A Gift All Wrapped in Swaddling Clothes

Christmas morning of my fifth year I woke to find a wooden rifle under the tree, carefully carved by my dad, complete with a dowel barrel and a hole for my trigger finger. I can almost smell the fresh paint mingled with the fragrance of pine branches. And though I don't recall playing with it, I remember the awe I felt in knowing my dad made it just for me.

Not all gifts, however, are so personally intended. After that horrendous brown vase I got at a Christmas party, at least I had the perverse joy of watching someone open "How to Raise Rhesus Monkeys" that had been foisted off on me the year before. Then there's a punch-out calendar to sit on my desk reminding me all year long to buy Farmer's Insurance. And the mortuary that gives away bottles of hand lotion every year--my family always calls it "embalming fluid."

What takes the joy out of giving are the obligatory gifts--the expected office exchange, the box of candy you keep by the door to hand the Smiths when they come to call as you know they will, once a year. And don't forget the gift for great Aunt Hattie whom you haven't liked since she pinched your cheeks when you were little.

Really difficult are the gifts that come with long invisible strings dangling from them, gifts so very expensive that you could never afford to reciprocate. Gold and diamond jewelry from a suitor. You don't want to hurt his feelings, but ....

I wonder how Mary and Joseph felt as they watched richly robed wise men kneel before their child offering alabaster jars of precious myrrh, inlaid boxes heavy with the scent of frankincense, and iron-bound chests laden with gold--gifts fit for a king. How could they possibly repay?

I guess the most troublesome gift at Christmas is the Child Himself. What do we say? We smile nicely and pat the humbly- wrapped present. "How nice of you, God, to have been so thoughtful," we mumble politely. But the Gift lies on the dresser unopened year after year. Perhaps because we don't expect to find much inside except a useless religious trinket. Perhaps because we don't feel any need for God just now. Perhaps because we know that if we unwrap the Gift we'll be obligated to the Giver beyond what we can ever repay. And so it sits ... and so it sits until in loneliness, in pain, in utter desperation we tug at the ribbons and tear off the wrappings, hoping against hope we'll find inside what we've longed for. And so it is. Unconditional Love!

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn,
a wondrous gift,
a precious gift.

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn
by peasant maid
and craftsman hand.

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn
and wrapped it up
in swaddling clothes,
For me, He did.
Yes, for me He did.

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn
and wrapped it up
in swaddling clothes.

For me.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas Travelers

Christmas recalls the story of travelers propelled by the unhurried rhythm of their animals:

We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.

Why did these wisemen undertake such a journey?

A tall astronomer, advisor to the Persian king, springs from his midnight vigil in the palace courtyard. "Casper, come! Look along the rod I've sighted toward the constellation of the Jews." Casper peers into the blackness. "Do you see it? That brilliant star is new tonight! It must signify the birth of a mighty king."

A soft whistle escapes him as he spots it. "There it is!" He's talking rapidly now. "I've read ancient Hebrew scriptures which tell of this ruler's star."[1] Rising, he announces, "We must see him. We must go!"

Traversing the caravan routes of Persia, Babylon, and Syria for 1,200 miles, they ford broad rivers, pass ancient cities, cross barren deserts. Three months they trek westward, day after day, "following yonder star."

In Jerusalem they inquire, "Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the East, and are come to worship him."[2] Worship? So the Babe is more than a king!

Now they follow the shining star till it rests over a simple Bethlehem home. At early dawn neighbors gather to watch the richly- robed travelers dismount. Joseph meets them at the door.

"We've come to see the child, the King." The wise men fall before the Babe, faces to the floor, royal counselors doing homage, worshipping the Christ child. Outside, their servants unload weighty chests from the camels and set gifts before the King. Heavy fragrances of frankincense and myrrh mingle to fill the room as one by one the boxes are opened.

A touch of the boy-child's tiny fingers, a final longing look, and the men rise to go. Camel bells soon fade in the brisk morning air.

We, too, travel at Christmas, visiting family and friends. Yet, like the wisemen, the most important journey we make these hectic holidays is to draw nigh Jesus himself with the gift of our hearts.

 

Christmas Hardships

"Do you really expect me to go to Bethlehem?" Joseph banged down his chisel on the scarred bench.

Ephraim, his cousin, had just entered the low workshop. "You don't have a choice, Joseph. If you don't go the Romans will confiscate your house and your precious tools. Just try to carve a yoke with your fingernails."

"What are we, cowards?" the carpenter retorted. "Mark my words, Ephraim, this 'Enroll-in-your-ancestral-city' business is nothing more than a way to squeeze more taxes out of us. If we give into those foreign tyrants now they'll just be back for more money."

