the turkey. We had a good laugh. The Dutch are so practical

December 19th

Noral Rebin

Christmas Calling

13 Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.- Romans 15:13

Do you ever wish you could back to those first few Christmases that you remembered as a child?  There are few memories that are more precious or better than those first few. Wonder abounded.  

The first time you helped decorate the tree, the first time you saw the spectacle of the tree lighting up with wonderous colours and twinkling lights.

Your first present just for you, where the box was as much of a gift as the toy that was inside.

What happened to that joy and excitement?

 A friend told me Christmas no longer held the same pleasure as it was all hustle and bustle and running here and there. But is it?

 Jesus came into the world fresh and clean, bright and joyful for al of us. 

We know how the story goes and perhaps that takes some of the shine off the birth but should it? 

There is a great Garth Brooks song that has the lyrics.

And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end
The way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance

Could anything be more true for the life of Jesus?

We follow the hustle and bustle and let ourselves be caught up in the chase and the pursuit of that perfect moment that we hope to find.

We see the lights and the bells, the neon and the glitz. Do we see what was and is true?

We cherish Christmas, for the birth, for the family, for the sharing and for the caring. Some are generous of their time, some their resources and some their spirit. 

Why then do we let this all get lost in the moment that is "Christmas"?

Oft we look at the now and think it could be better and ever that is true. But WE are the vessels of change the medium to make it better.

This Christmas as you sit among the lights and  ornaments and gifts as you stare out from the wonder of Christmas, do as my black and white furry friends are doing. 

See the love and joy of the moment, bask in tight and glory that is Christmas. But remember Jesus came not for just today but the glory of the hope for the future.

Take your blessings share them rejoice in them but Share them and look out from among the splendour to the future with faith and hope. 

You make the way to the future promised by Jesus.

 It’s always something, to know you’ve done the most you could. But don’t leave off hoping, or it’s of no use doing anything. Hope, hope to the last.” — Charles Dickens

Prayer from 2 Corinthians 4:18

While we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal- God help us to “see” the things eternal and fill us with joy and awe this Christmas.

December 18th

Stuart McLeod

Best Day

I am the Way, the Truth and the Life: no one comes to the Father except through me.- John 6: 4

In a scene from , the movie, A Christmas Carol, we see Alice, Scrooge's former fiancee, tending to an older woman by giving her a cup of broth and kind words. 

The woman responds "Bless you dear, this is the best day of my life." 

Best day!  What kind of life has she endured that a cup of broth and a few kind words constitute the "best day".  We can only imagine what hardships she has had to endure to evoke that reaction.

On hearing this, the question arose in my mind, "As Christians what is our best day?" 

Upon reflecting on this question, I would suggest that our best day is the day of the birth of our Lord, Jesus, from which in his adult years He gave us his wisdom and teachings as well as His sacrifice on the cross to atone for our sins.  His words on how we should live, treat our neighbours, worship our God and work to bring about His Kingdom on earth live on and continue to guide and inspire us as we journey along our path of life.  Emmanuel, our God is with us with our hope and salvation all coming from that day.  That is our best day.

Prayer: Remembering Jesus said whatever we do to the least of these we do for him, help us to celebrate his birth and presence with us in the way we serve others. And may the gift of joy and “best days” be born anew among us this year Amen

December 17th

Sandra Currie

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” – Luke 2: 13 – 14

In the nineteen seventies, when our three daughters no longer rose at 6 am to see what Santa had given them, we turned up as a family for the late evening service at St.Andrew’s on Christmas Eve.

It was a service consisting only of choral anthems, carols and readings from St. Luke spoken by Janet Murray Banigan.

Relaxing midst the candlelight, listening to the glorious music and the words of St. Luke,we fell under the spell of the birth of Jesus. Leaving the church on that very snowy night, all thoughts of Santa gone, we rejoiced as a family in the joy and wonder of the season.

Prayer: We give you thanks for the gift of song Gracious God. For the celebration it offers and the good news it proclaims from our hearts, Amen

December 16
Sheila Urquhart

"The Bethlehem Stable”

 In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 All went to their own towns to be registered. 4 Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5 He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7 And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room.

