Every year, I get goose bumps at the close of our Christmas Eve worship. In my faith tradition, the worship moves from communion to the singing of Silent Night by candlelight. As we prepare to sing, the lights go down in the sanctuary and the only light that beams forth are from the Christ candle, the Advent wreath, the Christmas tree, and the light coming from the congregation.
It is a holy scene as we begin to sing those iconic words of, in my opinion, the most beautiful Christmas carol in our hymnals.
Silent night, holy night,
all is calm, all is bright,
round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy, infant, so tender and mild,
sleep in heavenly peace,
sleep in heavenly peace.
The words are memorable and beautiful, and yet also ironic. Anyone who has been in a room after a child has been born knows that it is far from peaceful and calm. There is lots of movement and excitement, screaming from the newborn child wondering where they are, and tears of joy from the new parents. Yet, all the chaos is holy and beautiful because new life dwells in the arms of the child’s mother and father.
For families like mine, with an autistic child and my own ADHD and anxiety, Christmas is rarely “calm” or “bright.” In fact, it is often loud, noisy, and overwhelming. Our children get overwhelmed by the lights and the new items. We, as parents, get overwhelmed by all the mess and noise. There are so many sensory inputs flowing through that you feel like you are in a never-ending vacuum of noise. And, that doesn’t even take into account that I’m operating on just a few hours of sleep after leading multiple Christmas services as a pastor.
Image from @kellysikkema on Unsplash
Yet, even in the chaos there is beauty.
There is beauty in the noise of our children, who find their own way to express their excitement over what they have received.
There is calm in the chaos knowing that they are smiling and happy.
There is peace knowing that, even in the chaos, there is the presence of Christ that can be felt as we are with family and those who accept us for who we are, and not what we mask.
In our household, noise is often a witness to being at peace and finding comfort in the moment. It means someone is comfortable and, yes, feeling calm in their soul. It may not feel calm to an outsider, but, yet, for those closest to the moment it is a moment where “all is calm” and “all is bright.”
Too often, we as parents and I as a pastor expect perfection at Christmas and for things to exactly fit the moment. We expect worship to be calm and peaceful. We expect our families to gather in patient expectations to receive their gifts. We expect it to be calm and without stress.
That is not the Christmas story, nor is it the story that truly matches our experience of the Christmas moment. Our expectations often hinder us from truly experiencing the Christ story at Christmas.
At Christmas, the Christ child was born into the chaos of the world to bring peace and calm. It didn’t mean that Christ would rid the world immediately of all chaos, instead, that in the chaotic moments of life Christ can and will often be felt. That is what it truly means to sing that “all is calm, all is bright,” because it is calm and bright, even in the noise, because the Christ child is there.
So, embrace the noise in worship. Embrace the noise at home. Let people celebrate in ways that give them calmness and peace in their hearts. It doesn’t have to be a silent night for it to be a holy night to celebrate the birth of Christ.
Shannon Blosser is a United Methodist pastor serving in West Virginia. He writes on how the church, especially the small church, can be more effective in its inclusion of individuals and families with disabilities. He is a father of an autistic child. You can follow him on Facebook and Threads. He posts, as well, at shannonblosser.com
