As I mentioned yesterday, my favorite Christmas song is "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," but "O Holy Night" felt like the most appropriate song to write about for Christmas Eve. That might be because I have an association with this song and the Christmas Eve sequence in Home Alone, but I like to think it's because the song is so much about the night He was born. Like "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," much of this song is about not just the night of His birth, but about the years and ages leading to that moment. "Long lay the world in sin and error pining," we sing, and it could be as much about the night He came as it could be about the time of Isaiah, or Noah. The world was in thrall to sin and corruption, and there was no way for us to get out until our Savior came. And so we waited, and we waited, hoping for the moment to arrive when He came and "the soul felt its worth." You can think of that in terms of our soul feeling relief at redemption, but I think we could also feel our soul's worth knowing that this Child would be the one to take upon Him all of our sins and infirmities. We know how those feel, and knowing that someone else will take them gives you a clear sense of exactly how much they weigh. And then a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. We are so worn down by our inadequacies and our inability to even cleanse our own sins, let alone anyone else's, and then to have that announcement come, to see the star, to hear the heralds, to see the Magi, causes us to have a fleeting moment of joy cut through the darkness of doubt and fear making us think we can do this. So we sing our praises to Him in the chorus. Fall on your knees, praise His name forever, and behold your King, we shout. We go from dark despair that we can't escape to the brightness of midday all at once. If that's not worthy of joy, then what is?
Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices! O night divine, O night when Christ was born; O night divine, O night, O night Divine.
Full disclosure: "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" is without reservation my favorite Christmas song. Ordinarily I'd save that for last in the series, but there's a song coming tomorrow that I felt was more appropriate for Christmas Eve. I think I like this song so much because of the starker, more medieval feel to the tune. While the exact origin of the song is unclear, it sounds very much like a Gregorian chant. The tune was found among a collection of burial chants in the 15th century, so whether or not it's Gregorian, it's definitely a chant rather than something more melodious. It's not flowery or lilting so much as it is solemn, and that's fitting, considering the lyrics. Listen to the first verse:
O come, O come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel, That mourns in lonely exile here, Until the Son of God appear.
We are not celebrating His birth in this song, not yet, because we are singing from a time in which He has yet to come. If we're singing about "captive" Israel, then this is centuries before His coming, and that helps us understand why the music sounds almost mournful and resigned. This is a people that has been beaten down by decades of oppression and captivity. This isn't a joyous song because there's been precious little to celebrate. And yet, despite everything, a message from the prophets is repeated time and time again that there is something to celebrate:
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel.
The song continues like this for five verses. Israel calls to its Redeemer from the depths of its sorrow. It calls for aid from tyranny, from gloom, and from misery. And every time the call is made, it is answered with the promise of deliverance. The call is made five times, and the response all five times is essentially, "Trust me, He will come to you. Be patient." The message of Christmas is one of hope because He has come, and it was a message of hope because he was going to come. It's just that sometimes it's difficult to see that hope when it isn't right in front of our faces. Faith is difficult, but fortunately for us, we are given frequent reminders and gifts that remind us why we have that faith. The message is repeated over and over so it's never too far from our minds. It's a message of redemption, of ransom, and of deliverance, and the fact that we hear it so often makes it one of mercy, too.
"Still, Still, Still" is originally an Austrian lullaby. A handful of other Christmas songs are lullabies ("Away in a Manger" and "Silent Night" being two notable examples), and to me, they're very effective at heightening the sense that not only had the Savior come into the world, but that He did so as a newborn, the same way the rest of us entered the world. They're gentle, soothing, and peaceful, which is the way I feel about Christmas.
Still, still, still One can hear the falling snow. For all is hushed, The world is sleeping, Holy Star its vigil keeping. Still, still, still, One can hear the falling snow.
More so than the other two lullabies I mentioned and wrote about above, this song feels quiet to me. Perhaps you live somewhere where it's either snowed recently or is snowing now, but the idea of hearing falling snow is interesting to me. Rain can be noisy. Hail can be very noisy. Snow is just the opposite--not only does snow make virtually no sound as it falls, but the accumulating snow also ends up dampening other sounds, making the outdoors virtually silent as it comes down. If there was snow falling as the Savior was born, I would imagine it was the same sort of silent. The world was hushed, suggesting reverence at the coming of its Creator. Snow is more readily associated with winter than with Christmas specifically, I would guess, but I like the association just the same. Everything is quiet and clean as snow falls, and that's fitting as we celebrate the birth of the One who cleansed and purified us. He gave us a fresh start, and that's worthy of a hushed, reverent greeting.
