I’m waiting for the final flight of my Sabbatical travels. After a last breakfast with grandson Austin, and a final morning holding baby Jonas, I left snowy Redmond, Oregon, around noon for a flight to Portland. I then flew to Salt Lake City which is covered in snow, and my flight home is delayed an hour–I hope only an hour.

This plane ride will be leg #52 of my Sabbatical travels.

I’ve traveled on big jets and tiny propeller planes. I’ve flown first class and in a middle seat. I’ve ridden in a sherut, a small bus, a camel, and in the back of a pick up truck over no road at all in the desert. I’ve taken my last trip in my 2007 Prius and my first in my new 2012 Prius.
I’ve taken ferries and driven across the ocean floor at low tide to an island. I’ve spent a week only walking on an island with few cars. I’ve rented cars in two countries and three states.

This weekend I take a final road trip in Texas to visit family. Then a week from today, I’ll get in my new green Prius and drive the 3 1/2 miles to St. Mary’s for my first day at work since August.

But first I have to get out of SLC.

My son told me last week that he’d like to go to Christmas Eve worship with me, and even knew the schedule for services. So after a lively and delicious dinner at the home of my ex husband and his wife, after the grandsons were tucked into bed, he and I drove through the snow to celebrate Christmas at the church where I had attended Sunday worship yesterday.

It was the first Christmas Eve in twenty years that I had not been responsible for worship for hundreds of people. I was ready to experience Christmas on the other side of the altar. It was sweet.

There were maybe seventy people gathered at 10.30 PM to celebrate the birth of Jesus. The worship was simple–no sung prayers or incense. However the liturgy was done very well, and a nice touch was Christmas lights strung from the ceiling of the nave. They gave us a canopy of light when the other lights were dimmed for the singing of Silent Night, kneeling, after Communion, just as my parish home would have knelt and sang hours earlier.

As I received Communion, the choir and congregation sang Away in a Manger. Only hours earlier I had sung that very hymn to my grandson after putting him to bed. Returning from Communion, I knew that this was truly my best Christmas ever.

In the morning my daughter will join us for breakfast and the tree. Gift upon gift upon gift being with all my children and grandchildren under one roof.

Tonight we prayed during the Prayers of the People, “0 Lord give us the Spirit to know and to love you and gift of joy and wonder in all your works.”

God has already answered yes.

It’s the fourth Sunday of Advent, so before I go to church for Christmas, it seemed fitting that I stop and worship in the final days of this season of preparation. So I put on my blue top, my blue scarf, and my blue socks, and drove in the snow to church. It was really, really, really snowing.

I have to admit. When I visit a church, I can’t help but notice those things they do well, and, yes, those things done not so well. I’m especially mindful of welcome and hospitality because that’s basic church 101. After all, Jesus taught that what we are to do is love God and love each other. He also made clear that the each other we love are not only those we already love but also the stranger, the hungry, the prisoner, the naked, the thirsty–those kind of friends.

Bless their hearts, though the folks at the church where I worshipped this morning preached about being community, the parish didn’t quite rise to the occasion.

They were having baptisms today and had special worship booklets. Unfortunately, I wasn’t given one. Two passes by the ushers later in the service, and I scored an order for worship, but I was curious that none of the folks around me tried to help when they saw I was a little lost. If I had been new to Episcopal worship, I would have felt quite the outsider.

Then there was The Peace, that part of worship where we greet one another in the name of the Lord. It often becomes a meet and greet for our friends and family. As in so many parishes, The Peace lasted an extended length of time. I greeted those near me, but as The Peace continued, I was left ignored in my pew except for two dear souls who crossed the aisle to wish me peace. I could have gone off on my own to offer peace, but I was curious about what would happen. I am sad to say that several parishioners greeted folks on either side of me without greeting me. I was fine with being overlooked, but how would another guest have felt?

Finally, there was the dead battery incident. The snow was really coming down after church, and after a snowy walk to my car, I discovered that I had left my lights on, and my battery was dead. I trudged back into church to ask for help. One person said he’d noticed my lights on (why didn’t he make an announcement?), but couldn’t help. Another suggested that I call AAA. I am sorry to say that no one offered me any assistance. My son and grandson came and jump-started my battery after a very cold wait.

This is not to be critical of this parish specifically but to share what I fear would be too common a worship experience in far too many parishes. I know that when I return from sabbatical in two weeks my experience will inspire some conversation in my own parish.

All too often we in churches welcome and are hospitable only to people we already know. I do not think that Jesus is pleased when that’s how we act.

I was left very sad after worship today. In a world that less and less knows the love of Christ, we in the church must offer our very best for those guests who have the courage to come through our doors.

It is the true meaning of Christmas.

Before I came to Bend, my son had one request–could we make the hot cocoa we used to make when he was a boy? He loved the cinnamon in it. I hadn’t thought of that cocoa mix in years. It was full of things he wasn’t likely to eat now–Cremora, Nestlé Qwik, and lots of confectioners sugar. But if a son wants something at Christmas, a mom does almost anything she can to make it happen. I was surprised to find easily the little sheet of paper with the recipe given to me by a good friend years ago.

Last night my grandson, Austin, and I made Jacob’s favorite cocoa mix with some minor contemporary adjustments.
Just like it did twenty years ago, there was plenty to share with friends and loved ones.

Here’s our 2012 adaption of my friend Kathryn’s recipe:

8 quart size nonfat dry milk
1 pound Ghirardelli double chocolate cocoa mix
1 pound powdered sugar
6 ounces Coffeemate
1 heaping tablespoon of cocoa

Mix together.

The original recipe says to fill a cup half full with mix and add boiling water. Jacob used hot milk instead of water and it was delicious.

It’s snowing outside tonight, so it will be especially delicious tomorrow.