December 9, 2020

The Rev. George Yandell, Rector

Christmastide during the covid pandemic will sure be different, won’t it? Not seeing loved ones, not being in the Church for Christmas Eve and Day services. I’m feeling a strong dose of nostalgia this Advent, maybe you are too. That word literally derives from the Greek- nos’tos for “home”- al’gia for “sickness”, or longing for home.

Reminiscences about Christmas Day 1969 have been rattling around in my head the last few days. I was 16. I had been driving for almost a year. The days leading up to Christmas had been cold and windy, threatening snow. Christmas Eve after the late afternoon service at Church of the Ascension, my father, mother, brother and I rode home with the radio on. Dad listened to the news- snow was predicted overnight. Sure enough, when my brother and I woke before dawn, snow covered everything. When my parents fmally woke up and we went to unwrap all the presents, my father asked me, “George, do you still intend to go to Church this morning and serve as acolyte?” I told him I did. He asked which route I intended to take- I told him I had thought it through- that to avoid the biggest hills, I would meander through our neighborhood and take the back way to our parish, about 5 miles away. (We lived in West Hills, Knoxville – aptly named.) He agreed with my plan, much to my amazement. (You can Google “Knoxville Tennessee Snow Christmas 1969” and see pics.)

At 8:15 I drove the big Buick Electra down our steep drive in low gear. Then I slowly made it through all the (mostly) level backroads, my tracks the only ones visible. I arrived at the Church early. Someone had plowed the steep drive up to the nave, a relief to me. I parked around the back and walked the path to the sacristy, only one pair of prints visible before me. When I stepped up to the sacristy door and walked in, Mr. Garner (the rector) turned to me, a startled look on his face. “George, what are you doing here?” I replied, “I’m on to serve as your acolyte. I knew that if no one else showed up, you couldn’t have Communion alone.” He laughed and said, “Let’s check things out in the nave for the big crowd that’s coming.”

I carried the big brass cross into the sanctuary, Mr. Gamer following me. No one else was there. We went through the entire service, except for the sermon. Mr. Garner said after the gospel, “George you heard my sermon at the afternoon service yesterday, so I won’t repeat it now. I just want to thank you for coming to serve with me today. It’s making Christmas happen for me.” As it was for me.

I prepared the altar for communion. Mr. Gamer gestured for me to come and stand near him.

After he served me the bread and wine, I cleared the vessels to the credence table and went back to my spot on the gospel side of the sanctuary. After the post-communion prayer, I led us out with the cross. He said the “choir” prayer in the sacristy, thanked me again, and I wished him a good Christmas. He said, “You’ve made it for me.” I replied the same.

My drive home was beautiful-the snow was reflecting the sun so brightly it almost blinded me. As I turned up onto our steep driveway, the rear tires lost traction for a split second, the only time they’d slipped. As I parked the car in the garage, my mother stuck her head out and said, “I’m so relieved you’re home safely.” I was too. G. Yandell