Dream, dream, dream, Of the joyous day to come. While guardian angels without number Watch you as you sweetly slumber. Dream, dream, dream, Of the joyous day to come
This last verse isn't as perfectly clear to me, but this could be Easter. Big things were ahead for the Babe of Bethlehem, but maybe nothing so big as His resurrection and ultimate victory over sin and death. Awful things were in store for Him, too, so the injunction of the singer for the Child to sleep on as angels watch Him is a tender one. He spent His every moment thinking of others, but at this vulnerable time, others took that load from Him. Angels watched, but so did shepherds and animals, as well as a loving but no less overwhelmed Mary and Joseph. I wrote about this when I wrote about "Away in a Manger," but this is a lullaby not only for the baby Jesus, but also for our own troubled souls. It's difficult to sing a song like this and not be comforted yourself. We sing gently and softly in order to soothe an upset child, and in so doing, we can soothe ourselves. It's a gift that can be shared, and in that way, it's not unreasonable, I think, to imagine that as the Savior spent so much of His own life serving and bearing up others that He too was lifted up in spirit by those actions.
"The Friendly Beasts" is a soft, gentle, simple song. We sing about a lot of different aspects of the Nativity in our carols, but I think this might be the only one where we get to hear from the animals themselves. It's a nice idea, hearing what they have to say and how they participated in the birth of their Savior. Each animal has its own role to play. The donkey tells of how it bore Mary on its back on her journey to Bethlehem. The cow offered its manger to hold the baby Jesus and its hay for a makeshift pillow. The sheep offered its wool as a coat, and the dove sang Him to sleep from the rafters. The camel brought the Magi with their gifts to visit the Savior.
Thus every beast by some good spell In the stable dark was glad to tell Of the gift he gave Emmanuel, The gift he gave Emmanuel.
The point isn't that any of the animals gave a greater gift than the others, and the point also isn't that any of them are trying to upstage each other. They're all just pleased that they had a chance to participate in such an incredible event, and as lowly stable animals, no less. Each is "glad to tell" what it was able to do and give. There's a moral here, if we care to see it. At Christmas we can get caught up in gift giving and receiving, weighing our pile against someone else's, or comparing who was able to give the most impressive gift. We can try to serve, or try to organize gatherings, or any of a number of things in order to make ourselves look impressive. It's human nature, unfortunately. We are self-interested from birth. But perhaps we can look at these animals and learn that we can be grateful for the opportunity to give gifts at all. We can be grateful for the chance to participate in a celebration of the birth of our Lord. We can look at our fellow man as equals and rejoice that each of us has something to give. When compared with the gift the Savior gave us of redemption from sin, none of our gifts is particularly impressive, but he accepts what each of us has to offer with the same humility and gratitude. We can do the same when looking at each other and what we are able to give.
These simple songs sometimes end up being the sweetest ones to hear.
We're talking about "What Child is This?" today. I've always liked this one, and I'm not sure I can really place why. Maybe it's the tune, maybe it's the times and places I've heard it, I'm not sure, but I've always enjoyed this one.
What Child is this Who laid to rest On Mary's lap is sleeping? Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet, While shepherds watch are keeping?
The question "what child is this?" is a rhetorical one. We all know who this Child is. We know why He is resting on Mary's lap. We know why angels heralded Him, and we know why shepherds came to watch Him. Knowing all of this doesn't make it any less miraculous, though. Angels did herald Him. Shepherds, complete strangers in the countryside, did come to watch Him. Mary, a virgin, did give birth to Him. He came, He suffered for us, and He lives. It's an amazing thing. We aren't asking who the Child is when we sing this song, we're asking what sort of Child must this be to warrant so many amazing things happening.
This, this is Christ the King, Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing Haste, haste, to bring Him laud, The Babe, the Son of Mary.
