Seminary. Pastoring a small church way out in the country. Wayyy outttt in the country. Trying to balance school, work, church and family. Yet, memories from that time are sharp and clear.

         There was a home I was going by to visit. The church had adopted this family for Christmas. The husband had been in an accident and was laid up for several months with a damaged leg. I was taking a check over. I got out of the car and a woman yelled from inside to come in through the back door. It had been rainy and, for the Florida panhandle, unusually chilly. I tried to avoid the bigger mud holes as I made my way around back. As I rounded the house, I came face to face with the biggest domesticated sheep I had ever seen. “Baaaaaa.” Honestly, it sounded as though it was saying “Backkkkkkk.” It put its head down and butted me in the chest. Not really hard, but I knew I had been butted. “Baaaaaa!” And again, I was butted. The sheep was big and wet from the rain and dirty from the mud and it was between the door and me. “Baaaaaa!” Head down and another butt. Each one just a little harder.

         “Gloria,” called the lady from the back door. “Let the preacher alone!” She looked at me and said, “I am sorry, Reverend. She just wants you to scratch her head.” I reached up and started to scratch her head. “BAAaaaaaaaaaa!” I would swear Gloria was smiling. I slipped around her and went through the door. Gloria rushed behind me and nearly knocked me over getting inside. “NO!” I said, trying to grab her. The lady of the house was holding out some lettuce to Gloria, who was eagerly munching it down. “Don’t worry none, Reverend. She’s a house sheep.” I grew up country, but I had never heard of a house sheep. The lady directed me to an old sofa and when I sat down, Gloria came over and put her massive head into the lap of her new friend.

         Every church has its own little traditions and peculiarities. 1983 was the first Christmas we spent with that church. Back in those days a lot of churches, in fact, around there, all the churches had Sunday evening church. Christmas was on Sunday that year, so the week before Christmas when we got there for evening church, we were surprised to see a pretty good sized crowd. Just because we had church on Sunday evening in addition to the morning service did not mean many folks normally came to the evening service. But this night the church was pretty well packed out. No one had told us that the week before Christmas was the church’s Christmas party and that was why all these people were there. Everyone met in the fellowship hall, which had been decorated in just about the most gawdy fashion you could imagine. Over against one wall there was a raised platform area put together with pallets and plywood and two chairs were mounted on the platform. That was new to us. It was a carry in meal and Marsha felt bad because we hadn’t known about it and had prepared nothing, but I, as a man, saw only that I was getting free food. After about 45 minutes of good food and conversation, the chairman of our Board stood up and announced it was time. Everyone became almost deathly quiet. Our little son was fidgeting and Marsha shushed him, but that was the only noise. The chairman cleared his throat and looked right at me. I realized that I was supposed to do something, but I had no idea what. He looked at me then looked at the platform then looked at me again, motioning with his head toward the platform. I still didn’t know what to do, but it had something to do with the platform, so I headed that way. The chairman looked at Marsha and said, “Mrs. Preacher.” Marsha started to follow with our son in tow. “Leave the boy, Marsha. Greta will see to him.” Now, during all this it was completely quiet except for the chairman’s few words to us. Marsha joined me on the platform and, since there were two chairs, we sat down. The room was silent. A young couple got up and walked forward, placing a wrapped gift on the platform. We looked at the gift, then at each other. We had no idea what was going to happen. Then another couple and their two kids got up and brought a gift forward. No words. Family by family came forward and placed a gift at our feet in silence. When all the families had placed a gift, everyone started talking again and started getting their coats. “Night Preacher!” “Merry Christmas!” “Have a great week!” We were still confused, so I caught the Chairman, whose name was Keenan. “Keenan, what are all these gifts?” “Why Preacher, these are your Christmas gifts. Don’t folks up north give gifts to their preachers?” “Well, yes, but not like this.” “Well, you yankees have strange ways. You probably didn’t know that you and the misses and the little one there are going over to the Blankenship’s now, did you? Well, get a move on. They are waiting.”

         The Blankenships. Darius and Thelma. The oldest folks in the church and the sweetest people you would ever want to meet. They hadn’t been there that evening, but they didn’t drive in the dark so I had thought nothing of it. But apparently, tradition demanded we head over there to their farm house. “Leave these presents, Preacher. My boy and me will take ‘em over to the parsonage. Don’t keep Thelma waiting.” We got in the car and drove over.

         Every light in te place was on. We walked up to the door, all three of us and the door flew open. Heat rolled out the door. “Welcome! Welcome!” Darius shouted. “Come on in out of that cold!” It might have been 55 degrees outside, but no colder. Florida folks, though, even the ones in the Panhandle, hate the cold. In the house it had to be 100 degrees, and that is not a joke. Everyone there had ceramic gas heaters in their walls. Turn them on and a flame would start to warm the ceramic until it glowed red. Darius had two big ones in each room and they were all glowing bright red. They also had a massive fireplace that was open on both sides, one side opening to the living room, which we had entered, and the other side opening to the kitchen/dining room. A fire roared in the fireplace. “Must’ve gone a little long at the church. Starten’ to worry. Well, come on, Thelma’s got the noodles all ready!”

It was the biggest pot of spaghetti I had ever seen. I don’t really care for spaghetti and, normally, would have taken just a bit. But Darius was serving and my plate, and Marsha’s and Adam’s, were mounded high. The table was close enough to the fireplace that the wood that the table was made from was hot. All three of us were sweating and Darius and Thelma were wearing heavy sweaters. We had just eaten a large meal at the church. Now we had pasta and bread and heat and this lovely couple whom we had come to love. Marsha and Adam liked spaghetti, but even they had a hard time. But we all toughed it out, even through second helpings. After we were done we all helped clear the table and Thelma shooed us out of the kitchen. It was time to go. There, tradition said you visit before you eat and during the meal, but when the meal was over, the show was done. Bye, see ya, drive careful. All three of us had headaches from te heat and stomach aches from all the food and we all felt sick.

It was late when we got back to the parsonage. All those gifts were arranged around the tree. They had left the lights on and it was so pleasant. We just went to bed.

Christmas will be here before you know it. You have your own little family traditions. Keep them, enjoy them, get tired of them. But remember the oldest of the Christmas traditions. Give glory to God in the highest and seek out peace on earth and good will to all mankind.