I remember the year I preached the worst Christmas Eve sermon I ever delivered. At least that’s what my congregation told me.

It was years ago, when I was serving a church in Pennsylvania. That was the year when, as Christmas approached, the long dark days of Advent were tinged with my own dark thoughts. Alongside the warm and wonderful scripture texts of the season, another more foreboding passage had grabbed hold of me and would not let go. It was the “slaughter of the innocents,” the story that comes after the nativity, in which King Herod is said to have ordered the killing of the baby boys in hopes of ridding the world of the Babe of Bethelem.

I could not shake the thought that this story resonated with the world portrayed in the evening news – a world of violence and treachery that spoke of humanity’s worst tendencies. So I decided that year to preach on the slaughter of the innocents.

That is when I learned an important lesson. When the saints come to the annual Christmas candlelight service, they don’t want to hear about such things. We want to hear about the humble birth and the lowing cattle, the visiting shepherds and announcing angels. On Christmas Eve, we want to block out the all-too-familiar pain and struggle of life.

Needless to say, I now leave the story of old Herod for the days after Christmas. And yet, in spite of the reaction that Christmas, I still believe that we need to keep his dark tale in mind during the season, just as we should light our holiday candles with prayers for those who still live in darkness and war. After all, the light of the season is insignificant unless it is in counterpoint to the looming darkness that is all too real for all too many.

Later on, I realized why the darkness was so intense in that season. I had spent a good part of Advent at the bedside of a dying four-year-old girl, who reminded me of my own youngest. I should have known that I would carry the pain of that into Christmas Eve.

Now I know.

Do you remember in Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” how one day Ebenezer Scrooge, stingy and flint-hearted Scrooge, woke up to his future, after the visit of the third Spirit? To his great relief, Scrooge discovered that “the bedpost was his own, the bed was his own, and, best and happiest of all, the time before him was his to make amends in!”

In both the darkness and the light of these times, may we all wake up to our future and trust that we can still get this thing called life right.