With an apology to Dr. Moore's poem with the same line, this is about something other than Santa's visit. Recently in conversation with a couple of Moravian ministers, they told of several modifications they were making in their traditional Christmas Eve Lovefeast due to Covid.
When living in Winston-Salem, NC, I frequently attended these services which were always packed even with multiple services at many of the numerous Moravian churches there.
In my first year in a United Methodist parish of three rural churches, I proposed a change in the previous format. Three times were proposed ... 5 pm, 7:30 pm and 11:30 ... and members voted by paper ballots. Frankly, I was surprised when the latest hour garnered the most votes. (Only later did Kenneth sheepishly note that his family might have "stuffed" the ballot box.)
So, on December 24, 1991, the church was festively adorned, complete with candles and greenry in the stained-glass windows. Consequently, the sanctuary was rather dim as people gathered. Among the numerous musicians in those congregations, Willard was a talented guitarist who was enlisted to play "Silent Night" at the conclusion of the service. We noted that at its first use in a Christmas Eve service, a guitar accompanied. When Willard entered the subduedly lit sanctuary, he said, "Turn on the lights. I want to see who voted for this 11:30 time."
Truth to be told, there had been skeptics about attendance. But the church was packed each of the nine Christmases I was there. Though in a rural area, we often had visitors from several miles away. Perhaps you have heard the adage that if you want adults present at an event have their children as participants. Even years later, I remember how the youth with their exceptional skills with brass instruments brought beautiful sounds. And, also adults agreed to scripture readings placed throughout.
On some occasions, we included our variation of the Moravian Love Feast. Many adults did the arduous logistic preparations and serving of the buns and coffee (with no spillage).
One year Norman Rockwell must have visited because as I opened the vestibule doors at the conclusion of worship, we discovered that snow had been falling for a time and an idyllic postcard panorama surrounded us.
The event became my favorite of the entire liturgical year. But I missed the last one of my tenure there. Sometime around December 22, I began having abdominal pains. So on the 23d, I went to the doctor's office. Rather quickly he sent me to the nearby hospital for imaging test. When the tech could (would) not disclose the results but left for the ER physician who returned with Dr. Kothapali, a prominent local surgeon, I knew this wasn't going to be good. "Guess what you are getting for Christmas?" the first doctor asked. "What?", I replied and Dr. Kothapali introjected, "Surgery". "When?" "Tonight." "But I have a Christmas Eve service tomorrow night." He asked, "Do you have an associate?" "No, I am a one person staff." And in case I was underestimating the situation, he succinctly summarized: "You won't be there." And, I was not. A nearby pastor substituted and I spent the next several days in the hospital following surgery for an inflamed gall bladder.
So, on December 24, instead of being at our service, I was "nestled all snug in my [hospital]bed", and watching televised services from Duke Chapel and the Midnight Mass from the Vatican.
And the only "creatures stirring" were not the mice but the nursing staff.
Satchel
