Last night I had the privilege of covering two very different Christmas Eve services at Dunwoody United Methodist Church—and together they told one complete story.
The evening began with the Family Service, filled with children’s choirs, wide eyes, nervous smiles, and that wonderful mix of excitement and holy chaos that only happens when kids lead worship. Later came the Candlelight Communion services, quieter, slower, and heavy with meaning as the sanctuary filled with small flames pushing back the darkness.
From a photographer’s perspective, it was a night of constant movement and constant decision-making.
I carried three lenses:
- Nikon 100–400mm for moments I couldn’t physically get close to—tight expressions, worship leaders, and details unfolding across the chancel.
- 24–120mm f/4, my workhorse, for flexibility while moving quickly between scenes.
- 35mm f/1.4, which came out during the candlelight portions of the service, when available light mattered most.
That 35mm lens was less about technical perfection and more about presence. Candlelight doesn’t wait. Faces glow for just a moment. Hands cup flames carefully. Shadows fall where they will. That lens let me stay honest to the atmosphere without overpowering it.
Throughout both services, I found myself running—literally—between the main floor and the balcony, sometimes multiple times during a single service. From the floor, I could feel the emotion. From above, I could see the story: the worship team leading, the congregation responding, the sanctuary breathing together.
Was I always in the perfect position at the ideal moment?
No.
But Christmas Eve rarely gives you perfection. It gives you meaning.
By the end of the night, what mattered most to me wasn’t whether I captured every ideal angle, but whether the coverage reflected the fullness of worship—leaders and congregation, children and adults, light and shadow, celebration and reverence.
As I worked, one phrase kept coming to mind:
“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel (which means ‘God with us’).” — Matthew 1:23
Christmas is not just about a moment that happened long ago. It’s about God choosing to be present—in rooms full of children singing a little too loudly, in sanctuaries lit by candles, in communities gathered together in hope.
Last night, I didn’t just photograph services.
I photographed God with us—in motion, in worship, and in the shared light passed from one candle to another.
And that’s a story worth telling.