|
"When God falls silent, we too
often compensate by talking more, which may be the
worst thing we can do." (Barbara Brown Taylor,
When God is Silent, p.117)
Taking Back Christmas
(II)
Silent
night, holy night.
As we sing, we imagine a sanitary, serene,
nativity setting. Mary and Joseph sit happy and
welcoming of any visitors. No suspicion. No protectiveness.
No distrust. No signs of labor, stress, or
anxiety. They know their role, and wait graciously and
maturely. No unwelcome odors, disheveled hair, or
dirty clothes. No tears. No crying. All is calm ...
and very dignified.
And
God is silent.
Oh,
the angels bring celebratory news to the
shepherds. And magi eventually arrive - perhaps
months later - to worship the newborn King. But
God's silence surprises
us.
He Who spoke to Adam
directly (Genesis 3.9), to Abraham personally (Genesis 12.1), and
to Moses face to face (see Exodus 33.11), sends
angels to Joseph and Mary and the shepherds. And He
remains
silent.
The most dramatic event in cosmic history to that
time - the incarnation of God - elicits relative
silence. Mountains fail to quake. Lightening
restrains its bolts in the heavens. The ancient
hope of Eve "I have given birth to a child, the
Lord" (see Genesis 4.1) is finally fulfilled in
Mary ... with minimal
fanfare.
Perhaps
the incarnation was overshadowed in the Father's
mind by its implications - mortality. Was this the
silence of grief? What a morbid twist on that
Bethlehem celebration. Or might the reticence tell
us something
else?
The silence of that night came not from the animals
or the newborn, but from
God.
When
our newborns arrive, we snap photos endlessly,
pass out cigars, send out mass emails, and call
every address in our cell phone. The Father sent
poxies. His own Son, and we're not sure He shows
up. No, He attends, but
quietly.
The silence of God in Advent stands
in stark contrast to the noise of our
Christmases.
Our
music blares constantly. Televisions and radios
fill the air with sales information and
gift-offers. Churches put on cantatas, musicals,
extra services, more preaching, and more
singing. Silence would seem
sacrilegious.
God's lips were
sealed. No explanations; no congratulations. And
i
n that silence lies
the mystery.
Our
"Jingle Bells" and "Baby, It's Cold Outside" is
not celebratory but diversionary. Our incessant
music and perpetual chatter shields us from Him.
But we cannot hear while we speak. In the silence
we encounter the mystery. It cannot be reduced to
a sound-bite. It won't be defined by a dictionary
entry.
He
stood by silently. His Word had become flesh. It
still does - from the bedrock of our
silence.
In HOPE -
David | 
