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.
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.
As many of you may know, 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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