But what if we have been faithful to observe Advent? What if we have been waiting with joyful expectation through the weeks of December for the advent of the Christ? What if we have been preparing our hearts to receive the greatest gift humanity has ever been given?  

In that case, midnight on Christmas Eve really is the still point when Advent silently turns into Christmas, when our waiting is finally over and the One for whom we have been waiting appears in our midst.

Gathering for a candlelit Communion service on Christmas Eve is one of my favorite childhood memories, and it continues to be one of the most treasured rituals of my year. Walking through the brisk, cold night from the car to the candlelit church, the anticipation is palpable. The dimly lit church is filled with poinsettias—and candles. As we enter the darkened sanctuary, each person is handed a small taper. We listen again to the Christmas story. We sing, at last, the Christmas carols we have been waiting through all of Advent to sing. We receive Communion. We pass the light, the only sound the murmur of soft voices. “Jesus Christ is the Light of the world,” we whisper to one another as each person’s candle kindles another’s until the church is bright with the flames of hundreds of candles. And then, at midnight, we raise our candles high and sing “Joy to the World.” It is Christmas! The waiting of Advent is over, and we rejoice: the Lord is come!

When I was a child, my sister and I would leave the church after the Christmas Eve service exuberantly, wild with excitement that Christmas was finally here. It was usually foggy in the middle of the night in California’s Central Valley, thick blankets of cold pressing on us as we walked (or rather, my parents walked; my sister and I skipped and hopped and ran) back to our car. Once home, we did not open gifts. Instead, we cuddled up in front of the fireplace and drank hot cocoa before heading to bed.

Though many of my friends would come to the Christmas Eve service having already opened their presents, in my family, the opening of gifts was reserved for Christmas morning. My father’s mother had died on Christmas Eve, so the day was a painful one for him. He wanted to honor her memory by refraining from the distraction of opening presents.

Now that I’m grown, I also refrain from opening gifts on Christmas Eve, in part because I grew up that way, but also because my husband’s birthday is December 24. I want him to have the chance to celebrate his birthday without it being co-opted by Christmas. So Doug is the only one who gets to open gifts on Christmas Eve, and they’re wrapped in birthday paper, not Christmas paper.

Some people have grown up with family traditions of opening one or all presents on Christmas Eve, and this can certainly be meaningful. One family I spoke with chooses to open their Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve because their oldest daughter was born on Christmas Day, and they want her birthday to be a separate celebration from Christmas. She, therefore, is the only one who gets to open presents on her birthday. The challenge for us is to reflect on our practices, as this family has done, and filter them in light of the rhythm of the church calendar.