Luke 2: 1 – 7

About 40 years ago,  I was asked to supervise one group of children at an all-day

Advent Workshop, to be held at St. Timothy.s Presbyterian Church.  My misgivings

eased, when my friend Ruby Sakhainen also volunteered to help, as part of the

St. Andrew.s contingent.

On the appointed day, we first set our delightful group to weaving Swedish Stars on

cardboard looms, then they chose their parts in "The Bethlehem Stable", a brief play

I had written which focused on the animals which lived in that Stable and who welcomed

the Holy Family to their humble home.  Among others, the characters included Rebecca, the

Sensible Brown Cow, Amos the Ox, and the Stable Cat.  

For each character, we had bristol board placards with wool strings which they wore round

their necks, with their character.s name written large on the front and their line(s) printed on

the back.  The children chose to wear the placards through the communal lunch.

We rehearsed all afternoon.  The Baby Jesus was played by a Japanese doll, Yako-chan,

kindly lent by my daughter Danielle.  A friendly man, whom we didn't know, kept visiting

throughout the day, and instructed the girl playing Mary to hold Baby Jesus front and centre,

which she did.

At the finale for the parents, the children played their parts superbly, Bethlehem seemed very

close, and the friendly man turned out to be the minister at St. Timothy.s."

prayer: Thank you God for all the times and places in our lives where people have made room and welcomed us in friendship. Help us to continue to welcome others in friendship ourselves, knowing that in doing so we welcome you in the name of Jesus, amen

December 15
Ian MacKay

The gift that keeps giving

For each perfect gift of Thine,

To the earth so freely given,

Graces human and divine,

Flowers of earth and buds of heaven,

Lord of all, to Thee we raise

This our sacrifice of praise.

Conrad Kocher

I can’t remember the exact year but I’m guessing it was 1998. What I remember clearly was that Bob Hill was our interim minister at St. Andrew’s Church while we were searching for a new Minister.

That fall, the Worship and Music Committee was working with Bob to plan the Advent and Christmas season and we tasked ourselves with solving a ‘problem’. The problem was the size and position of the Advent wreath in the sanctuary. At the time, the wreath was placed on a corner of the communion table. The committee had heard that the wreath was too small and depending on where you happened to be sitting in the church, the lighting of the candles and the accompanying liturgy was just too crowded. Yes, these are things that church committees have to deal with.

With the problem identified, Bob and the committee hatched a plan to find and purchase a bigger wreath. We looked at a few options in a liturgical supplies catalogue including one that mounted the wreath and stand on a 45° angle, which seemed contrived to us.

Not finding anything we liked, we explored getting a wreath stand custom fabricated. I recall sitting with Bob looking through the Yellow Pages (remember those?) and settling on a local metal fabricator in nearby Little Italy. After a phone call, and an awkward explanation of what we were looking for, we set up a visit with a couple of guys from the shop whom we later came to know as the shop’s owner and son.

A week or so later, Bob and I greeted father and son at the door of the church. They entered the sanctuary, immediately crossed themselves in the Catholic tradition and then the questions started. Questions not so much about the wreath but about what St. Andrew’s was all about and the fact that Bob was a different kind of priest… As you might guess, they took an immediate liking to Bob and I seem to recall that the conversation eventually turned to soccer…who could have guessed that would happen with an Irishman and two Italian metal workers?

With important preliminaries out of the way, they walked around, noted other wrought iron work, took some measurements, listened to our thoughts and with pencil and paper sketched out some ideas. At the time, we were looking for a more definitive plan but they reassured us that they would come up with something appropriate. We finished up by asking about price. They responded with a ‘ball park’ figure that seemed to be within our budget.

Two weeks later, father and son arrived one afternoon and carried the new wreath stand up the stairs and into the minister’s office. Well, in short, we were pleased, so pleased. They, in turn, were so proud. It was perfect in size, balance and structure. We immediately imagined it with new candles and families gathered around it offering words of scripture, prayer and blessing. After more compliments and thanks we asked for the bill. The father responded with something like: “My mother would kill me if I charged you for something we made for a church”. In the end, there was no bill and we simply accepted the stand as a gift.

If my dates are right this might be the 25th year with our ‘new’ Advent wreath. Dare I invoke the cliché ‘the gift that keeps giving’? Seems just about right ‒ and truer the more over many years. I regret not remembering father and son’s names and its unlikely they remember ours either. I have no doubt, however, they remember offering the gift just as we remember the gift received.

