Christmas Meditation

O holy night.

Was that it so very long ago?

Is tonight the night?

Will the holy night ever come?

We know so little about that silent night,

was it even silent? Surely baby Jesus cried.

Why wouldn’t he cry, born in such a miserable state?

And as he grew he must have worried and feared,

seethed and anguished,

longed and hoped.

But how can we know? How can we feel the impact of one holy night?

We need a week, no a month, maybe a year of holy nights

before we can begin to make sense of it all.

We need to struggle with the craziness of the traveling mother-soon-to-be,

the insanity of angels singing and shepherds listening,

the paranoia of a king threatened by an infant!

Give us more holy nights. Give us time to make some meaning.

O holy night.

Was that it so very long ago?

Is tonight the night?

Will the holy night ever come?

On this night, what do we know of holiness?

What angels are visiting?

Where are our shepherds?

Could it be that the pregnant woman living with AIDS who knows that her baby does not have the virus is the one to sing the Magnificat to us if we would listen?

Could we hear our sister’s soul giving glory to God that the mighty have been brought low and the thoughts of the proud scattered?

But… what if we are the mighty and the proud? What angels will come to us?

Could it be that the lives taken by plague and warfare not stilled by our mighty and proud hands may be speaking to us tonight lest we miss the miracle of the birth?

Could it be that the glory of God shining on us tonight is not the klieg light of celebrity but the searing light of truth that reveals our nakedness and shame?

O holy night, we came seeking the cooing of a baby, silence the screams of the one dying for our sins.

“We humans prefer satisfying un-truth

To the Truth that is usually unsatisfying.

Truth is always too big for us,

And we are so small and afraid.”

O holy night.

Was that it so very long ago?

Is tonight the night?

Will the holy night ever come?

And how can that holy night of peace with justice ever come when we, your people are not righteous?

Loving our little truths, we kill the prophets you send us.

Yes, even gentle Mary’s newborn; we would be Herod’s conscripts, sword in hand.

We want it all in one night: clear answers, absolute truth.

But the holy night calls us to faith,

to mystery,

to hope.

We are not a patient people; we don’t have the skill to gaze steadily.

How can we stare down oppression?

warfare?

poverty?

injustice?

We want peace in our hearts, but will we pay the price of justice in our guts?

O come, o come Emmanuel and ransom your captive people;

for we are captive to our little truths in our false certainty.

Embrace us with mystery on this silent night.

Break our hard hearts and stir the butterflies of hope in our guts.

Make us your people, united in our need to find you.

Don’t ruin our appetites by feeding us sweets.

Give us a hunger that drives us to deeper faith,

larger truths,

and common union.

O holy night, remind us this night that you hold no miracle cure, no once-a-year medication that fixes the soul.

O holy night, remind us that every other night grows from the seed of light born this night.

O holy night, remind us to look for that light tomorrow, and the next day, and next week, and next month.

O holy night, remind us that we don’t sit alone in the dark—or in the light—that there are always brothers and sisters to share the vigil with us.

O holy night, remind us to fall on our knees;

remind us to hear the angel voices.

O night divine, the night when Christ was born;

the night when Christ is born;

the night when Christ will be born;

O night divine! O night, O night divine!