The Night before Christmas

Clement Moore's poem has brought into focus the Scriptural image of Christmas as a time of reflection and quiet as well as one of rejoicing:

                                 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
                                 not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.." it begins.

 It echoes the wonderful antiphon for Christmastide which is often used for Christmas Eve liturgies:

"When peaceful silence lay over all, and night had run half of her swift course, your all-powerful word, O Lord, leaped down from Heaven, from the royal throne."

It is when the rush is over, 'the' busy world is hushed' as Newman put it, that the awesome silence of the Godhead descends upon our earth.  It is the still point of the turning world, the point of intersection between God and us that we call Incarnation;  the opening up to the endless possibilities which the meeting of God and our poor, shadowed world throws up.  But to see them, to reach out to this God who comes to us as a baby, born in a stable, with only the steaming breath of two animals to warm him in this bitter night of mid-Winter, we have to experience the silence and 'otherness' of eternity;  we are touching another world.

Notice how often the carols we sing so enthusiastically at this time talk about the silence in which Bethlehem in particular, is wrapped at the coming of Jesus.

"O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!" we sing, and have you ever noticed that when we use those words, a silence and an awe descends on us too?  Then there is, of course "Silent Night" - our translation of the more profound original title "Stille nacht, Heilege nacht" which evokes the stillness that surrounds the wonder of this holy night.  It is a prayer in itself,  which has become a household word in every country where it is sung, especially on the night before Christmas.  Incidentally, it was first sung on Christmas Eve - you probably know that already - but the waves of prayer and the affection in which it is held reach far beyond that little village in Austria where Josef Mohr and his small  choir first sang it to the lilting strains of the violin, because the mice had eaten away at the organ bellows!  What a story, and what a powerful prayer!  For most of us, it is Christmas, it still has the power to draw us into the silence of the first night of Jesus' life.  It is a meditation in itself, isn't it?

Have you ever walked beneath the stars on a crisp, cold Christmas Eve night, and felt the special message of this time?  An old man who was a farmer in the West of Ireland once told me that the animals quieten as midnight approaches, and kneel down to celebrate the birth of the Saviour.  I really believed him as a child, but I never managed to catch them at it!  I lived in Birmingham at Christmas-time then. I saw the cattle in the Summer when they were out in the field; small chance I'd have of proving whether or not it was true.  Still it is a lovely idea, if apocryphal! 

I suppose we value the silence of late Christmas Eve and of other times when we really look at the Crib, and try to imagine what it must have been like for Our Lady to give birth under such circumstances, when we enter into the quiet peace that surrounded his birth.  Then we cry out with the angels "Glory to God on high, and peace to all those who are of good will!" because we have felt it,  and as a consequence, we are carried beyond ourselves and our small concerns.  That is the message of Christmas.  To go beyond ourselves, to reach out to those most in need, to kindle our small lights so that others may not stumble in the darkness.

We don't have to say "What can I give him, poor as I am?"  We know.   Have a very happy, peaceful and blessed Christmas, and let's remember to pray for those who cannot pray for themselves, or do not feel the need to do so.  Our prayer for them is a gift, wrapped in lovely, shiny Christmas paper, and we don't have the fag of wrapping it up!