Preparing to welcome Christ again is a gift and His love for us is the ultimate ‘gift that keeps giving’ provided we freely accept it for ourselves, those whom we love, our neighbours, and our weary world.

What can I give him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give him ‒ give my heart.

Christina Rossetti

December 14

Ray Boomgaardt

This is the day the Lord has made;
We will rejoice and be glad in it. – Psalm 118: 24

Christmas 1983 promised to be a Christmas to remember. Mary Ellen and I were expecting a baby, due to arrive on or about December 25!

At the end of November, Mary Ellen had gone in for a checkup. Everything seemed fine.

But, two days later, Mary Ellen called the doctor’s office. The baby seemed to have stopped moving. Could something be wrong? Within a few minutes the doctor was on the phone: please come in immediately.

Mary Ellen called me. We went together to see the doctor.

The good news: the baby was alive. But the doctor had ordered a series of tests, to be done at the hospital, next door, immediately. After the tests, our doctor had asked a specialist to help him assess the tests. The expert took us through the results. I’ll spare you the details, although I think I can still remember his every word.

Then our doctor spoke. He wanted us to know the details, but the good news was that the baby, which would have been due in about 3 weeks, could be delivered now and sustained in an incubator for a few weeks. He recommended that Mary Ellen have the baby immediately.

So our new daughter, Aisling, was born on December 3, instead of Christmas Day. Ten days later she came home from the hospital.

Christmas is a time when we celebrate the birth of our Saviour. And He is with us even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

It was a Christmas to remember after all.

Prayer: God as we give you thanks for the gift of our own lives and children, we pray for children who will be born this day and this year. In the name of the child born in the manger

Amen

December 13

Vivian Leir

Deuteronomy 1:30

You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. Psalm 139:5 (NLT)

The Little Glass Creche

When I was a University student in the 70’s I took the requisite backpacking trip through Europe. In Venice I visited the renowned island of Murano where all the lovely glass-making studios are located.

I purchased a few small pieces as souvenirs, including a gorgeous little creche, exquisitely made, for my Grandmother. Surprisingly all the glass made it home unbroken having travelled through Germany, Switzerland, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and back to the UK, where the creche was left lovingly with my Grandmother who lived at that time in Portsmouth. She was delighted with it!

As the years passed I pursued my education and career and my Grandmother decided to move to Victoria, B.C. to be closer to family. She left many things behind in England but the little glass creche came with her! She lived first in a Retirement Home and then to Assisted Living. She passed away at age 94 and as my Mother sorted through her few remaining belongings she came across the little glass creche…. but sadly, baby Jesus was missing.

My Mum felt I should have the little creche, even without Jesus, and I was delighted to receive it. It has travelled with me across the country and been lovingly admired each Christmas by family and friends including of course, my own children. The question of “Where is baby Jesus?” always comes up and I don’t have the answer, yet it does not seem to matter. The creche has its’ own story to tell and each Christmas when I carefully unwrap it, I feel content and fulfilled.

Prayer: We give you thanks today for our families and all who have journeyed with us through the days of our lives. Be with us as we continue to journey together and with you this Christmas

In the name of Jesus

Amen

December 12

Archibald Ritter

And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room – Luke 2: 7

“Lullay Mine Liking”

As a young boy and then a teenager growing up in Kingston, a major event at Christmas time was the Carol Service at St. Georges Cathedral where I was a choir member as a “treble”, 1951 to 1954, and then as a tenor, 1957-1960. A favourite carol at this Christmas Eve service was “Lullay Mine Liking”. This somewhat rare carol has remained strong in my memory ever since, despite virtually never having heard it sung live or on a recording device since 1960.

“Lullay, Mine Liking” is a carol from the 15th century, rediscovered with lyrics only and without the melody, in the late 1800s in a manuscript in the British Library. Various composers have put it to music. The version here is that of Gustav Theodore von Holst, an English composer (despite his Germanic or Scandinavian name) of the early 1900s. The refrain is a lovely and sweet lullaby sung by Mary to the Baby Jesus.

A variety of performances of the Gustav Holst and other composers’ versions are available on YouTube and Spotify.

Here is video version by Winchester Cathedral Choir:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Zx9JA2DOow

Lullay Mine Liking: Lyrics

Refrain
Lullay, mine Liking, my dear Son, mine Sweeting,
Lullay, my dear heart, mine own dear darling.

