*No Silent Night (But a Better Day)

Oh Christmas! Two wars are raging, one around the birthplace of Jesus. (Let us keep praying for peace.) Here at home, I’m exhausted from travel, stress and sadness for a relative in hospice. Throughout the month my email has been haunted by a man who lectures me on theology and a woman who objects to my “unbiblical” view of forgiveness. We are only to forgive those who express repentance first, she tells me.

None of this has instilled much holiday spirit. When will the wars end? Why are we fighting one another? Where is our Silent Night?

A few years ago, just before Christmas, I went to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. Here I would find peace and good will. I would see the beauty of a people gathered from around the world to worship Him.

But the oldest church in the world was in chaos. The enormous basilica was under renovation with scaffolding crosshatching the interior. Masses of people stood noisily in line, filing past police stationed there to keep the peace. I joined them. All had come for this: to step down into the grotto, to kneel into a tiny cavern where a silver star adorned the floor, marking the place where many believe Mary gave birth to Jesus.

Just outside the grotto, a tour guide stood pushing people through with piercing shouts: “That’s enough! You go! Next! Next in line!” as men and women took their turn. Each one hurriedly knelt into the tiny space, flashed a photo of the star, rubbed an arm on its silvery surface while bodies pressed before and behind. One elderly woman in a headscarf lingered in her worship a few seconds too long. “That’s enough! Too long! You get out!” the tour guide shot at her.

After my six seconds on my knees beside the star, I emerged, stumbling, from the grotto to more shouts, these from a policeman: “You! Stop talking! A service is beginning. Stop now or I’ll kick you all out!”

What a mess! The Church is occupied by police and 6 denominations, each operating their own separate realms of this contested cathedral, all eager for a claim to the birthplace of Christ. Sometimes there is peace between them all—sometimes not. The police have broken up brawling priests on occasion.

I found no peace in Bethlehem—only shoving and shouting.

But hasn’t it always been so? SO many wars through the ages. And that week, because of the census, everyone was returning to his hometown. The Inns and restaurants were overfilled. The noise, the dirt, the animal dung on sandals, everyone busy making money and trying to get ahead. They paid no thought to a baby born in the hay that night. It was all an unholy mess.

Like me, right now. I’ll never be as quiet or still as I want to be at Christmas. I won’t make everything clean and beautiful. I’ll still get haranguing emails. There will be dirty rooms and impatient shouts. Our prayers for peace may not be answered. My own attempts to create a cathedral of worship will be pathetic and all-too-human.

But Jesus knows all of this, and in the end, everything will be all right. Because this is exactly the kind of place He chose to be born.

This is exactly the kind of people He chose to be born among.

These are exactly the kind of people He was born to save.

And we are exactly the kind of people who need saving still.

We don’t have to clean it all up or perfect it first. We can’t fix a broken world nor can we “fix” other people. We do this: we make room for the season in our own life, neighborhood and heart.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

We kneel.

And enter in.

Dear Readers and Friends,

Words aren’t enough to thank you for your presence here. So I send images, too, and thoughts from the deep places in my heart and life. Thank you for attending. Thank you for responding and sharing yours. Is there anything better than friends dwelling and learning together in unity and wonder?

Because of him . …

May we all kneel and enter in.

So gratefully,

Leslie

*Adapted from A Radiant Birth: Advent Readings for a Bright Season)