Some years ago Sarah and I were in England celebrating Christmas with her brother in Saffron-Walden, a market town just south of Cambridge.  After a lovely Christmas eve dinner, Sarah decided she wanted to go to the midnight service at the local Anglican Church.  We, both of us agnostics, decided to go with her.

I had always had a soft spot for Christmas eve services.  All the way through high school in Lawrence Kansas I had served as an acolyte in the Episcopal church, which held a very moving candlelight service that I always regarded as the most deeply profound service of the year.  But I hadn’t been to a service in years and thought I would really like to go.

As we were walking through the streets to the service

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