Tail End of the 12 Days of Christmas

Tomorrow, the 12th day of Christmas, is a Teachers Work Day; classes begin Wednesday. Even this morning, I have to do some prep for the semester ahead. Familiar anxieties are welling up about things I should be doing and things I should have already done. So, let me savor this last morning prayer time before vacation ends by reflecting on how my church has supported me this season.

Hours before sunrise each of the past 11 days, I've re-read a lot of the prophet Isaiah and more scriptures about Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. The readings are prescribed in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer for the "Morning Prayer II" liturgy during the 12 days of Christmas. Familiar as these readings are, they feel fresh and urgent as the story unfolds morning by morning.

At noon for each of these days, our clergy at St. James have live-streamed services alone at the altar, sometimes with a lone lay reader to assist, in compliance with COVID restrictions for the Diocese of Atlanta. We don't get communion, but their thoughtful sermons have highlighted a different theme for each day.

With a short Compline liturgy at sundown, these liturgies for morning, noon, and night have kept me grounded in the meaning of the season even absent all the services, choir practices, and social gatherings that comprise my Christmas memories for 60 years.

Since Advent,I've skipped the canticles appointed in the prayer book, substituting Advent and Christmas hymns. I sing by myself at my kitchen table -- kind of sad, kind of funny, but I'm thankful as I sing that the songs bring to memory sounds of choirs past, including voices of singers no longer with us. I saved three of my favorite carols for today: "In the Bleak Mid-Winter," "What Child is This?" and "Silent Night."

At the tail end of the morning service comes "The General Thanksgiving," meant for unison recitation by a roomful of believers. I've memorized it so that I can recite it to myself in tedious or anxious times -- often at red lights. When I speak the words "we give you humble thanks for all your goodness and loving - kindness to us and to all whom you have made," I immediately think of one creature He has made, the one curled up these cold mornings in the dog bed in the kitchen, or else on a cushion in the den. As I go on with the prayer, I massage her from head to tail: "We bless you for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life...." She exhales with a sound that I would make during an exertion, but from her it seems to be an expression that she, too, is feeling thankful for her creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life.

A bit further in the General Thanksgiving, we pray to keep "such an awareness of your mercies that we may show forth your praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives...." My hand's sense memory helps me to remember how I bless Brandy with a back rub every morning, and how she blesses me just by existing.

May this morning ritual, continued in the year ahead, keep me aware and thankful.