Silent Night

I've just had a couple of sleepless nights in a row, amounting to two hours of sleep since Thursday morning.  I'm reaping the consequences of that now, in terms of a fuzzy mind, an achey body, and a bizarre adrenaline rush.  So please forgive me if my ramblings here today are not easy to follow.

The mind is a crazy thing.  I sometimes wonder the purposes behind God's design of the mind, of thinking, or rationality and irrationality.  Of saneness and mental illness.  Of Peace and of Turmoil.

Christmas is nearly here, and as I lay in bed last night wide awake, trying to sort out the upcoming year in my mind, trying to examine if there is anything that I am not doing in terms of finding a job and a future for my family and I, I recognized the silence of the house.

It was not a peaceful silence.  It was a troubled silence, an uneasy silence, existing mostly in my own mind.  My fan was on, I could hear my youngest snoring, the heater kicking on and off.  And there was silence in my mind, but it was not peace.  There is a difference.

I think that Silent Night must be the most-loved, most-sung Christmas carol.  This morning I've wondered why, out of the dozens of carols there are, why is this the one that many people treasure in their souls?

My (very imperfect) conclusion?  It is because we all desire just that....a silent night, a holy night.  For all to be calm, all to be bright.  A different silence though, then the disorienting silence of my sleepless night.  A silence filled with peace.  With assurance that all is well.  A true ability to Be Still and Know that God is God.

The night Jesus was born is so often depicted as a serene, quite scene, full of peace and wonder.  But was it really?  Could it just as well been a terrifying night, full of uncertainty and anxiety as Mary labored to give birth to the Messiah?

I read recently somewhere, that the day my Jesus was born, is also the day my Jesus died.  Not only did He die later in life on the cross for me, he also died the day he was born, becoming a man so that he could become the sacrifice to pay for my sins, so that he could become the Prince of Peace.

Peace and silence are seem to be elusive, fleeting as of late.  Nonetheless, I pray that God will grant us all the gift of a Silent night, a Holy night, this coming Christmas.

Christmas in Fairfield, Iowa

For so many reasons, Christmas time always makes me think back to growing up in Iowa.  I think it's the paltry amount of snow we got today, lending itself to not one, but two canceled school days.  Would have taken a foot of snow accompanied by an inch of ice for school to be canceled in Iowa.

One of the (tackiest) best parts of being in Fairfield, Iowa for Christmas was the all out (tacky) beautiful Christmas display in the town square.  The day after Thanksgiving, Mrs. Mitcheltree (high school choir director) would ask the chamber singers to join her for a sleigh (tractor) ride through town behind Santa (in a truck) as he opened the Christmas season.  Off we would go, freezing our (tails) noses off as we attempted to sing such classics as "Carol of the Bells" and "Winter Wonderland".

Below is a video taken from our lovely home square from a couple of years ago, pasted on YouTube for the world to enjoy.  At least, unlike some small Kentuckian town's tree lighting ceremony, instead of dozens, we'd at least had a couple of hundred join together for the lighting of the square.  And I only stole Rudolph's nose twice.  Ok, maybe 3 times.

Who is Christmas Really For?

Matt Redmond has these important words to say about Christmas:

Christmas Is for Those Who Hate It Most

We are by now accustomed to hearing about how Christmas is difficult for many people. The story of Scrooge and his—ehem—problems with this season is no longer anecdotal. It is now par for the course. Maybe it always has been. Maybe the joy of the season has always been a thorn in the side of those who can scarcely imagine joy.

Not too long ago, I heard from someone about how difficult Christmas would be because of some heartbreak in their family. There was utter hopelessness and devastation. Christmas would be impossible to enjoy because of the freshness of this pain. It’s been a story very hard to forget.

I get it. I mean, it makes sense on the level of Christmas being a time in which there is a lot of heavily concentrated family time. The holidays can be tense in even the best of circumstances. Maneuvering through the landmines of various personalities can be hard even if there is no cancer, divorce or empty seat at the table. What makes it the most wonderful time of the year is also what makes it the most brutal time of the year. My own family has not been immune to this phenomenon.

But allow me to push back against this idea a little. Gently. I think we have it all backwards. We have it sunk deep into our collective cultural consciousness that Christmas is for the happy people. You know, those with idyllic family situations enjoyed around stocking-strewn hearth dreams. Christmas is for healthy people who laugh easily and at all the right times, right? The successful and the beautiful, who live in suburban bliss, can easily enjoy the holidays. They have not gotten lost on the way because of the GPS they got last year. They are beaming after watching a Christmas classic curled up on the couch as a family in front of their ginormous flat-screen. We live and act as if this is who should be enjoying Christmas.

But this is backwards. Christmas—the great story of the incarnation of the Rescuer—is for everyone, especially those who need a rescue. Jesus was born as a baby to know the pain and sympathize with our weaknesses. Jesus was made to be like us so that in his resurrection we can be made like him; free from the fear of death and the pain of loss. Jesus’ first recorded worshipers were not of the beautiful class. They were poor, ugly shepherds, beat down by life and labor. They had been looked down on over many a nose.

Jesus came for those who look in the mirror and see ugliness. Jesus came for daughters whose fathers never told them they were beautiful. Christmas is for those who go to “wing night” alone. Christmas is for those whose lives have been wrecked by cancer, and the thought of another Christmas seems like an impossible dream. Christmas is for those who would be nothing but lonely if not for social media. Christmas is for those whose marriages have careened against the retaining wall and are threatening to flip over the edge. Christmas is for the son whose father keeps giving him hunting gear when he wants art materials. Christmas is for smokers who cannot quit even in the face of a death sentence. Christmas is for prostitutes, adulterers, and porn stars who long for love in every wrong place. Christmas is for college students who are sitting in the midst of the family and already cannot wait to get out for another drink. Christmas is for those who traffic in failed dreams. Christmas is for those who have squandered the family name and fortune—they want “home” but cannot imagine a gracious reception. Christmas is for parents watching their children’s marriage fall into disarray.

Christmas is really about the gospel of grace for sinners. Because of all that Christ has done on the cross, the manger becomes the most hopeful place in a universe darkened with hopelessness. In the irony of all ironies, Christmas is for those who will find it the hardest to enjoy. It really is for those who hate it most.

Matt B. Redmond is associate pastor for Branch Life Church in Birmingham, Alabama. A graduate of Covenant Theological Seminary, he blogs at Scribo Facio Noto.