“On Christmas night a l l Chr i s t ians sing,” chants Sussex Carol. As if to sustain this truth, John Killinger, in Parables for Christmas, transposes Mark’s parable of the sower: “A group of carolers went forth to carol. As they caroled, some carols were lost on the evening air and simply disappeared in the night. Some fell on stony ears, and as soon as they were heard, they were forgotten. Some were caught up in the general noise of the street, which at times rose up and overpowered them. Other carols went straight to their mark and gladdened the hearts of those who heard them, so that they were hummed and repeated hundreds of times as these persons went about during the Christmas season. Whoever can understand this should give thanks for carols!”
On Christmas night all Christians sing. These six words may sum up the Christian life. During the darkest season of the year, when night lasts the longest—Cristina Rosetti’s “bleak midwinter”— the voices of faithful Christians soar in praise of the Everlasting Light.
Six hundred years before Jesus’ birth, Isaiah had spoken of these canticles sung in the shadows: “You shall have a song as in the night” (30:29).
You remember Paul and Silas in the Philippian jail. They had freed a demon-possessed slave girl and her angry owners had begun an uproar in the marketplace. The apostles were arrested, stripped, beaten with rods and thrown into the inner prison cell, their feet in stocks. It was midnight, the darkest hour of the night. But what does Acts tell us? “About midnight Paul and Silas were . . . singing hymns to God!”
J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings, is considered one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century. Throughout the three-volume work, song is a central aspect. Frodo and Sam are the ring-bearers who are charged with the destruction of the Ring of Power.
After having been bitten and paralyzed by the great spider, Shelob, Frodo’s seemingly lifeless body was carried by the evil, mindless orcs to the high Tower of Cirith Ungol. Alone and sick with shame and despair at Frodo’s capture, Sam collapses. He puts his head in his hands as the only torch goes out and he is smothered in darkness.
But then, without knowing why, there in the shadows and gloom, he begins to sing; softly at first, then louder and with increasing vigor till suddenly he hears a faint voice trying to sing in reply. “Ho la! You up there, you dunghill rat!” called the orc who was guarding Frodo. “Stop your squeaking or I’ll come and deal with you!” Frodo jumped to his feet as courage surged into him. The song and the singing had led him to his master! And these were the words of his song: “Though here at journey’s end I lie in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the sun and stars for ever dwell: I will not say the day is done nor bid the stars farewell.”
An old hymn by Pauline T., from 1869, expresses the same faith in these lyrics: “What tho’ my joys and comforts die? the Lord my Saviour liveth; What tho’ the darkness gather round? Songs in the night he giveth. No storm can shake my inmost calm While to that refuge clinging; Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, How can I keep from singing?”
On Christmas night all Christians sing. Why? Because though the world is often so very, very dark, faith proclaims that the Light is dawning. We sing because it leads us to our Master.
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