The Long Tradition of Desperate Pastors at Christmas

Post Author: Rev. Corey Turnpenny

The sooner we accept religion is irrelevant the sooner our collective focus can shift towards restoration. Yes, I’m a clergy person, and yes, I think religion is irrelevant. When Christians are arguing about the color of candles, when to start Advent, and what candles to light, it all feels ridiculous in the face of a climate catastrophe, genocide, and war. I understand many may cling to the order religion brings. I get the real human need for boundaries around rituals especially when the world is a mess. I know I’m in a privileged position as the leader of an alternative spiritual community: we get to make our own rules. We’re not bound by tradition but create our own to meet our needs in each season. To me that’s the ideal. To others, maybe not. I’m happy to allow room for everyone to practice their faith in ways that suit them as long as it does no harm to others. Which is why the arguing about rightness always feels frustrating.

One of my personal traditions is to listen to the John Denver and the Muppets Christmas album, where they share the story of the hymn “Silent Night .” As John tells it:

On December 24, 1818, the curet of a parish in Obendorf, Austria, Josef More, gave a poem that he’d written to a friend of his, Hans Greuber, who was also the choirmaster and organist in that church. He asked mister Greuber if he would write music for his poem and that he might write it for two solo voices and guitar accompaniment.  Because of the organ being broken, he desperately wanted music to be part of their Christmas Eve service.  Mr. Greuber wrote the melody to a song which has become the most beloved of all Christmas carols. Stille nacht, in English, silent night.

As I listened to these familiar words this time I could see Josef and Hans like never before, pastor and music director, friends and colleagues, anxiously preparing for Christmas Eve and feeling desperate. The organ was broken: it just wouldn’t be Christmas Eve without music. Parishioners would be upset. They might even blame Pastor Josef or Hans. I’m sure every pastor reading this can write their own midrash about the myriad of other issues this duo was facing. It comforted me to think even hundreds of years ago clergy felt extra pressure at Christmas Eve and something inevitably went wrong during Advent. 

The pressure of the high holy days is unstoppable. Everyone wants to believe these days that bring so many back to their buildings will save or sustain their church for another year. Because that’s the bottom line now- survival of the institution. So much of what we do feels irrelevant to the hungry and unhoused. So much of what I am asked to do as a pastor within a mainline denomination is about propping up an institution that most days feels like it’s done more harm than good throughout human history. Which is why I’m now out on the fringes, doing less institution propping and more community caring. I feel better out here. And yet, even we will be singing Silent Night accompanied by guitar and candlelight on Christmas Eve.

Out of his desperation, Pastor Josef wrote a simple poem and perhaps shyly gave it to his friend Hans, asking him to set it to music. And it was then at the final hour the magic happened. Hans honored his friend’s poetic words with a simple but profound gift of his own when he wrote the music for Silent Night. I imagine someone left that Christmas Eve service grumbling that the only music was some new song they didn’t know. Today most people can’t imagine a Christmas Eve without Silent Night sung by candlelight. Even for people on the outside of our irrelevant institution, that tradition holds some magic. Even those forced to attend a Christmas Eve service completely unconvinced of all they heard feel the warm fuzzies as they sing words they don’t necessarily believe.

For many years, moments like the one I had with Josef and Hans would have made me reconsider my frustration with the Church. Today, even softened by that grace, I am still frustrated. But I’ve learned how to hold my frustration and wonder together. Whether we understand God working through or in spite of the boxes and barriers of the Church, what I’m learning on the fringes is the Spirit is Wild. She can work even in the depth of our institutional prisons. Now on the outside looking in through the stained glass, I see how the Spirit snuck in through the crack in the door and is rolling around on the floor with the kids. I can see the weary ones finding a moment of peace in Her presence. And I hear Her whisper through the pines outside, tucking the world in for our long winter’s nap. The Spirit finds a way to us all, even you dear desperate pastor.

From the desperate desire to share music and meaning with their congregation on Christmas Eve, Josef and Hans wrote the music that’s become the backdrop to magical Christmas Eve moments for the last two centuries. For my friends and colleagues facing Christmas Eve with a broken organ or organist, or a broken building or community, and for all of us in this war-torn world, know that the Spirit can make magic through your gifts. Your desperate desire to deliver the presence of God will be carried on the swaying notes of the world’s most cherished lullaby and the warm glow of candlelight.

We give thanks to you O Gracious God for your faithful servants Josef and Hans. Wild Spirit, may we know your presence because of or in spite of our traditions.