Many of us
look forward to singing silent night, carrying our candles
out of the
sanctuary and down to the street.
We sing
the beautiful carol in unison as we light one another’s candles.
Remembering
perhaps the words of Jesus, “You are the light of the world.”
We sing together. A strange thing in a culture like ours of so
many individual performances. We sing
this song together and we light together and we walk together.
I remember
being a young person and holding my candle, fascinated with the melting wax and
wondering how long it would take to touch the soft wax and not burn.
I remember
covering the rubber part of my Converse All-Star shoe with dripped wax from the
candle.
But still,
regardless of how attentive I was at one or many of those Christmas Eve
services, I remember them fondly, and relish the ability to partake again in
the yearly tradition.
and so at
the end of that long busyness, a moment to sing a song and share candelight in
community. Silent night, holy
night. All is calm.
We made it
to another Christmas.
Some people
like to point out how preposterous it is to sing about the night of Christ’s
birth as if it were silent. It certainly
was not silent, they’ll argue. Jesus
cried just like all babies and if he really was laid in a manger, no doubt
there were animals nearby and they weren’t silent either.
True
enough.
But what
is it about singing “Silent Night” that despite its historical inaccuracies,
draws us
in?
Silence is
something that both draws us in
But at the
same time repels us.
There’s a
big difference between singing
“Silent night”
and
actually experiencing a silent night.
For some
of us, real silence is very
uncomfortable. And we try to fill the
dead air or occupy the space with activity.
Silence
can feel like emptiness and by instinct we fight this.
“Nature
abhors a vacuum.”
We have a
hard time sitting silently.
Philosopher
Blaise Pascal once said “All of humanity's problems stem from [an] inability to
sit quietly in a room alone.”
We want to
sing about Silent Night, but we don’t
want real silence.
And we
want to sing about an idealized Silent Night; we don’t want the stable scene to
have really been noisy and messy, chaotic or stressful.
Silence
can feel like emptiness. But for many
who have taken the risk.
For many
who have welcomed the silence and stillness,
And
allowed their hearts to come to a softer and slower rhythm.
Silence
can feel like fullness.
Its not
only the absence of sound,
But can be the fullness of presence.
When we
are together in silence, we are sharing the presence of one another,
And God
among us.
And this
is what is meant, I think by the Christian belief known as “incarnation.”
Literally
“taking on skin and bones”
We believe
that Jesus is Emmanuel – a word that means “God with us.”
The word
became flesh and dwelt among us. Became
present within and among human beings, dwelling and abiding in skin and bones.
Incarnation
renews silence.
Silence
becomes not a lack, but a fullness of presence with God, with ourselves, and
with our neighbors. Before and beyond
words.
“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among
us… full of grace and truth.”
God made a
tent among humanity and dwelled there, and that tent we know as Jesus.
And by faith
all of us become dwelling places for the Holy Spirit.
And so we
do not need to be afraid of silence.
Silence is
not a threat, but a place of fullness.
Communion
between Creator and creation in every breath.
And the
abiding presence of God
Among us
as we silently share a moment of joy or sorrow.
The
silence of love is not an absence,
But a
presence that is so much more than words.
Let every
heart prepare room for the God whose silence is fullness of presence.
And in
whose presence there is fullness of joy.
In our
silence, in our singing. We share in the incarnation as the Spirit works within
and among us, bringing new life and peace. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment