Dear Westwood Family,
Confession: I wrote last week’s Pastoral Note, about the gifts of darkness, before this year’s Sanctuary Christmas Eve service, even though it wasn’t sent out until later. I’m not saying that what I wrote caused a power outage on Christmas Eve, but I did begin to reconsider my choice of topic as we worked to navigate an especially dark sanctuary that evening.
For sure, it was a Christmas Eve to remember. I’m glad to be able to testify that the beauty, authenticity and power of worship do not depend on electricity. I felt the Holy Spirit powerfully in our Christmas gathering, and am so very deeply grateful for all the ways people pulled together to make it work as well as possible. (And I’m also glad the power came on well before our 11pm service!)
Today, I saw images from the photographer we hired to take pictures during the service, and I was blown away by how lovely they are!
I’m sure a part of my surprise comes because I was feeling fairly frantic on Christmas Eve–so much so that it’s only in hindsight that I really have felt able to contemplate what was special about the evening. I know others, certainly including our Sanctuary musicians, felt the rush of the energy of making worship work in unexpected conditions. It’s hard to absorb the gifts of the moment when you’re scrambling to figure it all out!
Even accounting for that, though, the images revealed details that I’m pretty sure were imperceptible to ordinary eyes. The camera, with a wide aperture, was able to see things I couldn’t.
It has been fun to look back through the pictures and see so many beautiful things: the sacred dancers moving with poise and beauty in the darkness, the choir members singing by candlelight and camping lantern, Peter playing piano by glowing iPad, folks singing carols by flashlight glow, diverse liturgists proclaiming the good news via temporary battery-powered sound system, children delighting in the glow of the candles they hold. Even the reflected gold color of the Glory Window had a special, humble quality.
I am moved by what becomes visible to a camera that’s been adjusted to take in more light.
And isn’t this an apt metaphor for how we live our lives? It’s easy to miss the full depth, detail, and beauty that’s always around us, in us, and in our neighbors. One of the gifts of spiritual practices is how they help us (like the camera) take in more, to receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit in darkness as in light. Or, at least, they help us trust that there is grace we cannot see or perceive but is nonetheless real.
And, in further confession: I’m having a hard time feeling very “light” these days. I trust in the light of Christ, but I’m still afraid. A lot of things that are heavy on my heart, including a sense of real fear about the consequences of our administration’s recent military attack on Venezuela, and the capture of President Maduro. I will continue to speak up against violence past, and against war-mongering that seeks to dominate and control other nations. But, I will not let my heart be hardened: I refuse to flatten my perception of the world in a way that dehumanizes any of my neighbors. Like the prophet Isaiah, I dream of a world where the wolves and lambs lie down together (not one where either is obliterated).
As we move further into 2026, I pray that this year opens up occasions for each of us to widen the aperture of your hearts. May we receive and bear ever more of the divine love that surrounds us, always.
grace and peace,
Pastor Molly