"What's more," Joseph continued, "you're crazy if you think I'd take Mary on a trip this month. She'd probably have the baby on the way!"

"Couldn't you just leave her with your mother for a couple of weeks? She'd be all right. Nobody says the women have to go. It's the heads of households who have to register."

"Register, hah! Be taxed, you mean."

"So why not leave her at home?"

Joseph brushed the woodchips aside and motioned for his cousin to sit down. The carpenter spoke in a low but earnest voice. "Mary's aunt has made life miserable for her ever since she found out Mary was pregnant. Some people were willing to let it go. Not Tabitha."

"She got my wife all stirred up about it," Ephraim volunteered.

"Not just your wife. Most of the women in this town go out of their way to avoid her. At the village well they whisper, "Little slut!" just loud enough for her to hear. Many's the day she's come running home in tears."

"People sure can be cruel," Ephraim said. "At least you and Mary went ahead and got married."

Joseph bit his lip, but didn't say more.

Ephraim got up. "Well, you are going to Bethlehem, aren't you? You'd be a fool to get the Romans on your back. You know what they did to old Ben."

Joseph stood up slowly. "Yes, I'll go. But Mary'll have to come along. There's no way I'd leave her in Nazareth by herself!"

However, when Joseph talked to Mary about it, she didn't seem nearly as sure as her husband. "How could I walk all that way?" she said. "I waddle now. I just can't make it."

"Mary, we'll bring old Jake. You can ride him when you get tired."

"Have you ever ridden on Jake?"

"Well, no."

"That animal is the most bony, jolting mule in Nazareth. I'd rather walk!"

She did ride, though ... some of the way. Joseph would finally stop for the day when Mary just couldn't take any more. He'd help her down off Jake, then he'd fix a fire while she would unload their heavy blankets and try to find some shelter under a tree or large rock.

Mary would always be the center of attention among the few women traveling that time of year.

"I remember when I was carrying Levi," one would start. "Made my feet swell. I couldn't do anything for months."

"That's nothing," replied another, "my sister got so big everyone thought she was carrying twins. But her time came there was only one baby. Died though."

Joseph glanced over at Mary in the flickering firelight. He could see fear flit across her face. Her hands moved to her swollen belly so she could feel the baby's reassuring kick.

The women didn't notice. The first one went on, "Oh, the pain's so awful! I'm glad I'm too old to have any more babies."

Joseph put his arm around Mary's shoulders and pulled her close. Only one more night on the road before Bethlehem.

They reached the sleepy village of Joseph's ancestors just about dusk the fifth day. Joseph went to the inn and nearby houses trying to find a place to sleep. "God," he whispered as he combed the town, "can't You find us a decent place to have this baby?" Nothing.

All at once he saw Mary's face tighten. She tried to suppress a groan as she fought with the pain. It was a long moment before she relaxed, but he could see worry written all over her.

Joseph went back to the innkeeper again. "Are you sure there isn't any room? My wife's about to have a baby. We've got to find a place out of this wind tonight!"

The innkeeper thought a while. "Did you try the house at the end of the street? They sometimes take people in."

"I tried an hour ago."

"Any relatives in town? Any second cousins?"

"No."

Mary was shivering now, in obvious discomfort. "Joseph," she said weakly, "I've got to lie down somewhere."

"Well, there's the stable in the back," offered the innkeeper at long last. "Of course, it's full of animals from all the visitors in town for that blasted Roman census. But if you can find a place in the corner, I guess that'd be okay." He paused. "Just don't keep the animals awake all night."

It was the other way around. The dozen donkeys in the strange barn never stopped moving. And the smell was overpowering to Mary who had been fighting nausea as her pains got stronger.

In the wee hours of the morning Joseph knocked on the innkeeper's door again.

"What do you want this time of night?" the innkeeper snarled when he finally came to the door.

"Is there a midwife in town?"

"Oh, it's you. A midwife? Yes, old Martha lives in a little house about three blocks from here. You go down the main road, turn left at the two-story house, and go to the alley. You can't miss it. You go down the alley and across the pasture. She lives in a shack just behind the third house after that."

"I ... I really don't think I should leave my wife. Her pains are coming awfully fast now.... Could you go?"

"Jonathan!" the innkeeper yelled into his darkened house. "Get up and fetch old Martha. A lady's having a baby in the barn. Hurry!"

He turned to Joseph as he closed the door. "Have some pity, man. My whole family's awake now."

