Laurie Snider
Notes from the Nest
On Dec. 24 each year at about 6:45 p.m, on our way to church, the tears are pretty close to the surface. Every Christmas eve, since I can remember, it’s the same thing, I’m overflowing with emotion. The heady rush of pre-Christmas preparations, that sometimes leads to much angst and even anguish, is over. There are no more gifts to buy or wrap, decorations to hang or cards to mail. There is a sweet, stillness which settles over our lovely, little town.
It never fails to move me. Often times, the streets are mostly deserted, with the only exceptions being a few other cars headed to church or family gatherings. The stores are all closed now but the cheery glow of festive Christmas lights, directs us on our way. If we are lucky, a gentle snow is falling softly, onto the tranquil streets but even if the weather is less than appealing, there is a light-heartedness in the air. I can feel it melting into me, softening any troubles and calming any frayed nerves.
Our church is usually packed, with regular attenders, out of town visitors and those still wishing to remain connected to their spiritual side, by celebrating the Christmas story. All are welcome and appreciated. Smiles, hugs and pleasantries are warmly exchanged, amongst the congregants.
This night, my heart is a paradox. It’s full of gladness, joy and gratitude, for all that I’m blessed to have and for my near and dear but it also aches for those who are without. Those struggling or suffering, living without comfort, safety, security, hope or love. It’s on this solemn night each year, that I am most keenly aware of this and I say a little prayer.
There is a particular Christmas carol that I have been humming along to, a lot this year; “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” (I’m especially fond of artist, Johnny Reid’s version.) It turns out, there is an interesting story of how it came to be. I find it’s timeless message remarkably relevant today, which is notable, since it was written in 1863.
It was originally a poem titled “Christmas Bells,” written by celebrated literary critic and poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, when he was going through a dark and difficult time. He was widowed two years earlier, when his wife’s dress caught fire and she died. He’d attempted to extinguish the flames with a rug and then his own body and was burned badly himself. He grew his trademark long, white beard to hide the scars.
Henry and his wife Fannie, were the parents of six children. Their oldest son Charles, had joined Abraham Lincoln’s army, during the American Civil War. On Dec. 1, 1863, he received the news that Charles had been seriously injured in a battle but had survived, narrowly avoiding becoming paralyzed. He composed his poem, on Christmas day the same year, after listening to the Christmas bells. His beautiful words perfectly articulated his despair but also optimism and hope.
I heard the bells on Christmas day/ Their old familiar carols play/ And mild and sweet/ The words repeat/ Of peace on Earth, good will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head/ “There is no peace on earth,” I said/ “For hate is strong, / And mocks the song/ Of peace on earth, good will to men!”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep/ “God is not dead, not doth He sleep/ The wrong shall fail/ The Right prevail/ With peace on earth good will to men!”
It wouldn’t be a stretch to say this past year has been turbulent, roiling, discouraging and often times mean-spirited. Longfellow’s wise words remind me though, that there have always been troubles. I imagine, there always will be. It’s how we choose to work through challenging moments and difficulties, that’s the truest test of our mettle. For me, Christmas eve is the perfect night for reflection and resetting.
At the end of our church service, there’s a lovely tradition that our parishioners have grown to love. We dim the lights and together by candlelight sing, the hallowed, old hymn “Silent Night.” Two hundred-plus voices in perfect harmony, blending together with warmth, wonder and unbridled joy. The music is from deep within, voices are strong, confident, full of love, reverently sharing this holy moment. The tears I’ve been holding in all evening, are there now and it’s okay.
When the organist finishes the final strains, and the nave grows silent, initially there is a reluctance to blow out the candles and move on. Even, if just for a few moments a palpable vibration of light and love swirls around from pew to pew … Peace on earth, goodwill to men.
Merry Christmas.