Last night, our church hosted a service of the Longest Night. For several years, this has been one of the gatherings I look forward to most.
It's a time to acknowledge our pain and need before God and one another, especially in the midst of a holiday season that can fly by. Of course, we all need healing and peace. But what I've observed is that this service is a gathering some of us need sometimes. So, guessing how many people will show up is impossible. Some years, more people feel like they need to be there. Others, not as much.
This year, more than ever, I think, I needed to be there. I prepared everything for the service a week before, and was ready to lead. As the service began, everything went as planned. By design, it's a simple gathering. I do most of the talking, and we sing only a few verses throughout the entire time.
This year, we sang "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." Who knows how many times I've sung that hymn. But singing "Rejoice! Rejoice!" meant something I needed to experience in a different way. Tears swelled in my eyes. I sensed the light of Christ in a meaningful way.
For all its dramatic imagery, the book of Revelation ends with great expectancy. It says, "The Spirit and the bride say, 'Come.' And let everyone who hears say, 'Come.'
In my longest night moment, I didn't plan for that experience while I was singing. I didn't try to create it. I simply showed up, and something holy met me there. Rejoicing at Christ's coming brought peace in a way I needed to experience.
Let that be your invitation, too. Not to chase an experience or measure faith only by how you feel. But to make room. To stay attentive to where Christ's light might break in, and to trust that Christ says, "Surely I am coming soon."
And may that promise make you rejoice!
Stay blessed...john | 
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