Pretty soon the door opened again and a young lad ran off in the chilly air. After a while he returned, walking slowly so he wouldn't outdistance the old midwife whose arthritis certainly didn't to take to cold winter nights. The boy was shivering by the time he got to the stable.

"Here's Martha, sir," he muttered quickly, and darted back into the warmth of his house.

The old lady put them at ease right away. She had Joseph fetch water and cloths from the innkeeper. It must have been nearly two in the morning by the time the baby came, and another hour before Joseph dug into his robe for a few coins to give the old woman as she hobbled away.

Then he returned to his wife and took her hand as they looked into the puffy face of their son. Alone at last.

"I'm so tired, Joseph," Mary said, settling back into the blanket-covered straw.

The baby finally stopped crying and drifted off to sleep.

Joseph stirred a few minutes later as some men peered from the darkness into the lamp-lit stable. He nudged Mary awake and reached for his staff.

"What do you want?" Joseph said to the men in a forced whisper. "Don't wake the baby."

"We're shepherds," one called out. The baby started crying.

"We saw angels out on the hills an hour ago." The entire story tumbled out as the shepherds edged into the stable to see the baby. Joseph relaxed his grip on the staff.

The shepherd continued, "And the angel told us, 'To you is born this day in the City of David a Savior which is Messiah the Lord.' The angel even told us about the swaddling cloths and the manger here."

"The angel told you about the manger, too?" Joseph interrupted.

"Oh, yes. That's how we knew where to look."

Joseph glanced over at Mary. Her eyes met his. He squeezed her hand.

"This baby is the Messiah, isn't he?" Joseph said quietly. "After all these hassles I had started to question. But..." He paused. "It's almost like God planned the whole thing: the trip neither of us wanted to take." He chuckled. "He must have seen you on bony old Jake." Joseph laughed out loud. "Even this smelly old barn and it's manger."

He stood up, still chuckling. "What do you know? In spite of the problems--no, in the midst of the problems--God's been at work all along."

The Story of Silent Night, Stille Nacht

The phrase repeats itself over and over again in his mind:

Silent night, holy night,
Stille nacht, heilige nacht.

Father Joseph Mohr, Parish Priest

It's the first line from a poem this young Austrian priest had written two years before. Now he can't get the phrase out of his mind. "Silent night, holy night."

Tonight is Christmas Eve and St. Nicholas Church in Oberndorf, north of Salzburg, will be chock-full of people. Father Joseph Mohr has a homily in mind, a message for his flock on this sacred night, but he needs a carol, something special to cap off the service.

Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright...

The words won't go away. "I need a tune!" he says out loud, shaking his head. "I wonder if Franz can help me. I hope it's not too late." Franz Gruber is the schoolteacher in the nearby village of Arnsdorf -- a gifted musician, organist at the Arnsdorf church, and occasional substitute organist at St. Nicholas. "Franz will help me!" he says to himself. "He can't resist a musical challenge."

Franz Gruber, Schoolteacher and Organist

Quickly now he slings on his heavy coat, dons a fur cap and gloves, and ventures into the brisk December morning. The snow is crunchy underfoot as he makes his way across the churchyard towards Arnsdorf, just a 20 minute walk. "Silent night, holy night ... silent night, holy night." The rhythm of the words echoes with each step.

Elizabeth opens the door at his knock. "Father Mohr, how nice of you to stop by. Franz will be glad to see you." She takes his coat and ushers him in. Franz is picking something out on his guitar.

"Franz, remember that poem I told you about: 'Silent Night'?" says Mohr. "I know it's too late to ask, but could you help put a tune to it? I want to sing it tonight for Christmas Eve."

Gruber's face lights up. A challenge. A song. He takes the lyrics from the priest and begins to say them over and over, looking for a cadence. Then he hums a line and scratches it down.

Mohr soon tires of the process and begins to play with the children. But within an hour or so, Gruber seems to have a melody and is working out the chords on his guitar. "Father, how does this sound?" he calls and begins to sing the words:

Silent night, holy night,
All is calm all is bright...

He stops to make a correction in the manuscript, and then continues:

...'Round yon virgin, Mother and Child,
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Sleep in heavenly peace!

Father Mohr is ecstatic. On the second verse Gruber's deep voice is joined by Mohr's rich tenor. Elizabeth, baby on her hip, who has been humming along, now joins them on the last verse. The song fills their home with its gentle words and memorable melody.

