Christmas in Carols: Silent Night

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33, NIV)

“The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.” Romans 16:20, ESV)

Picture this: The world seems to hold its breath and is eerily still. The wind whips through cold, damp trenches as the minutes tick into the wee hours of the morning. The year is 1914 and you are a soldier in the army holding down the western front against the Germans in World War I. The war began earlier that year at the beginning of the summer, and has been relentless ever since. If you were crazy enough to poke your head out of the trench to look across No Man’s Land, the bodies laying out in the cold would be staggering– a fresh dusting of snow being their only burial shroud. You miss your family, your hometown, and your own warm bed. It almost seems like a lifetime away as you sit at the bottom of this trench, the soil packed hard and unforgiving. You count the days since you’ve been here when it occurs to you; it’s Christmas Eve. 

Just as you begin to pine for home even more– the lit Christmas tree, stockings hung on the mantle, a warm meal around a familiar table– you hear voices ring out across No Man’s Land. Could it be? The Germans are singing! Maybe a trap? Even so, the distant melody to “Stille Nacht” gives you some little reminder of home and Christmas, even though it doesn’t look like it normally does.

This picture, although slightly dramatized so you might imagine that moment, is a real one. Overnight, as the world prepared for Christmas Day to dawn, British, Belgian, and French soldiers began to sing carols back and forth with the Germans. To everyone’s surprise, on that frosty Christmas morning, troops began to call, “Merry Christmas!” to their adversaries on each side before emerging into No Man’s Land holding up signs that said: You no shoot, we no shoot.

Imagine: a truce struck up between sworn enemies in the middle of a world war. Why? Because “Silent Night” was sung across a barren wasteland like an olive branch. “Silent Night” was originally a German carol written in 1818 by a Catholic priest, Joseph Mohr. Since then, it’s been sung at Christmas Eve services far and wide, including along the western front at the onset of the first world war. To me, that speaks of the unifying power of not only music, but of the newborn King Himself. 

Maybe you’re more cynical than I am; maybe you believe holy infant Jesus, so tender and mild, had nothing to do with entire armies laying down their weapons for one night to embrace and celebrate that peaceful night that Jesus was born. Maybe it had more to do with the nostalgia of a holiday that most of the world has celebrated for centuries. But even if that were so, at its center, Christmas is a holiday that acknowledges the awe-inspiring baby wrapped in cloth lying in a manger; a symbol so powerful that it compels humanity to stop in its tracks and be reverent.

The song itself lulls us into a silent, peaceful reverie. Sung like a lullaby in cadence, we’re able to better picture a sweet, little newborn sleeping by firelight. Heaven and nature both in awe of this long-awaited promise. Mary, holding a baby who would grow up to be her Savior, with the sweat of labor on her face. Joseph, staring in both awe and relief that both mother and child are safe, despite the unusual environment He was born in. Everything about that image seems warm, bright, and serene. 

But to me, I cannot sing this song or see that image without taking note of what comes next. Like I said last week, we cannot see the manger without also seeing the coming cross. We cannot see the quiet stable without also seeing the foreshadowed empty grave. Which is probably why the idea of war-torn nations ceasing fire for just one day to enjoy and celebrate amongst one another the common ground of the Savior’s birth seems so appropriate.

For them, the gunfire and loss would continue tomorrow. New bodies would fall and be left in No Man’s Land. Fighting would continue for another four years. But for that one day, there was peace. There was the exchanging of small personal items for the joy of gift-giving. There was the grace of allowing each side to bury those that had already been left for dead in the crossfire.

For us, we celebrate our Savior knowing that this baby would grow up and be beaten, mutilated, nailed to a cross, poked, prodded, mocked, and killed. We worship Him knowing He would crush Satan under His feet and rise from the dead. And yes, He conquers the devil with His endless power, might, and strength, but let us also consider how He is victorious because of His peace. He didn’t fight His way to the cross or brawl His way out of the grave. He willingly went to take our place, with no objection.

And because we stand under that shed blood redeemed, we don’t have to fear. The Savior, the God who was born in the flesh as that little baby on that silent night, has already overcome the world and He is with us, not against us. Yes, we will face hard days. We will have to get back in our own personal trenches and fight the fight of faith. But we can do so knowing that Jesus has already come, already died for our sins, and already rose from the grave. He is still on His throne, and He is always with us. 

The end of the year is always a time of introspection. We all inherently turn in and take stock, reflecting in our hearts on the past year and where we want to go in the next. As we begin to search our hearts and search ourselves for where we’ve been and what comes next, take up the invitation that the Christmas season offers us to look upon our Savior. Take Him in the way you would take in a newly born baby in a still and silent moment. 

Let that be your focal point as you dream out what 2023 might hold. Don’t rush through the moments God extends to you that are still and silent. They are meant to be refreshing to our souls, and we shouldn’t pass up a moment that allows us to enjoy our Savior. For those soldiers on the western front, many were dismissed from their posts after that cease fire. Militaries were nervous to allow soldiers who had humanized each other to continue to fight when so much was at stake. 

And ultimately, that’s the power of a newborn Christ. He compels us to extend grace to those least deserving of it, just the same way He did for us.