A service for the longest night

Haddonfield United Methodist Church
Haddonfield, New Jersey
December 22, 2007


Now that the days are turning warm and long and sunny, I am catching up on my Church Visiting series – and posting about the longest night. Not exactly in synch, but I might as well buckle down and finish the series – after all, it was the original impetus for the blog.

A longest night service is also known as a Blue Christmas service. I’m not sure where and when these started, but they have been around for a while. Nevertheless, this is the first time I’ve been to one.

The idea is to have a special service for people who want or need to express sadness during the holidays. Many have lost a loved one since the previous Christmas – this will be their first Christmas without that person. But you don’t have to be experiencing some kind of fairly recent loss; everyone knows that Christmas can be a time of depression and sorrow. Pastors probably know that a bit too well. So someone decided to have a service especially for people who are sad, hurt, angry and depressed during this dark, cold season when most of the rest of the world seems to be urging you to party and be happy. It’s not a bad idea.

I have been to Haddonfield Methodist once before during this year of Visiting Churches; in fact, it was one of my earliest visits. Much of the construction that was going on last March has been completed, but it’s a little hard to see the results as I enter the dim chapel, which is filled with votive candles and little Christmas trees. It’s very pretty.

There is a reasonably large group of attendees – perhaps sixty or so. After the lighting of the Advent Wreath, the Lesson (John 1: 1-9), and a hymn, Rev. Kathleen Bohren-Morris stands up for a personal reflection.

It’s very sad. She has suffered a lot, and she has known others who have suffered similarly.

The Litany of Healing begins. After each line, the congregation repeats the response: Healing Spirit, set us free. This is what we pray to be set free from:

From our wearisome pain
From the sharp sword of agony
From burdens too great to bear in love for others
From guilt and regret about times past
From fearful memories and fear for the future
From the grip of compulsions and addictions
From pride, greed, and bitterness
From illusion, lying, and pretense
From the depths of despair

Well, that covers a lot of ground.

There is a moment of silence, and then three readers offer words of comfort, and a man sings a solo, “I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry.”

I think this is the end, but it turns out that the main part of the service is just beginning. People come up to the altar, mention a name of a person or persons they are grieving for, and light a candle.

Up to this point I had actually been feeling fairly content, in spite of the sorrowful theme. I didn’t come here because I am particularly sad; I just wanted to experience a Blue Christmas service. However, as people come up and say the names of people they are missing, I begin to feel very moved indeed. I don’t know any of these people, and most of them say nothing more than a name, but I find this ritual extremely touching. I decide to go up to the altar, where I say my parents’ names out loud and light a candle.

I don’t think about them every day, and I haven’t said their names out loud in years, probably. My father died in a car crash when I was seven, and my mother died of cancer almost twenty-five years ago. Suddenly, I am very sad, but also kind of happy to have done this. It’s odd.

I return to my seat in the pews, and then anyone who wants to comes forward and kneels to receive the laying-on-of-hands for healing. There is a final prayer, we sing “Silent Night”, there is a closing blessing, and we walk out into the dark in silence.

This is a pretty good kind of service, this longest night service.