***The names have not been changed to protect the innocent. There are none innocent.***
It has been seventeen years yet I can still see the sights and smell the smells.
The sanctuary looks bare. An empty tree stands tall and fluffed in the corner of the stage. Glimpses of the brightest red and deepest greens can be seen speckled across the pews.
Fresh evergreen cuttings and a hint of cinnamon are in the air before the waft of mixed colognes and perfumes overtake its gentle aroma.
Dad stands and greets the crowd. The excitement of the day is palpable. This was his most favorite of Sundays - the Greening Service.
First, the candles are lit and tree is lit. We read the scripture of the light that led the way. Then the garland is placed - in windows, over pews, draped over the balcony. Green everywhere. Like the new birth of the greens, we read of the new birth of Christ. Next, we bring our gifts like the magi. As the congregation brings gifts for the Lottie Moon offering they are given in return delicately handmade Chrismon ornaments to decorate the bare tree with. Finally, the piece de resistance - the fire red poinsettias make their appearance. They are placed in memory and honor of loved ones, but really they are pointing us to salvation. Christ carried a cross like the wooden stem and bled fierce red blood like the blooms. The real beauty, however, is the center. The golden crown shining like the one Christ is wearing now as he triumphs over death reminds us of the promises of salvation for his people.
We all sing "Joy to the World" with gusto and leave joyfully.
Until.
The church is basically empty and I hear shouting - raised voices. One I know well, my Dad's. I turn and bursting from the back sanctuary door and down the stairs is my Dad being pushed and shoved by Terry and Tommy with poor old Alton tagging along. I watch them grab my Dad's arms and proceed to ambush him up two flights of stairs to his office. Closely behind are my dad's two best friends, Rick and David; Wesley, our youth pastor's husband; and my brother David. Shouting can be heard through the floor and my brother is soon escorted back into the nursery where the families of our friends and staff are gathered.
The afternoon goes by in a blur until the staff children are sent away to the home of Wesley's parents out of fear that physical harm would come to my Dad and the church staff. That night the entire staff resigned and no one attempted to protect us.
It is amazing how quickly my most fond memory of Christmas in the form of a Greening Service can become my worst nightmare and what would bring me to a hate of Christmas and the church for years to come.
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This is a difficult, yet necessary piece of my story to tell. One of many. Each year on the first Sunday in December these memories come flooding back. The symbolic beauty of the coming of Christ displayed among each other was turned into deep rooted hurt.
If you see any of us during this precious season and we are not exuding the glow of Christmas, know there is a piece of us missing in the physical form of my Dad but also in the spirit where we have seen the evilest of evil first hand. This is a joyous time; please help us remember that.
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