Quiet Night, Holy Night
The first half went smoothly. But during O Come O Come Emmanuel, I made angry eye contact. Angels We Have Heard on High brought on the hand motions, my finger swirling like a conductor’s, signaling stop running around and sit back down. Whisper threats followed when the crayon trading business branched out to intertable distribution.
We had been invited by the Ladies Aid Society (#1) for a Christmas lasagna dinner and evening devotion. As you might imagine, church ladies make a mean lasagna. And olive cheese bread. And artichoke tossed salad. And I won’t even mention the desserts. Our three older children begged to sit at a different table, the one with the Fisher Price nativity scene. We allowed it, and the pianist, a dear friend of ours, chatted amiably with them during dinner. They all cleaned their plates and asked for forgiveness after taking a second cookie (it is pretty easy to sneak a second cookie in a room full of grandmas). My four-year-old received the privilege of passing out devotional program sheets. One might start to get cocky about their parenting. But you already know that didn’t last.
Our almost-two-year-old, on my husband’s lap, watched the downhill progression, thumb in mouth and big eyes. Right before the last hymn, he discovered a sharpened pencil and refused to accept a handful of crayons offered in trade. So, he greeted the opening bars of “Silent Night” by slamming his chubby little hand down on the table and shouting, “NO!”
At that point, I did what I assume many exhausted, well-meaning parents might: I chuckled. Too late, I cupped my hand over my mouth - that was not the correct reaction. My husband gathered up the frustrated child, and we joined in the final two verses of the beloved hymn.
I love the gentle nostalgia of singing Silent Night, but I often wonder about the poetic retelling. Did tiny Jesus truly sleep in heavenly peace, everything calm? Or did Mary’s heart pound with fear that a stray hoof might catch her newborn’s soft head? Did his newborn cry pierce the air?
.
Mary: so meek, so mild. Me: so loud, so obnoxious. Early family recordings expose my naturally bossy behavior: my loud singing drowning out my younger brother’s sweet little voice. As a second grader, I longed to be chosen to play Mary in our school’s Christmas pageant. Instead, I narrated from the book of Luke, chapter 2, and my mother wondered if I actually needed that microphone.
.
I allow myself to picture myself chosen as the mother to the Son of the Most High, and instead of quiet obedience, this is the monologue I imagine:
Are you serious? Do they not see that I am literally about to give birth? I should just have this baby right here on their doorstep, and then maybe they’ll be able to find us a room. Try scrubbing the blood out of that welcome mat, mister…
Go talk to him again, you’re not even going to give it a second shot? Oh look at that lady walking past, she probably got a room no problem.
This wouldn't have happened if Caesar hadn’t called that stupid census. Who does he think he is anyway? Can’t he just count his piles of money and be happy with that? And now the Son of the Most High is going to be born in this dingy old animal stall? I’m a failure as a mother and this child isn’t even out of my body yet. Couldn’t we have just gotten one thing right so far? I’m already an unwed mother, people are going to judge me for that. And then this? I wish I could do more for him. He would be better off with a different mother. What was God thinking? Why not some wealthy woman who is already married and living in a house in the town where she needed to be counted? Why not that? Didn’t God know this would happen?…
.
I wince at my own imagination. Exposing my own selfish, sinful tendencies shows exactly where I am giving into the battle against evil.
.
For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12
.
Mary submitted to the Lord. In her quiet obedience the Lord brought to earth the answer for sinful, selfish submission to the evil lodged in our gut from that first bite of the fruit. This brings me back to my earlier wonderings… Silent Night, Holy Night…Were the forces of evil silent on that holy night? Did the rulers and authorities of evil stare at God’s checkmate move in stunned quiet? Did the heavenly hosts singing alleluia overwhelm the spiritual forces of evil? Did the radiant beams from His holy face quiet the cosmic powers of darkness?
.
The spiritual battle is still waging. Let us live in the joy that Loves Pure Light brought the dawn of redeeming grace. Let us put on the full armor of God and fight, knowing the battle is won.
.
This is my final post of the 2023 Quiet Reflections (only a couple of weeks after intended)... In 2024, my word is “Others” from Philippians 2:3. My writing in 2024 will look a little bit different, but I’ll share more about this next week.