I imagine those shepherds watched the manger scene with awe. These were common people, living ordinary lives, called to bear witness to something extraordinary. They probably kept that incredible memory with them throughout their lives. They may have told their children and grandchildren what they saw, or they may have kept those things in their hearts. No matter how they reacted, though, the experience was an amazing one.
Our experience may be similar. We are called to be witnesses of Him, and we may react with wonder. We may tell everyone we know, or we may treasure it up in our heart, but I imagine we are filled with awe, sufficient for us to also wonder what Child this is.
"Es ist ein Ros entsprungen" is the name of today's song, more commonly known in English as "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming." You may be able to guess, but the song is German in origin, and has to do with a prophecy foretold to Isaiah: "And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots." Most of the songs we sing for Christmas have to do with witnessing the manger scene, but in this one, we sing about the fact that the birth was foretold centuries in advance.
Lo, how a rose e'er blooming, From tender stem hath sprung. Of Jesse's lineage coming, As men of old have sung; It came, a flow'ret bright, Amid the cold of winter, When half spent was the night.
Isaiah referred to the Savior as a "rod," perhaps emphasizing His role as lawgiver and governor, but the choice in this song to refer to Him as a rose emphasizes instead His beauty and gentleness, I think. (Yes, every rose has its thorn.) I think the image of a rose is also carefully chosen in that it suggests a surprising beauty, to me at least. The nation of Israel was watching for their Savior for countless ages, but they did not expect Him to come to a backwater town like Bethlehem. That such a grand event would happen in a tiny town like this must have been surprising, to say the least.
Isaiah 'twas foretold it, The Rose I have in mind, With Mary we behold it, The virgin mother kind; To show God's love aright, She bore to men a Savior, When half spent was the night.
The phrase "with Mary we behold it" speaks volumes to me. She and Joseph were joined in the stable by animals, shepherds, and later the Magi, all of whom beheld the Babe with wondering awe. None of them knew as she did what this Child would become. An angel appeared to her and told her who the Child would be, and she willingly consented to bear Him, but I think even she must have been overcome at the magnitude of the moment. It's one thing to expect a baby and do your best to prepare for it, but it's something else entirely once the baby is real, and in your arms, and looking to you for comfort and protection. To have that baby also be the Savior of the world must have been overwhelming. And so we behold it, all of us, shepherds and magi alike, together with Mary, only dimly grasping the cosmic importance of the tiny King in the manger.
It's a very gentle song, fitting for a gentle scene, and aptly represented by a gentle image.
I've always liked "Coventry Carol," and I was already planning on writing about it when someone suggested I wrote about the song "Lullay Lullay." I like that one, too, so I added it to the list, only to find that they're two tunes to the same song. Who knew? "Coventry Carol" comes from a play called The Pageant of the Shearman and Tailors. The scene depicted as "Coventry Carol" is sung is the Massacre of the Innocents--the order given by King Herod to kill all male children under the age of two in Bethlehem in order to prevent the prophesied King from usurping his throne. We don't often sing about this, and at least in my experience, this isn't often something we discuss at Christmastime, either. It's a haunting story, one in which violence is inflicted on those who are wholly innocent and utterly unaware of why they are being attacked. The tune is haunting, too, at least the one I've chosen:
It's a song of grief and anguish, both for the children slaughtered in Bethlehem and for the little Lord Jesus, forced to flee to Egypt at such a young age to escape the wrath of a tyrant. The injustice of the situation, to me, is heightened by the song's description as not just a child, not just a little child, but a "little tiny child." It's a strange contrast to the usual feelings of joy and peace that we have as we sing about the Nativity. It's no less an important part of the Christmas story, though. It happened, it was prophesied of in advance, and the Father provided a way for the Child to be protected and out of harm's way. It's a testament to us that the Father is perfectly aware of us. He knew how Herod would react when he heard about the newborn King, so He prepared a solution. He knows how we will react when we face heartache, suffering, pain, and trials, and He can prepare a solution. It doesn't always take the form we're looking for--I can't imagine Joseph and Mary were wild about the idea of leaving friends, family, and livelihood in Palestine to go to Egypt--but it does always take the form that is best for us. It's a different Christmas song, but a really good one. Enjoy it today, friends. Previously in this series The Holly and the Ivy Do You Hear What I Hear? Wexford Carol I Saw Three Ships We Three Kings Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella In the Bleak Midwinter
