One of the holiday events I always look forward to is Christmas caroling. 

I have fond memories in the 1980’s of the Boy Scout troop our church in Illinois sponsored coming to our home every year to carol while my wife and I and our small children stood at the frosty windowpanes listening to them out on the glistening snow.

At our church in California, every year our family small group spent an evening caroling. Some years we took car caravans from home to home of older members of our church who live alone. One year we had a progressive caroling party, walking and caroling between dinner courses from one home to another. Another year we tried to find the home of a shutin couple who lived out in the countryside, with a line of cars driving on dark rural roads feeling like wisemen with no star to guide our way. 

But the caroling experience that made the deepest impression and I will always remember happened this way.

Our church had chosen to invest our energy adopting the public elementary school in a very poor neighborhood near the city center.  Most of the dilapidated houses were owned by slum landlords. Since our small group included at least one family who lived in the neighborhood, when we discussed where to carol that year, everyone agreed “let’s carol around Washington school.” 

On the appointed night, we all gathered in the home of the family in our group who lived in the neighborhood, enjoyed a meal together and set out about 7:00pm.   I had driven around this neighborhood but never actually walked its streets in the daylight, let alone after dark.  I soon realized that it was quite different from walking around where I lived. 

A few houses had some Christmas lights outside, but most did not.  The houses were smaller, packed closer together, and closer to the street than where I lived.  A few had iron bars installed outside the windows for protection or sheets hung up for curtains.  There might be an old couch with the stuffing coming out planted in the front yard; unlike my neighbors, no one cared about landscaping.

We started stopping at houses where there was a light on to sings our carols. 

At the first one, a young woman and her little boy came to the door, starring at us with blank expressions through their screen door, as though they’d never heard carols before.  After a few seconds, she left and went back into the front room where I could see her on a couch watching TV through the open door.  But the little boy stayed.

If I were a professional photographer, a shot of the boy staring at us through the screen door—his serious, somewhat forlorn expression never changing through all our songs—might have won an award. We always ended with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and then shout “Merry Christmas!”  When we were done, he silently turned away.

At another house with a chain link fence around it, people came piling out, a variety of adults and kids.  Either several generations or else different families were living under the same roof.  Some of the women and children smiled as we sang but the men seldom cracked a smile.  After our first song, one of the little boys accompanied us by riding his big wheel with a broken tire around the front yard.

The most unusual experience of the night happened at one small home had the front door wide open—a little unusual since, although it was a balmy night, it was still only in the 40’s. I thought, “well, here’s an opening” and we launched into a joyous chorus of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”  

We’d been singing for only a few seconds when the music that had been coming from inside the house was cranked up, so that the doorway pulsated with a loud rap beat and a thumping base.  In all my years of caroling, it was the first time someone had tried to drown out our singing.

But at another house a woman in her early 30’s got so excited after we sang our carols that she bundled up her little toddler and came out and joined us singing at the next house.  I held the songbook and flashlight for her and she sang every word joyfully with a smile.  In all my years of caroling, it was the first time someone had come out of their house to join us singing for others.

The moment I will never forget happened at a little duplex apartment set back only a few feet from the sidewalk.  A single man in his late 20’s came to the door.  Behind him, I could see through the open doorway that the only furniture in the small front room was a bench press and set of barbells. It was obvious from looking at him that he spent a good bit of time with them. 

We were only about eight feet away from him in the tiny yard, so I could clearlhy see that he not only enjoyed the singing but was definitely moved by it. On an impulse, after the group shouted “Merry Christmas!” and were moving down the sidewalk, I approached him.  I said we were from the church across the freeway with the white steeple and again wished him a Merry Christmas. He smiled appreciatively and nodded and said something like “maybe I can come sometime.”  Then he looked down at the leaves that covered the tiny lawn and sidewalk up to his door where we were standing and said, “I’m sorry about all the leaves. I didn’t have a chance to rake them.” 

Simple words, but they were a holy moment for me.  We exchanged a few more words and smiles, and I ran to catch up with the group.

Reflecting on our caroling, I realized it was an incarnational experience. That’s the word theologians use to describe what happened that first Christmas described in John 1:14—“The Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.”  Our as The Message version puts it: “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.”

• For God, incarnation it meant leaving his heavenly glories and entering flesh and blood existence as a human being—leaving God’s neighborhood and entering our neighborhood.
• For me on that night, incarnation meant caroling in a neighborhood very different from my own, where I didn’t see a single white Caucasian face at any doorway all night—leaving my neighborhood and entering their neighborhood.

What did it mean for God to leave God’s neighborhood of heavenly glory and enter our human neighborhood with his message of love and forgiveness and new life?  And how will people respond to that joyful good news this Christmas?

• Some will listen for a few moments and then return to their TV’s.
• Some will be wary and suspicious.
• Some will reject it so much that they try to drown it out.
• Some will receive it with joy, and even sing along.

And then, there will be a special few who receive it with deep humility.  They look down at their circumstances, perhaps some of their life choices, and say to God:  “I’m sorry I didn’t rake the leaves. I’m sorry things are kind of a mess.  I didn’t realize you’d be coming.” 

And that’s just the point!  Jesus comes knocking before the leaves are raked, before everything in our lives is cleaned up and ready for inspection, before we even realize we need him.

Jesus is knocking on each of our front doors, singing out joyful good news of new life.  And all of us will decide: how will we respond? 

Merry Christmas.

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