Verses
I saw a fair maiden, sitting and sing,
She lulled a little child a sweet lording.

Refrain

That very lord is He that made all things
Of all lords He is Lord (and) King of all king.

Refrain

There was mickle (much) melody at that Child's birth,
All that were in heaven's bliss, they made mickle mirth.

Refrain

Angels bright they sang that night and saiden to that Child,
"Blessed be Thou, and so be she that is both meek and mild."

Refrain

Pray we now to that Child, and to His mother dear,
Grant them His blessing that now maken cheer.

Refrain

Middle English original spelling

Refrain

Lullay, myn lykyng, my dere sone, myn swetyng,
Lullay, my dere herte, myn owyn dere derlyng.

I saw a fayr maydyn syttyn and synge,
Sche lullyd a lytyl chyld, a swete lordyng,
Refrain

Ther was mekyl melody at that chyldes berthe,
Alle tho wern in hevene blys thei made mekyl merthe,

Refrain

Aungelebryt thei song that nyt and seydyn to that chyld,
"Blyssid be thou, and so be sche that is bothe mek and myld".
Refrain
Prey we now to that chyld, and to his moder dere,
Grawnt hem his blyssyng that now makyn chere.

Refrain

Prayer: God of love, you who come close to us in Jesus. As we imagine Mary cradly the infant Jesus we pray for all children who are born this day and born this year. For their parents and those who love them. Guard them in safety, in Jesus name
Amen

December 11

The Cornthwaite Family

"Our favourite Christmas tradition is that every year we travel up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, near Timmins Ontario. Our cousins travel from all over the province, and we meet there for Christmas. Usually we go to the woods together and cut down a tree. And we always have a "Christmas Eve feast" where we eat a huge meal of appetizers, then we open one present. And we ALWAYS listen to the album James Last Christmas Dancing. Here is the link: https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_mDgsOOvyucsa00OxVr6OlKbEWH6zjhgss&si=WAmetbPTolFURK-z

This year we are sad to be missing our Canadian Christmas traditions as we are in Cambridge, England for Christmas. But we are enjoying mince pies, lots of chocolate, and Christmas markets--and Dad is taking us to 'Carols from Kings--a famous UK choral."

Prayer

O holy Child of Bethlehem,
descend to us, we pray;
cast out our sin and enter in;
be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels,
the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!

December 10

By Heather Paton

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”  John 8:12 

Our first Christmas in Ottawa was 2020 and we were looking for new things to try to mark the season in an unfamiliar time and place.  We found the idea to make ice luminaries on the online interactive advent calendar.   Luminaries can take different forms but they are basically a candle holder meant to light up a path.  We make ours by freezing water with pieces of evergreen leaves, berries and other bits from nature.  They are placed outside to light up the longest night on Dec. 21st.     

We did this with my mom on Skype the first year, Abigail was three and Anna almost one.  They liked gathering materials on a hike beforehand and playing in the water. Candles seem to be magical for my children and they still have a sense of awe when we put the lit candles in the luminaries for the first time.  They get peaceful as they watch the flame flicker in the cold air and shimmer through the ice walls.  It is a small act of beauty and wonder to light a candle in this way during the season of Advent waiting.  I think of it as a way to both embrace the cold of the night and cling to the hope of brighter days ahead.    

Prayer 

Light of the world, 

Embrace us on our coldest nights that we might wait for daylight with you. 

Amen 

December 9

From Elizabeth Phillipson

The Bleak Midwinter: Darkness and Light

The people who walked in the darkness have seen a great light;

those who lived in a land of deep darkness –

on them light has shined.   

 ~Isaiah 9:2~

When I was growing up in NDG (Nôtre-Dame-de-Grace), Montréal, with Advent beginning and Christmas just around the corner, my mother would always hope that we wouldn't be singing that In the bleak mid-winter hymn in church: "It's so dreary, and so depressing!". It was really her least favourite of all of the hymns we would sing as Christmas approached.

As I look over the opening words written by Christina Rossetti in 1872, the haunting music of Gustav Holst hovering, I see her point in a way: 

In the bleak mid-winter

  Frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron,

  Water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow,

  Snow on snow,

In the bleak mid-winter

  Long ago.

