Holly Jolly SHHHHHH

Why my family should not be allowed at Christmas services

When I was in elementary school, I was invited to sing at my friend’s church on Christmas Eve. Breaking tradition, my entire family — parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, little brother — headed to Zion Lutheran for the 5pm service. The church was crowded, and I had to sit up front with my friend for our duet; I wasn’t sure where my family was sitting.

The service was nearly done: my singing had gone well and I was feeling relieved; I was thrilled that the Christmas Eve sermon was brief, and I was looking forward to heading to Grandma’s for our annual lasagna dinner. The Offertory was playing and the plates were being passed, we were almost out the door, when… CRASH!!!!!!! A commotion and a clatter erupted from somewhere in the back of the sanctuary. A ripple of unease traveled through the congregation, and I imagined that there was a pretty embarrassed person somewhere in the crowd. I was right. Somewhere between my aunt and my brother, they dropped the collection plate, and since Zion’s sanctuary floor is tile… well, the effect was cacophonous! (My mother points out that at least Zion’s collection plates were wooden; the brass plates we use at our church would have been WAY louder on that tile!) We have not been back to that particular church for a Christmas service, but it’s probably because we are all required to sing at our own church. Probably.

This has not been the only incident of my family making a ruckus in a church where we are guests. Senior year of college, my parents and brother picked me up and we traveled to my aunt and uncle’s home in Wisconsin. Finals that year had been overwhelming for me, and I hadn’t been eating or sleeping very well. My memories of the drive simply involve me eating a cheeseburger every time we stopped anywhere. I recovered somewhat by Christmas Eve, and the whole lot of us — including my uncle’s kind-but-proper in-laws from “back East” — piled into cars to head to church for Christmas Eve service.

At this point, I should probably tell you that my mother’s side of the family contains a rather powerful Smartass Gene. For better or for worse, we show love by making fun of each other. Some of the family has managed to partner with someone who can balance out the unrelenting, sarcastic, generally-hilarious-but-definitely-unmerciful aspects of our nature, but my uncle doubled down with his sharp and funny wife — she whose parents flew in from Maine for the holiday. You should be aware of the fact that this side of the family is always, always late.

On with my tale: we arrived at church — late — and found space in a couple of pews in the back of the sanctuary. I sat next to my mom, which was my perennial favorite place because we love to harmonize during hymns, particularly Christmas hymns. And unfortunately we were seated directly behind my uncle.

Uncle John Pancake — monikered from a pancake house from the olden days, and useful for distinguishing him from my Uncle John on my dad’s side — is my mom’s younger brother. 12 years younger, actually, and their relationship reflects it. They get along like a house on fire, while he finds every opportunity to tease her. He was the one to teach me how to roll my eyes at a very early age, just to give you an example of the type of nefarious humor he inflicts on my poor mother (not really “poor” — she can give it back with gusto).

As soon as the first hymn began, we all stood and began to sing. As I’m sure you’ve gathered, my mom and I are not wallflowers; we do not mumble along with the hymns. We sing out, joyfully and harmoniously, with great verve and energy. It was during the first verse that Uncle John Pancake slowly, deliberately, turned around to look at us. My mom thinks he made a comment about us singing off key. I don’t remember one… in my recollection, the look on his face was enough to break us. We started giggling. Giggling, guffawing, snorting — did I mention that all the siblings on that side snort when they laugh, as my grandpa did? — and generally losing it. But no worries, we had 3 more verses to get ourselves under control.

Readers, we did not get ourselves under control.

I mean, we did. But not in time to save us from the shame of cry-laughing during the scripture reading, under the nonplussed gaze of the Maine In-laws. It was not our finest hour.

Fast-forward a decade or so, and we find that my cousins have grown into the spitting image of their parents — physically yes, but more importantly, temperamentally. They are brilliant, funny, highly-sarcastic women whom I didn’t/don’t see nearly often enough. Meanwhile, thanks to me, we added Dan and our two offspring to the menagerie. It was the perfect time to have everybody descend on my parents’ house for Christmas, and troop to our church for Christmas Eve service.

As you probably have guessed, my uncle and the fam were late. In my church, late people end up in the very front of the church, those dreaded front pews where there is nowhere to hide. Dan and I, having arrived earlier, were sitting near the back. My parents and brother, however, had wanted to wait for the out-of-towners, and so were stuck in the front as well.

Everything was fine until the anthem.

The choir was not singing at that service, so a member of the congregation was asked to sing a solo. The solo choice was, “Where's the Line to See Jesus,” a tune lamenting the modern focus on Santa Claus during the Christmas season. With lyrics such as, Santa Claus brought me presents, But Christ gave His life for me, it is clearly a solemn meditation on the meaning of Christmas. But for some reason, it tickled a funny bone in my irreverent family members.

I spoke to many of the involved parties, and from what I can piece together, my brother lost it first. Let me just tell you, when Tim starts giggling, it would take a much stronger person than I to not fall prey. I wasn’t there, though! I was in the back! I was, as I had been at Zion Lutheran all those years before, blissfully unaware of the disturbance being caused by my family members.

My cousin Marin claims that my dad lost it next, which I find surprising, but her statement, “Uncle Tom also lost it pretty quick and cannot whisper,” checks out as believable evidence. Pretty soon, the whole pew was shaking with not-quite-silent laughter, and I only hope that the soloist was so focused on her message that she did not notice the madness in the front seats.

Somehow they all survived the service, but the ordeal was not over — not by a long shot. I’ll let my cousin Sydney tell you:

Christmas Day I found the music video on the big computer in the living room and watched it probably 5 times at least. I can sing the song from memory in case anyone was wondering. Actually Marin probably found the music video but I definitely watched it many many times.

Generous soul that she is, Sydney has also made sure that WE have watched it many, many times. I look forward (kind of) to her not-quite-annual group text with the link to the song, and the announcement, “It’s that time of year again!!!”

It should be any day now.

Thanks for reading.

Love, Susie