Silent Night

There were a lot of years that Christmas wasn't really Christmas unless I stood with my family in a darkened sanctuary and watched light grow as a flame was passed from candle to candle while singing Silent Night. There was something about singing those words in the glow of candles with no other sounds than voices singing that reoriented me to the space and time that is Christmas Eve. 

The Silent Night years  were followed by the chaos of family Christmas Eve services - affectionately known as Bedlam in Bethlehem - where our children participated in an impromptu Christmas pageant. I couldn't tell you the final song of those years because I was just hoping neither of my children fell down the chancel steps or pulled off Mary's headgear. The family service marked the beginning of what was sometimes a very long night of assembly and coordination.

Since the family service years, we've bobbled about looking for our place on Christmas Eve - sometimes at a chuch service, sometimes with friends, last year reading the Christmas story with friends in their home. I haven't found that same moment of reorientation that pre-dated the family service years just yet. I don't know if it's because the chaos and joy and anticipation palpably present among the children with crooked haloes and makeshift costumes imbedded itself in me more than I realized, or if it's because I find it harder to shut everything out save the words of that hymn. But the words are imbedded deep within me regardless of the noise with which they compete:

Silent night, holy night!
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia,
Christ the Saviour is born!
Christ the Saviour is born

Silent night, holy night!
Son of God love’s pure light.
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth.

This is always my favourite Christmas picture - I take it every year. But it's just a snapshot in time and somehow reminds me of the power of silence and being still. Thematically, it would have been far better if this brief moment where the living room was clean and peaceful had happened at night, but it's real life. And maybe that's why I like this picture so much - real life breaks into our silence, interrupting our quest for spotless holiness, and that frustrates me but this photo captures a moment of peace and quiet. I find there's power in carving out time to be still and I think that's why singing Silent Night in a darkened sanctuary making space for light to grow on Christmas Eve is such a touchpoint for me. 

I'm reminded of how Mary and Joseph must have felt after Jesus' birth - when the chaos of the birthing process had calmed, the sun was nowhere in sight and it was just the new family of three nestled in the barn with animals watching. Holy silence on that first Christmas had to be overwhelming but they leaned into it and trusted their child's destiny. I wonder if we carve out silence for ourselves if we will hear the still, small voice that guides us on our way to who we're called to be. I wonder if we stop and really try to block out the noise of the world, if we can let all of the weight of our emotions wash through us so they don't get stuck in us and if we'll find sleep and heavenly peace.

Friends - we're living in dense times but the words of the angels still ring true - "Do not be afraid" for good news has come. May we make room for holy silence, for despair to pass through so there is room for hope. And tonight, on this Christmas Eve, may be reorient ourselves to the grace and mystery of that first Christmas knowing the greatest hope came in the form of a tiny baby. Tonight - maybe our family will go back to the family service to reacquaint ourselves with joyful anticipation and the invitation to imperfection in celebrating Jesus' birth. After all - tradition for tradition sake can be an empty shell if it makes no space for God to break in and turn things upside down.