 In this part of Canada, our winters are long, and can indeed be bleak. For my Mom, although Christmas was lovely (if a bit daunting: the shopping! The baking! The relatives!), after it was all over, there was still that long, cold winter to endure that seemed to go on and on. Yes, the days were getting gradually longer, but the snow kept getting deeper, the cold crept into our bones, the spring seemed so far away. She never really got beyond that first verse of the hymn, did she?

During that first winter of the pandemic we all discovered quite a bit as we walked around our neighbourhoods, perhaps venturing into the countryside. As I don't have a car, I stuck close to home. Through that time I discovered little gems that I had never noticed before: little paths through a forested area, a hydro corridor surprisingly full of wildlife and wild plantings. And snow, lots of snow. Was it dark and dreary? Not on a lovely sunny, frigid day. I hung birdseed ornaments that I had made on trees and watched the chickadees swoop onto them in joy  

I walked into the light, surrounded by the love of God and all that he created, and I felt his presence, became so aware of it. Were there times of darkness, of sadness? Of course there were, but I knew that darkness would lead to light; if I let God take me by the hand, he would journey with me.

We experience this journey with Advent: we are being led towards the light, towards the birth of Jesus. The darkness becomes a comfort when we look beyond it and remember what is to come: the Light of the World.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him

  Nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away

  When he comes to reign:

In the bleak mid-winter

  A stable-place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty,

  Jesus Christ.

Prayer: O Lord, in the bleak mid-winter, when the days are cold, remind us of the warmth of your love.

In the bleak mid-winter, when the days are short, remind us that your light shines through the darkness.

In the bleak mid-winter, when the flowers of spring lay dormant beneath the frozen earth and the trees are bare-boned, remind us that they will bloom again, in your light.

And as our world is suffering so much pain...

Reach out and remind us of the power of your love. 

Let us embrace the warmth in your light as you give us the gift of your beloved son, 

the Light of the World, our blessed Jesus Christ.

December 8

From Joan Rivard

Psalm 136:1
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever.

“ Do good dogs go to heaven?  Our big doodle Myles left us after Christmas last year at the age of 14 - old for a big dog.  He had enjoyed one last Christmas season, a bit stiff and shaky in old age, but still supervising as we strung lights and decorated the tree.  He was available to consult on Christmas gifts or to watch Christmas specials. He was maybe a little alarmed when I would belt out my favourite Christmas carols, but he tried  to keep a straight face.  And he still assisted with turkey leftovers like a professional.  

 When Myles passed away at the vet’s office, calm and unafraid, shortly after Christmas, he left us some wonderful Christmas memories.  I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I do know that the good ones draw out our finer selves and leave us better for their company. Merry Christmas to you and all your fur babies.  ❤️”

Prayer

Dear God we thank you for the beauty of this world and those we share it with including our furry friends of all types. For the way they made our days special, for their welcome when we came home, for the way they made our celebrations special we give you thanks. For the ways we have learned to love through and with them, we praise you

In Jesus name we pray

Amen

December 7th

From Matthew Larkin

I joined the boys’ choir of St. George’s Anglican Cathedral in Kingston, Ontario, in September 1972. My parents had moved us from England to Canada a little more than two years before, and like other kids from elsewhere just trying to fit in, I had tried my hand at anything the neighbourhood lads were doing. I learned to skate, and for a while, became pretty good at it. I took up baseball in the summers. I sought the approval of my mum and dad, and more generally, from the adults I met. I tried - at my parents’ urging - violin lessons. I never took to the instrument, and went out of my way not to practice. Soon enough, the lessons ended. My then-teacher is still active at St. George’s, and I have occasionally said to her, “sorry, Miss. Oliver” (she’s very gracious about it). Although my parents gave up on the whole idea of music for me, there was a fair bit of music-making in the home. My dad was fond of the penny whistle, and played it well. From time to time, there were “old-time” folk sessions in the house, where some colleagues of his would come over, sing, and play instruments. It was always later in the evening than I was allowed to stay up, but my brother and I would listen intently from our bedroom.

