It was like any other night. Dark. Maybe the stars were out if it was clear. Quiet. Everyone sleeping, except for the guards at the gates and the shepherds out in the hills. At least one of them was standing watch over the sheep.
And then came the light.
To the shepherds it was blinding. They were afraid. That simply doesn’t happen in the time before electricity. It’s not a thunderstorm or anything. There’s no explanation.
So they do what we’d do. Shake in terror. Then an angel appears. That’s even more terrifying. It doesn’t look like a Precious Moments cherub with chubby cheeks. No. It looks bright. Huge. Like a warrior. The glory is scary all by itself.
Now a whole company of angels appears in the sky. And they’re singing, “Glory to God in the highest…” The entire sky is lit up with the glory radiating from the angels.
Except it isn’t. No one else sees this but the shepherds. Everyone else sees nothing. To everyone else, it’s just like any other night.
There aren’t any fireworks. The earth isn’t shaking. The Romans haven’t been overthrown. Nothing’s changed. Except to an unknown Galilean family and some shepherds. One who had a baby and the other who saw angels.
That light which looked like nothing was a flicker. Not fireworks, but the start of a flame that has not gone out for more than 2000 years. A flame that will never go out. The light of the world has come.
When I met my husband Jerry there were no fireworks either. Fireworks I had with my first love. And that flame didn’t last. It burned out in a few short years. With Jerry we started as friends. And the friendship grew. And somewhere along the way we realized we loved one another. Got married.
Though he’s gone, the flame of love still lives. It’s not the same as when he was alive, but it’s still there. This love had lasting power. Just like the love that brought Jesus to earth. No fireworks. Just a small flame. A flame that’s love. Understanding. Comfort. Justice. Peace. Joy.
So often we look for the bright lights. We think shiny is better. Or bigger. We overlook the simple. The plain. The small flame. But that’s often where the beauty is. Real life is. Real love is.
This is the 200th anniversary of the writing of Silent Night. On Christmas Eve in Oberndorf, Austria, the church organ was broken. The parish priest, Joseph Mohr, pulled out a poem he’d written. He asked the organist if he could put it to music. In only hours, Franz Gruber sang Silent Night, accompanying himself on the guitar.
A simple song. No fireworks. Just a song that speaks to the profound simplicity of Jesus’ birth. Like the event itself. Simple and beautiful. Easy to overlook. And yet it has lasted for 200 years.
As we celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, and the New Year, look around. Appreciate the simple things. The small flame that burns forever. Not the big bang. The fireworks. They don’t light you up. They just burn you. And while you're at it? Why not be the light for someone else today?
What have you seen this holiday season that you might usually overlook? Leave a comment.
