Christmas Eve, 1914.(1) A strange quiet had settled on the
Western Front. It was a welcome respite for a group of lonely
English soldiers who had become all too familiar with the roar of
cannon and the whine of rifles. Even though the war was only
five months old, some 800,000 men had already been wounded or
killed.
As they reclined in their trenches, each man began to
speculate about the activities of loved ones back home. "My
parents are just finishing a toast to my health," a lad from
Liverpool said slowly.
"I can almost hear the church bells," a stout man from
London said wistfully. "My whole family will soon be walking out
of the door to hear a concert of the boys choir at the
cathedral."
The men sat silently for several minutes before a thin
soldier from Kent looked up with tears in his eyes. "This is
eerie...but I can almost hear the choir singing."
"So can I," said another puzzled voice. "I think there is
music coming from the other side."
All the men scrambled to the edge of the trench and cocked
their ears. What they heard was a few sturdy German voices
singing Martin Luther's Christmas song:
From heaven above to earth I come,
To bear good news to everyone;
Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To all the world, and gladly sing.
When the hymn was finished, the English soldiers sat in
silence. Then a large man with a powerful voice broke into "God
Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen." A dozen voices joined..."Let nothing
you dismay." Then more and more..."Remember Christ our Savior
was born on Christmas Day." By the time the carol was finished,
the entire regiment was singing.
The song was over and once again there was silence. Then a
German tenor began to sing, "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht." This
time it went on in two languages, a chorus of nearly a hundred
voices echoing back and forth between the trenches, "Silent
Night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright..."
"Someone is coming!" shouted a sentry. It was a single
German soldier who walked slowly, waving a white cloth with one
hand and holding several bars of chocolate in the other.
Carefully, men from both sides eased out into the neutral zone
and began to greet one another. In the next golden moments, each
soldier shared what he had with the others - candy, cigarettes,
even a bit of Christmas brandy. Most important, the soldiers
showed the battered but treasured pictures they carried of loved
ones.
No one knows whose idea it was to start the soccer match,
but with the help of flares, the field was lit and the British
and German soldiers played until they and the lights were
exhausted. Then, as quietly as they came together, the men
returned to their own sides.
On Christmas Day, men from both armies again joined
together, even visiting the other's trenches. The German
soldiers, wishing to avenge the previous night's torch-lit soccer
loss, organized another game. This time they won: 3-2.
I heard the bells on Christmas day,
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet, the words repeat
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men.(2)
In some places, the spontaneous truce continued the next day
as neither side was willing to fire the first shot. But finally,
with the arrival of fresh troops who had not experienced the
remarkable interlude of Christmas peace and the orders of the
High Commands of both armies saying that any further "informal
understandings" with the enemy would be punishable as treason,
the cannon once again boomed across no-man's land and the rifles
were again heard in the trenches.
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, goodwill to men."
Tonight, from Kabul to Kanduhar, from the caves of Tora Bora to the streets of
Bethlehem, mothers wail and children weep because the peace of
Christmas, 2001, what there is of it, is so fragile and fleeting.
One of my friends e-mailed new lyrics to "O Little Town of
Bethlehem" last night:
Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie;
Above thy deep and restless sleep, a missile glideth by.
And over dark streets soundeth the mortar's deadly roar
While children weep in shallow sleep for friends who are no more.
How silently, how silently their hope has gone away.
No laughter rings; no choir sings in shepherds' fields this day.
The angels in the heavens are hushed in sad lament.
Messiah's home has been burned down by those to whom He was sent.(3)
Perhaps we should not be surprised. After all, the gospel
account of that blessed birth is surrounded by reference to a
ruthless Roman Caesar and a vicious paranoid puppet king who
orders the murder of baby boys.
December 28, 1914. The fighting had resumed. But for many
in the trenches, it was now different. The enemy was no longer a
nameless, faceless foe, but a friendly fellow who played soccer,
ate chocolate, and carried a tattered picture of a pretty young
wife and two blond-headed boys wanting their papa to come home.
How do you casually kill someone like that? You don't.
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;
God is not dead nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, goodwill to men.
Some years ago, just before Christmas at Princeton Seminary,
a group of students and their families gathered in the chapel for
evening devotions - carols, prayers, and scripture lessons. The
high point of the service, of course, was the reading of those
familiar words from Luke's gospel describing the decree of Caesar
Augustus, the journey of Mary and Joseph, the wonder of the
shepherds, the song of the angels. The lesson was read by Glenn
Perica who is now the Pastor at Central Church in Longmont,
Colorado but back then was simply a second-career seminarian who
had come to school with his young family. As Glenn read, his
little boy sat quietly at his feet, a study in single-minded
concentration...not on the text, but on the task of firmly tying
together his Daddy's shoelaces.(4) What a parable! The angels
proclaim "Peace on Earth," but as we try to share that good news
of great joy...even with enemy soldiers...we trip over our own
feet. The miracle of Christmas is that God was willing to come
in human flesh and join us in our stumbling estate.
He joins us again tonight. He invites us to his special
Christmas meal. And he offers the peace of Christmas to one and
all. God bless us everyone.
Amen!
1. William R. White, Stories for the Journey, (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1988), pp. 119-121
2. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
3. Don Hinchey, Littleton, CO
4. Theo Gill, "Notes from the Periphery", Monday Morning, 12/18/89
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