Soon after, I had a charismatic teacher at Lord Strathcona School, and was fortunate to be in his class for three grades. Mr. Turcotte conducted the school choir, and he wanted boys to join in the singing. I was reluctant, at first, but was entranced by the sound as they rehearsed during recess one afternoon. Mr. Turcotte noticed my interest, and insisted that I sign up. After a few practices, he took several of us aside, and said, “there is a boys’ choir you must join”, and thus, two friends and I became part of St. George’s Cathedral Choir on the same Saturday morning. I remember our first day vividly.

When I told my parents about this choir, they were incredulous. “You have no interest in music! You refused to practice the violin!”. Somehow, I convinced them otherwise, and within weeks of my first cathedral service as a chorister, I knew that I wanted to be a musician. And more than that, I needed to be one. Furthermore, the ethos of liturgical music had me hooked for life, and I could sense it before I was ten. My first choirmaster, Dr. Maybee, was a legend in Canada for his upholding of the cathedral tradition, and his leadership of the choir inspired me so much. Unfortunately, he passed away at the end of my first year as a chorister.

But back on Advent Sunday in 1972, there was a carol service in the evening. I wasn’t allowed to sing on so auspicious an occasion, as I was only a novice. I was very struck by the lights going out moments before the service began. I don’t recall any other early musical event in my life having the impact that service did. As an intermediate, senior, and eventually head chorister of the choir, Advent Sunday meant more to me than any other. I loved and was excited by the the processions, the candles, the hymns and carols, and the traditional readings. I still feel this today.

Over the course of my time as a treble singer, a lot of things changed around me. My parents were continually in crisis, and eventually, our family fell apart. My brother Graham and I were orphaned within a few short years. Things seemed to move slowly at the time, but when I look back on it now, we went from an apparently stable and normal life to a completely chaotic and abnormal one (relative to most of the people we knew, anyway). This culminated in the death of my parents within months of each other, when we were in our teens. I’m not exaggerating when I say that the anchor for me, spiritually, and in terms of my own expressive and creative purpose as a young person, was music in the season of Advent. Eventually, the two of us joined a new family we had met through our church community, and we gained another brother and a sister that way. Our new parents encouraged us in our pursuits and passions, and we both found our footing again, with me building a career as a musician and my brother as an art historian.

I didn’t have the words for all this years ago, but I think that a well-known hymn says it best: “hope is a star, and it shines in the night.” Of course, what we perceive to be hope can betray you. For everything my boyhood at St. George’s gave me (it was literally my whole world for years), it took away in equal measure. But that is a story for another time. What I gained is part of the spirit and message of Advent. Trials are before all of us, but God calls us to trust in him. I learned through my own experience that it’s never too late to embrace hope, and to believe that a pathway will be revealed to you.

December 6th

From Melanie Abeysundera  

When we were growing up, my mom always liked to have the Christmas tree up in time for her birthday on December 6, so the tree always went up the first weekend of Advent.  The more garland, decorations and tinsel the better! The tree was one of those old-fashioned artificial trees with a long wooden pole with slots in which to hook the branches with their colour coded wire ends.  We eventually updated the tree to something a little more understated when we got older but this tree, in all its kitschy glory, will always have a special place in my heart.  Its appearance heralded the beginning of the Christmas season when I was small.  Thus began the time for sledding, sugar cookies and hot chocolate, for writing letters to Santa, for circling our wish list in the Sears Christmas wish book, for watching all our favourite Christmas movies on TV, and for playing our much-loved Reader's Digest Old Fashioned Christmas 8-track with the best version of Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer ever.  But what I liked best of all was that magical feeling that anything was possible at Christmas. These days I still put up the Christmas tree on the first weekend of Advent.  Some of my favourite times over the Christmas season are those quieter moments when I can sit in front of the Christmas tree with a cup of tea, enjoying its light and pondering the miracle of God on Earth, Emmanuel, the greatest gift of all.  It's during these moments of stillness by the soft glow of the tree that I find that same magic I knew as a child, that feeling that anything is possible at Christmas.   

Prayer: 

Lord, we thank you for the gift of your Son, for light and for love, for peace and for hope, for the promise of a new year, and for the eternal wisdom and guidance of your Holy Spirit. Amen.  

December 5th

From George Boomgaardt

Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens – James 1:17a New Living Translation

How tall is your Tree?
Growing up I lived on a dairy farm about half an hour east of Ottawa. Our farm had creek that severed off about 20 acres. The other side of creek was largely left to wild pasture, bush and the occasional young conifer.

