These are the words that came to my mind last night, as I sat in front of our Christmas tree. Rob and the kids were all asleep, and I was having one of those rare moments alone, when I was neither working nor sleeping. In fact, the whole city felt like strangely still -- everyone gone to bed with no school or morning plans due to an usual Texas ice storm. So I just sat there -- in the dark silence, looking into our brightly lit tree. It's a memory tree: every branch loaded with ornaments from my childhood, with souvenir ornaments from vacations, with gifted ornaments from friends, and now with precious trinkets made in preschool. It's gorgeous to behold. I sat there for a very long time just looking at it, and felt calm for the first time in a very long time.
"Calm" is not a part of my wonderful life these days. I remember after having my son, I thought, "All those times I thought I was working hard or was stressed out before now -- I wasn't. I've never truly known stress or hard work until having a child." And now that I have two children, I think, "all those times I thought I was working hard or was stressed out before now -- I wasn't. I've never truly known stress or hard work until having two children." Life now is so rich and wonderful, but it's also really hard and stressful.
So given my life right now, I wonder... was that first night really a "silent night... all calm and bright" for Mary? Or did she cry out in labor pain as I did, and shout with tears of joy when she saw her newborn son?
I wonder, was the little Lord Jesus so tender and mild that he made no cry at all in the manger? Or was he up all night as most newborns are, screaming with hunger every 1-2 hours?
I wonder, did the little town of Bethlehem really lie still under silent stars? Or did it quake with the joy at the Savior born within its walls?
I wonder... because the Bible never says that Jesus was born at night, or that it was calm, or still, or even cold for that matter. Over the years, we have filled in the holes in the birth narratives of Matthew and Luke to rescript Christ's birth as the very picture of serenity. And we've told the story this way for so long, that we just assume it's there in the text, but it's not. I wonder, why do we retell it this way?
Perhaps because I'm not the only human being who could really use a silent night? Perhaps because I'm not the only person in the history of creation who has known the real meaning of hard work and stress? Perhaps the folklore surrounding Christ's birth tells a lot about what we all spiritually need; we need a silent night.
I pray that you find a silent and holy night this Advent. You probably need it as much as I do.
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