Saint Nicholas Day
Some people look at Thanksgiving as the warm up to Christmas—and that may be true if you’re thinking about the food and guests. But for me, the “warm up” has always been December 6—St. Nicholas Day.
As a little girl, the night of December 5 deserved as much careful planning at Christmas Eve. I would write up my wish list for Santa Claus and carefully pick out two of my favorite cookies to leave on a plate with a small glass of milk. I always made sure to include a few carrots for the reindeer too (I think I must have thought of the carrots as the loaves of bread Jesus used to feed the multitude, because there’s no way the carrots I left out would have fed a all nine reindeer).
Now, we had special wooden shoes for just this occasion. I would tuck the list under one of the shoes, my brother’s under the other, and go to bed knowing that Santa Claus would take my list and cookie offering to celebrate his birthday. In return for my kindness he would fill the shoe with a small present—a promise of what was to come on Christmas morning.
The older I got, the more complicated the wish list got.
And eventually I stopped leaving out lists, like all little children are apt to do at a certain age.
Still, every St. Nicholas Day morning there the wooden shoes would be, filled with some kind of treat.
This is a tradition I very much enjoyed as a child, and I still enjoy today. Even though I know the truth about where those lists went and that the wooden shoes hold no magic. I know that Christian’s debate the inclusion of Santa Claus on Christmas, and I know that it is a sore subject for a lot of people. But that’s not the point of today’s Reflection Sunday.
It’s the promise. The promise of what is to come.
This year we spent most of the day in the car. We celebrated my grandparent’s birthdays in Iowa and then drove to a Christmas concert at my alma mater—my future sister-in-law is in one of the choirs there, which gives us a good excuse to go and see her in Christmas at Concordia.
I love Christmas music. I love carols. I love worship. And this concert combines all of those things.
As I was enjoying one of the songs the choir sang without the congregation, one line stood out to me. It sent goose bumps down my arms and up my neck.
“And I know that I am honored to be witness of so much majesty.”
["Stars" by Ēriks Ešenvalds, here's a link a video on YouTube of a different choir singing it.]
That line would run through my head all through supper and the hour-drive home. Even now, as I put together my thoughts on the page, that line keeps repeating. There are moments when we are called to listen.
The advent season is all about the promise. My parents gave me a tangible example of what that promise looked like with St. Nicholas day. The promise of what is to come is so important.
So this advent season I encourage you to think about the Promise that was given to us in the Old Testament and was fulfilled in the New Testament.
“On the glorious splendor of Your majesty and on Your wonderful works, I will meditate.” [Psalm 145:5, New American Standard Bible]