Each Christmas the trek to the other side of the creek was the official beginning of Christmas. It started with getting Dad’s official pronouncement that the ice on the creek was frozen thick enough that it was safe to cross. The brothers (and there were 5 of us), set out to the back of the farm axe in hand, to find the perfect conifer.

The hunt took on a familiar pattern most years, we would spot a good tree early on, but it was not quite good enough. We would cover much of the rest of the bush for another hour or so and then decide that the first tree we had spotted was indeed the perfect tree.

Chopping down the tree, we carried our trophy home on our shoulders. Only when we got the tree home did we apparently remember that our house, had a ceiling that did not fully accommodate our 10 foot tree. No problem really, the tree was trimmed to the proper height and the lower branches were put to use for other decorative purposes.

It took an entire afternoon for the 5 of us to accomplish what 2 of us could have finished in an hour. The tree was by objective standards too tall and with a few bald spots here and there. But as I recall everything was exactly perfect.

December 4th

From Laura McGregor

“Therefore, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” (Colossians 3:12)

One of my personal knitting challenges for this year was to make mittens for kids and it proved to be a lot of fun.  Picking out colours and materials, casting on and knitting a little love into each and every stitch kept me happily occupied for a month.  It also made me remember a time when I was a kid of about 10 or 11.  My mother had just acquired a knitting machine and had learned how to knit without dropping stitches or having loopy sloppy areas in her end product.  She, being the adventurous soul that she was, decided to knit us three children mittens but not ordinary mittens!  Oh no, that wouldn't stretch her skills so she decided to make what amounted to fair isle mittens for us.  As I recall mine, they were a wonderful combination of dark pink and yellow and light green with a background colour of dark brown.  They were beautiful and warm and I just knew in my heart how much time and effort and love went into making them JUST FOR ME.  I wore them proudly until one sad and dark day when I discovered I had lost a mitten.  I had no idea where or how I could have done so and was devastated not only at the loss itself but the prospect of telling my mother how I had carelessly lost one of her precious gifts.  I'm sure she took a moment to count to ten before responding but she held me in her arms and let me cry over the loss.  She soothed me but firmly told me she would not be replacing this item.  Her compassion and kindness were everything to me and helped me to understand that love does not necessarily mean immediate fulfillment or replacement of things but that love is a huge part of hard lessons and lessens the blow.   There are many lessons my mother and my father taught me but this one stands out in my memory lo these many years later.  And I'm sure if I went through my mother's cedar chest, I would run across the lone survivor of a pair of mittens created as an act of love and thoughtfulness but which came to a sad ending.

Lord, let us be forever grateful for families who forgive where forgiveness is needed, forget when it is painful to be reminded of the past and remind us by their actions and reactions that we are truly loved.

December 3rd

From Karen Dimock

Luke 1: 66 b What then will this child become?

"I remember you as a baby Karen": My cousin said this to me during a zoom call during the late summer.

As she tells it, we were at our Granny’s house. My own mother had arrived with the “new baby,” which was me. My cousin, who was around four years old, was allowed to very quietly go into the room where I was sleeping and see me.

It was only after the zoom call ended, as I thought back to my cousin telling this story, that I realized how very few people there are in the world now who remember me as a baby. My father died at the beginning of December twenty-three years ago now, my mother is getting older.

Those who shared our childhood and knew us when we were very young and still new to the world become precious in a very special way.

With the coming of Advent we spend time in the church hearing once more about the birth of not just Jesus but also John the Baptist. He was the son of an older couple, Zechariah and Elizabeth, who had long ago given up hope of ever having a child. This is how Luke’s gospel begins, with an angel showing up and telling Zechariah that Elizabeth is going to have a son. Zechariah did not believe it at all but with God all things are possible and nine months later Zechariah was singing with joy as he held his newborn son.

And I wonder if it is his voice and song we hear echoing down through the ages, in our parents and all who held us in our early days, inspired by the miracle of our own being and beginnings.

Prayer

God of hope, you with whom all things are possible

As we begin our Advent journey we give you thanks for the life and possibility that you make alone make possible. As we recall our own beginnings and early days, help us to hear anew the song of Zechariah, the wonder that each one of us has been called into this world by you and that our own life is a miracle

In the name of Jesus we pray

Amen