In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.”
So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Throughout Advent I have been talking about “The Carols of Christmas” and tonight I would like to talk with you about what is, perhaps, the most beloved Christmas carol of all time: Silent Night.
I have two questions I would like to ask and answer as we consider this carol. First, was it really silent? That is, was it really silent when Jesus was born?
I know what the song says…
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
But I was there for the birth of my three sons and those nights were hardly silent. I don’t know about holy. But they sure weren’t calm. Perhaps they were bright, especially when the doctor turned on his operating lamp.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the song Silent Night. It captures much of the deeper message of Christmas.
But maybe the lyricist of Silent Night had never witnessed the birth of a human child. After all, he was a man, living 200 years ago.
Everything I know about physical human birth tells me that when Jesus was born, it was anything but silent. And that’s the point. Jesus’ birth was like every human birth in many ways. I heard a minister preaching a Christmas Eve service many years ago say, “Jesus came down the birth canal just like every human baby that isn’t delivered by C-section.”
Yes, but what Jesus found, or the reality that found him, after he came down the birth canal, was different than what most human babies find today. After all, Jesus’ mother laid him in a manger, a feeding trough for animals.
Jesus wasn’t born in a hospital. He wasn’t even born amidst the warmth of home, or even the coziness of an inn. He was born in a stable for animals in the first century. Hardly a silent place!
And why was that? Why was Jesus born in such a place?
Because his parents had to travel far from their usual haunts, to their ancestral home in Bethlehem, in order to be registered in a census. And when they got there, there was no room for them in the inn.
Imagine that… No Orbitz. No Expedia. No reservations ahead of time. Just the luck of the draw. And Joseph and Mary did not luck out.
Of course, this is all the more amazing when you realize who Jesus was. The angel calls him Savior, Messiah, and Lord. Bible commentator Michael Wilcock calls this staggering “because already, in little more than a chapter, Luke has used the word [Lord] nearly twenty times as the regular title (which in fact, among Greek-speaking Jews, it was) for the God of Israel himself.”
So, when Jesus was born, I doubt it was silent, because childbirth is not a silent event. And secondly, the angel’s message broke any silence that was there. Again, Michael Wilcock puts it so well: “After four centuries in which the voice of prophecy has been silent, now at last God speaks again, through ‘the tongues of men and of angels.’”
However, even though Jesus’ birth was, in more than one way, all about the breaking of silence, it is appropriate for us to approach this great mystery of the birth of Christ in silent meditation. We need quiet to be able to drink it in. It seems as though the world tries to drown out the true message of Christmas with so much noise and bling. So, it is very important, urgent even, that we should push that noise and bling aside, at least long enough to let the real message of Christmas soak into our hearts.
The second question ringing in my heart tonight because of this lovely carol is, perhaps, just as important as the first. Was it really night? In other words, was it really night when Jesus was born?
The fact of the matter is that we don’t know precisely when Jesus was born. We don’t know whether it was during the day or in the night. We don’t even know what month or day of the year it was. December 25 was established as the day to celebrate Jesus’ birth hundreds of years after it really happened.
But we do know that the shepherds received a special message at night. And how appropriate that they received it under cover of darkness. Into the darkness of our world came God’s marvelous light.
How appropriate that we light candles and sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve. It is a great reminder that God calls each one of us to be a light in this dark world of ours. Jesus is the light of the world and Jesus calls us to be the light of the world in him and through him and with him.
Silent Night was first performed on Christmas Eve 1818 at St Nicholas parish church in Oberndorf, Austria. A young priest, Father Joseph Mohr, had come to Oberndorf the year before. He had written the lyrics of the song Stille Nacht in 1816 at Mariapfarr, the hometown of his father in the Salzburg region.
The melody was composed by Franz Xaver Gruber, schoolmaster and organist in the village of Arnsdorf. Before Christmas Eve, Mohr brought the words to Gruber and asked him to compose a melody and guitar accompaniment for the Christmas Eve mass, after river flooding had damaged the church organ.
According to Gruber, Karl Mauracher, an organ builder who serviced the instrument at the Oberndorf church, was enamored with Stille Nacht, and took the composition home with him to the Zillertal. From there, two travelling families of folk singers, the Strassers and the Rainers, included the tune in their shows. The Rainers were already singing it around Christmas 1819, and once performed it for an audience that included Franz I of Austria and Alexander I of Russia, as well as making the first performance of the song in the United States, in New York City in 1839.[1] Maria von Trapp was a descendant of the Rainer family.
One of the most famous stories involving Stille Nacht comes from the First World War. The first signs that something strange was happening occurred on Christmas Eve, 1914. At 8:30 p.m. an officer of the Royal Irish Rifles reported to headquarters: “Germans have illuminated their trenches, are singing songs and wishing us a Happy Xmas. Compliments are being exchanged but am nevertheless taking all military precautions.” Further along the line, the two sides serenaded each other with carols—the German Stille Nacht being met with a British chorus of The First Noel—and scouts met, cautiously, in no man’s land, the shell-blasted waste between the trenches. The war diary of the Scots Guards records that a certain Private Murker “met a German Patrol and was given a glass of whisky and some cigars, and a message was sent back saying that if we didn’t fire at them, they would not fire at us.”
The same basic understanding seems to have sprung up spontaneously at other spots. For another British soldier, Private Frederick Heath, the truce began late that same night when “all down our line of trenches there came to our ears a greeting unique in war: ‘English soldier, English soldier, a merry Christmas, a merry Christmas!’” Then–as Heath wrote in a letter home–the voices added:
‘Come out, English soldier; come out here to us.’ For some little time we were cautious, and did not even answer. Officers, fearing treachery, ordered the men to be silent. But up and down our line one heard the men answering that Christmas greeting from the enemy. How could we resist wishing each other a Merry Christmas, even though we might be at each other’s throats immediately afterwards? So we kept up a running conversation with the Germans, all the while our hands ready on our rifles. Blood and peace, enmity and fraternity—war’s most amazing paradox. The night wore on to dawn—a night made easier by songs from the German trenches, the pipings of piccolos and from our broad lines laughter and Christmas carols. Not a shot was fired.
Perhaps it was inevitable that some men on both sides would produce a ball and—freed briefly from the confines of the trenches—take pleasure in kicking it about. What followed, though, was something more than that, for if the story of the Christmas Truce has its jewel, it is the legend of the match played between the British and the Germans—which the Germans claimed to have won, 3-2, on Christmas Day.
Fighting erupted again on December 26, though there were reports from some sectors of hostilities remaining suspended into the New Year. But eventually, the war was on again, and there would be no further truce until the general armistice of November 1918. Many, perhaps close to the majority, of the thousands of men who celebrated Christmas 1914 together would not live to see the return of peace. But for those who did survive, the truce was something that would never be forgotten.[2]
It makes one wonder: will there ever, really, be lasting peace on earth? Perhaps, the Christmas truce of 1914 gives us an answer. I believe it is the spirit of Christmas, and even more, the Christ of Christmas who brings true and lasting peace. It is as we break our silence to tell and sing of that Silent Night so long ago, and as we shine the light and love of Jesus into our dark world, that true peace will come.
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