Vulnerability, at times, has its merits.
My family is a Christmas Eve family. In a string of circumstances and various levels of risk-taking, I found myself agreeing to attend Catholic mass with my family on Christmas Eve.
Surprisingly enough, I do not regret this decision. I had been told that the 12 year standoff I had with my family regarding Christmas Eve services was ridiculous. If I could make it to Mass, why wouldn't I go? This is family. And this is Christmas.
And so, I decided to join my immediate family for Christmas Eve Mass, and extend the invitation to the rest of my family. In talking about it with my sister, we came to a few conclusions:
1. We hadn't gone as a family (including my aunts, uncles and cousins) to Christmas Eve Mass in a long time. She had felt the disconnection, too. It just hasn't been the same since we left St. Stephen's.
2. Regarding my time constraints and other external circumstances, it just makes sense to attend St. Stephen's this Christmas.
I was faced with this choice: do I back down on my promise because I am too afraid or do I find the strength to attend Christmas Eve Mass with my family because this is the way I can show them love this year?
My sister asked me if it would be weird. I didn't lie. I told her it would be. I hadn't stepped foot on St. Stephen's ground for 12 Christmases. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe enough time had passed where no one will remember who I am and what had happened that it would be possible that I could slip in unnoticed.
I left that conversation with my sister feeling confident and hopeful in my decision. This is family. This is Christmas.
I had admitted earlier in the week that I was tired of feeling isolated and disconnected from my family every Christmas. I want to love them again. I want to experience Christmas with them again. I want to be engaged with them again. And if showing up to Catholic Mass this Christmas Eve is a way to show love and communion with my family, I will do it.
But I must confess, I am afraid.
This overwhelming sense of fear didn't hit me until I was driving back to Tacoma to attend a Christmas party. I am scared to go back to St. Stephen's. I have avoided it for so long--why would I jump back in? I am terrified of this place and what it means to me. And not everyone in my family knows that, let alone understand it.
And yet, I still have hope that in going back, I will be able to reconnect with my family in a way that I have longed and prayed for. Perhaps in the place where I had experienced the deepest moments of betrayal, I would find the strength I never thought I had. Perhaps, this time when I leave, I will not become overwhelmed with grief and pain, but rather, grace and forgiveness.
It has been a long 12 years of being afraid, and I understand it will not wash away in one night. But, if I had learned anything in those 12 years, I can stand on the promise that I am not alone.
Emmanuel, God is with us.
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