One Christmas Eve a friend was staying with us
because the passes were closed and he couldn’t get home to Spokane.
I invited him to go with me to the candlelight service at the Methodist Church.

The Methodist church had the best acoustics of any of the sanctuaries in the community
and it had a very big choir, too, for our little town, anyway
so it was a perfectly splendid place to go for a candlelight service
to soak in the spirit of Christmas, before we rang the bell
to announce the birth of Christ.

As usual we were running late.
And unfortunately I had forgotten,
not being a member of that church at that time,
that they were renovating the building.

I’d decided to come in through the back of the sanctuary
so that we could slip in as quietly as possible
since the service had already started.

We entered the building near the kitchen
tiptoed through the fellowship hall and quietly opened the door
at the back of the sanctuary.

But:  Surprise!
They had turned all the pews around.
So we were entering right through the middle of the altar,
in front,
with everyone staring at us.

Mortified, we scurried into a pew in the first row
whispered an apology to the minister,
and tried to make ourselves invisible.
(I never did figure out why they’d turned the sanctuary around like this, it was crazy.)
But we settled down to enjoy the service.

Long swags of greenery decorated with white lights hung along the cream colored walls,
a tall Christmas tree stood at one side of the altar,
covered with white, gold and red ornaments, gold ribbons, lights,
and a multi-pointed star at the top,
which beamed down at us from high up near the tall ceiling.
Candles glowed from every window,
and the light reflected in the eyes of all the people seated there.
The church was packed with cheery faces, and I knew at least half of them.

The service was just as lovely as ever.
The choir sang their carols and we listened or sang along when we were told to.

Then, about halfway through the service,
during one of the choir anthems,
my friend leaned over to me and whispered:
“So, does singing in the choir make you go bald?”

I looked over and, sure enough, every man in the choir was bald or balding.
And that’s when I lost it.  I was done for.

I tucked my head down and tried not to look at my friend.
My shoulders were shaking and my eyes were watering
and I was gasping as quietly as possible
desperately trying to just breathe

I’d take a breath, but the exhale would come out again as a laugh
Breathe!  Breathe!  I told myself,
but it was no use.

We could not look at each other.
I could not look at the choir.
I did notice the minister looking at us,
but all I could do was shake my head at him
and keep my head down.
He cleared his throat and continued with the service.

I put my hand over my mouth.
I tried not to snort or stamp my feet
And I could tell that my friend’s shoulders were shaking, too.

Every time I thought I had myself under control,
I’d start back up again.
So I kept my head down
and let the tears roll down my face.

We somehow we got through to Silent Night and Joy to the World.

I’m not sure the minister was very happy with us,
but we had a very merry Christmas.