A PASTOR'S POST-CHRISTMAS LAMENT

A quick exercise in descriptive language

I'm always trying to improve as a writer. I just finished a course on using descriptive language in creative non-fiction. The following paragraph is an example. I'd love your feedback on what it stirs in you. It is not based on actual events, but it sure could be.

Thanks!

[A PASTOR'S POST-CHRISTMAS LAMENT]

The only remnant of our Advent anticipation is Silent Night’s candle wax, spilled recklessly on the new chairs in the sanctuary. I try to pick at it, but my efforts only seem to make it a more permanent addition to the scratchy weave of the fabric. At least it bears witness that someone was here. Someone was sitting in this chair just a few days ago while we proclaimed the birth of Christ. We belted, “Joy to the world, the LORD has come,” together like we believed every word. We sang like nothing mattered more than the good news of a brown-skinned baby born in a manger 2000 years ago. But now it sits empty again. The sanctuary is more silent than the night we just sang about. My voice trembled in that holy moment on Christmas Eve (and apparently, as wax erupted like lava from a volcano onto the chairs below), but the silence feels different now. It feels anything but holy, as doubt strangles the spirit within me. Do the songs, the sermons, the celebrations, and the proclamations matter at all? This chair is as empty as the tomb we'll sing about in a few months. And it will probably stay that way until then. I wonder if its next occupant will notice the wax on Easter morning?