New Year's Eve at St. Nicholas Church, Oberndorf, 1818

That night, December 24, 1818, the song fills St. Nicholas Church at Midnight Mass. Mohr sings tenor, Gruber bass, and the church choir joins the refrain of each verse, while Mohr accompanies on the guitar. By the time the last notes die away, the worshipers are a-buzz with joy and wonder at the song. On Christmas Day, the song is being hummed and sung in dozens of homes around Oberndorf. "Silent night, holy night."

And in Oberndorf, they would sing their beloved carol again and again each Christmas. The song might have stayed right there had it not been for an organ builder named Karl Mauracher, who came to repair the pipe organ at Arnsdorf in 1819 and made several trips to Oberndorf over the next few years, finally building a new organ for St. Nicholas in 1825.

The Song Finds Its Way to Emperors and Kings -- and to America

Whether Mauracher found the music and lyrics on the organ or they were given to him by Gruber, we don't know. But he carried the song to the Ziller Valley east of Innsbruk, where he shared it with two local families of travelling folk singers, the Rainers and the Strassers, who began to sing it as part of their regular repertoire. The following Christmas of 1819, the Rainer Family Singers sang "Stille Nacht" in the village church of Fügen (Zillertal).

Three years later they sang it for royalty. Emperor Francis I of Austria and his ally Czar Alexander I of Russia were staying in the nearby castle of Count Dönhoff (now Bubenberg Castle). The Rainer Family performed the carol and were invited to Russia for a series of concerts.

In 1834 the Strasser Family Singers sang "Silent Night" for King Frederick William IV of Prussia. He was so taken with what the Strassers called their "Song of Heaven," that he commanded it to be sung by his cathedral choir every Christmas Eve. It spread through Europe and in 1839 the Raniers brought the song to America as the "Tyrolean Folk Song." Since then it has been translated into over 300 languages and dialects.

Various English translations blossomed, but the definitive English version of the song was penned by Rev. John Freeman Young and first published in The Sunday-School Service and Tune Book (1863).

Why Is "Silent Night" So Popular?

Why has "Silent Night" become our most beloved carol? Is it the words -- tender, intimate, gentle? Or the tune -- so peaceful, so memorable, so easy to play or pick out with one hand on the piano?

It is not a joyous, fast-paced carol like Handel's "Joy to the World." Nor theologically-rich like Charles Wesley's "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." Nor does it have a complex tune like "Angels We Have Heard on High."

Rather, "Silent Night" is quiet and reflective, calling us to meditate on the scene. It is the ambience conveyed by both the gentle words and melody that create from this carol an oasis of peace.

"All is calm, all is bright."

It calls us to dwell on the Madonna and Child --

"'Round yon Virgin, mother and Child,
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace."

You feel as the "shepherds quake at the sight." You can imagine as "heavenly hosts sing Alleluia." And you begin to sing "Alleluia to the King" right along with them.

Rays of backlit brilliance highlight many a religious painting, but here the picture of light is painted in words:

"Glories stream from heaven afar...."

"Son of God, love's pure light,
Radiant beams from Thy holy face...."

Just Who is in this manger? What is the significance of this birth? What is Christmas about -- really? Perhaps most of all, "Silent Night" is beloved because it reminds us in its simple, but exceedingly clear way, the truth behind it all -- the truth that changes everything:

"Christ, the Savior is born!"

Sing it again this Christmas and let its gentle peace wash over you and its bold assertion renew your soul.

"Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!
"Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!"

 

The Virgin Mary, Handmaid of the Lord

Mary sat on the floor in the sunlight which flooded through the window of her parents' house. She was thinking, daydreaming. Young teenagers were allowed that luxury. She'd overheard the old biddies at the well chattering about her as she had gone to get water that morning....

"Did you go to the betrothal celebration yesterday?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. I wept through the whole thing. It was so beautiful."

"It's about time Joseph got himself a wife! A man his age ought to have a flock of children racing in and out of his shop by now."

"But he's so old for her. If he were twenty, maybe, a fourteen-year-old bride would be all right. But thirty?...

"Oh, he'll make her a good husband, mark my words. But I don't know about her. What kind of cook is she?"

Just then they had noticed Mary and the jabbering ceased. She could see them looking at her, though, sizing her up. It's not as if it's the first time they've seen me, Mary thought. I was born in Nazareth.

Bethrothed. Engaged. Mary smiled. Every girl's dream has come true for me. People already look at me as Joseph's wife. How can I stand to wait another whole year for the wedding ceremony? Oh, well, all the other girls wait, too, and they survive. Her thoughts began to picture what the wedding would be like....

Suddenly she heard a commanding voice: "Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you."

