I remember a time, not so long ago , when the church pews didn’t just hold people — they overflowed with them.

It was a specific kind of closeness unique to Christmas Eve.

Families were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with coats piled high. Voices rose in unison to the holiday favorites we all knew by heart.

I remember a time, not so long ago …

The way the candlelight flickered across the faces throughout the congregation.

The profound hush that fell across the church just before the first notes of “Silent Night” were sung without hymnals.

Those lyrics carried a weight, a respect, that seemed to linger on the air long after the final verse was sung.

But lately, if you look around, you might notice how the landscape of this holy night has shifted.

Fewer people are spending the hours before Christmas inside a sanctuary.

The collective voice singing “O Holy Night?”

Well, it has grown quieter … which begs the question: Where did all of the congregations go?

Perhaps they are finishing the frantic last-minute shopping.

Maybe they are still searching for those popular, hard-to-find, expensive gadgets that have come to define the modern holiday.

It is as if today, the giving season is entirely about receiving. And our children’s expectations have greatly changed.

For they are not just hoping to find a toy underneath the Christmas tree.

They have already asked Santa to bring them the newest iPhone, a sleek tablet and the latest wireless earbuds. Their lists are digital, expensive and demand to be charged.

They stand in such stark contrast to the memories many of us hold close in our hearts … still.

I remember a time, not so long ago … when happiness wasn’t measured in gigabytes or screen resolution.

We were genuinely excited to discover an orange tucked into the toe of our stocking.

We instantly felt rich from holding that simple holiday box of Life Savers and a handful of copper pennies.

We didn’t need the world at our fingertips in an instant.

We had everything we needed right in our own living rooms.

So, where did all the congregations go?

Perhaps they are gathered around punch bowls, sipping eggnog and laughing with friends.

Perhaps they are settled in to watch “It’s A Wonderful Life,” “Miracle on 34th Street” or even “Die Hard,” before setting out the requisite carrot for Rudolph and cookies for Santa.

Many are stressed, wondering whether those high-tech gifts they bought on credit will be enough.

However, as beautiful as the secular side of the season is, I cannot help but wonder … are we stopping short?

With fewer children sitting in those pews and more sitting in front of their screens, are we ensuring they know the true meaning of Christmas?

I remember a time, not so long ago … where the smell of cookies baking in the oven meant it was almost time to decorate them with red and green sugars and multi-colored sprinkles.

I remember a time, not so long ago … when the smell of pine meant it was time to place those strands of hot, large colored bulbs and silver icicles onto the tree. Those icicles could still be found in the carpet or in a corner at Eastertime.

I remember a time, not so long ago … when it was time to hear someone cite from memory “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” and laughing at the Chipmunks sing their Christmas song, while Alvin got yelled at for not chiming in on time with his lyrics.

I remember a time, not so long ago … when relief washed over me at seeing there were more checks placed in the “good” column of the good list/bad list taped to the refrigerator. This one single sheet of paper would set the entire tone on whether or not Santa would leave me anything out of his giant red sack of toys. I remember.

And all of these are lovely traditions. Every one of them.

But do I remember … every present? Every piece of wrapping paper and how it looked? Do I remember … if there was a bow or a ribbon on top? No. I can only remember the highlights.

But do I remember … sitting in church beside my entire family and feeling an excitement I have otherwise never known because everyone around me was filled with a happiness I simply can’t explain? Absolutely. It is why Christmas Eve is still my favorite day of the year.

I think back to when little ones — my own included — would awkwardly and adorably act out the Christmas story in front of the congregation. As they grew, they traded costumes for scripture readings, watching the younger children perform while sitting huddled shoulder-to-shoulder with family in the pews.

However, the primary lesson remained: Christmas is more than the rush of shoppers or the number of LED lights strung along the gutter.

It is the story of a baby, born in a manger under a star-filled sky. It is the narrative of a love that began in the humblest of places and grew to change the world. Our children need to know this story. They need to understand that the greatest gift wasn’t the one wrapped in shiny paper with a ribbon. But it was the one wrapped in swaddling clothes. One is fleeting. The other, eternal.

We often measure the success of the holiday by the pile of presents under the tree.

But I find myself thinking about a different kind of gift: The power of presence.

I remember a time, not so long ago … when the sound of footsteps crunching on the snow could be heard as families walked into the church. I can recall the warmth that was felt inside — not just from the heating vents — but from the community gathered together.

That presence — simply being there, in worship and love — is what transforms a holiday into a holy day.

Children might not remember every toy they unwrapped in 2015 or 2021. But they will remember the feeling of sitting beside their parent in the quiet dark, holding a candle and softly singing how “all is calm” and “all is bright.”

They will remember the way the world seemed to pause when the words, “unto you is born this day” were spoken.

We spend so much time and energy preparing for what goes underneath the Christmas tree.

Maybe this Christmas Eve, we should remember … and teach our children to remember … what was laid in the manger.

Traditions remind us, but the manger transforms us. It is the place where hope entered the world.

So, on this Christmas Eve, I hope we will pause the movies, the downloading and put down the wrapping paper — even if it is just for an hour.

I hope we will step into a sanctuary with our children … no matter their age, and let that ancient story consume us once again.

If we live it, if we share it, if we teach it, then perhaps the pews will fill once again. And not out of obligation … but because our hearts will be drawn to the place where love first began. I can remember a time like that … not so long ago.

(Stenger is the community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at jstenger@heraldstaronline.com.)