She glanced up, and then gasped. A huge man stood over her. Mary instinctively cringed back into the corner. What kind of greeting was that for a peasant girl? What was going on here?

"Do not be afraid, Mary," the man went on, "you have found favor with God."

Favor with God? Who was this man? Mary relaxed a bit. He didn't seem threatening....

The man proceeded. "You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus..."

What? She had just been betrothed a day....

The man didn't pause. "He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end."

The ancient throne of the fabled King David? Certainly she was descended from David, as were thousands of others in Israel. But her son? Her son would be the Messiah prophesied of old? She was stunned. She looked around the room. The man made it sound so immediate, so imminent. Who was this man, speaking so boldly the promises to Israel? She looked up. An angel? Could it be? It seemed as if he was waiting for her to respond.

"Ah... how will this be," she stuttered, "since I am a virgin?" He must know she wasn't married yet!

The angel answered, but more slowly now, as if he had delivered his proclamation, and now was taking time to explain it. "Dear child," he began, "the Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God."

Her thoughts raced. So it wasn't going to be Joseph's child after all, but one conceived by God's Holy Spirit. Who would ever believe that? What would Joseph say? Divorce me as soon as I started to show, probably! How could he ever understand? And who would ever consider marrying the mother of a ... She couldn't bring herself to even think that bitter word. She could feel her face starting to flush and her ears burn.

And what would I do with such a child? I'm not some princess in a palace raising a king! Just a poor girl in an obscure mountain town. Doesn't he know how they treat children in this town whose mothers get pregnant before they marry?

But the angel was still speaking. "... Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month."

Elizabeth? She was nearly sixty! Mary hadn't seen her for years. How could it be? But it was! Elizabeth? She must be bubbling over joy right now! Six months pregnant? That would give the women in her town something to talk about!

The angel had stopped now. He was just standing there. Friendly, but with the bearing of a royal messenger awaiting an answer for his lord.

What should she say? Part of her wanted to shout, Oh, yes! The mother of Messiah. How exciting! How grand! What an honor...

But inside she felt a trapped, crawling sensation. What would it mean to become pregnant out of wedlock? Divorce, shame, shunning. A son who would never be really accepted by her neighbors. A boy they call cruel names. And she ... she would never be asked to marry. She'd live out her days alone, in her parents’ home....

Mary weighed the glory and the cost. But finally she knew what she must do. Glory and cost weren't the point at all, she realized. God has chosen me to be His special servant. He wants me to do this special thing for Him. And, even though it costs me everything I hold dear, I will do it! I will say Yes ... for Him!

Mary looked up at the man. And then reached out to the window sill to pull herself up until she was standing her full fourteen-year-old height before the towering angel. Her eyes met his, and she said very quietly. "I am the Lord's servant. May it be to me as you have said."

She thought she could see the great man smile gently for a long moment. Then he turned and was gone. Even as she felt the tears starting to well up within her, Mary stood tall.

Child of Promise: A Prayer for Christmas Morning

Who are you little baby? Who are you little Christchild, lying so quietly in manger straw? Who are you that angels should herald your presence and stars announce your birth? That wisemen and shepherds -- the high and the low -- should bow before you? Who are you, child of Bethlehem, son of David? What is your future? What is your promise?

Seven centuries before your birth the ancient Scriptures speak of you….

For to us a child is born,
To us a son is given,
And the government will be on his shoulders,
And his name will be called
Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God
Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace
There will be no end.^*

What is this government? What is this peace, O Christmas baby? Are you a warrior-to-be? Are you a king? What promise do you hold?

How can you be the Mighty God while flecks of straw, blown from the stable floor, dot your fine hair? How is this?

How can you be the Everlasting Father while not yet an hour old? How is it?

How can you be a Wonderful Counselor before you've learned? A teacher before you've been taught? What is the wellspring of your wisdom?

What is this mystery set before us, enigmatic newborn lying in a stable manger, born of parents poor, yet destined for this greatness? You must be the One we've hoped for, longed for all our lives. The One who will set us free from our depressions and oppressions, within and without.

Little wonder angels cannot contain their Good News of Great Joy. Little wonder heavenly host sing in chorus,

Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men....^**

Be my peace, O Prince of Peace. Let its gentle, joyful blanket comfort my nervous soul, and still the warring of your earth.

Be my government, O Christ. Govern not my own heart only, but also this desperate world in which I live.

Be my Everlasting Father and my Counselor. By your counsel guide me out of confusion and turmoil into the sunlight that always shines above my low-lying clouds.

Welcome, Christchild. All my life I have needed you. O Child of Promise, this Christmas morning I give to you my heart. Amen.