In Stanley Weintraub’s book Silent
Night, I want to offer you an abridged version of the gist of this book.
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On Christmas Eve, 1914, in the beginning days of WWI, a Christmas truce
was called for. At midnight on Christmas
morning, all guns were to be silenced for one hour.
On this particular battle field, an entrenched squad of German soldiers
faced an entrenched squad of French and Belgian soldiers.
Moments before, each side had been shooting at anything that moved on
the enemy’s side, but for this moment in time, all guns fell silent.
As midnight approached, the night became still. Snow was softly falling.
Listen to the stillness. Take in
the beauty of snow covering a barren landscape, and hiding all the ills of war.
As we listen, we hear … we hear …
Could it be? It sounds like …
Listen.
“Si… Ho…” I can’t quite make it out.
Listen. Did you hear that?
And then with clarity, one lone German voice sang out “Stille
Nacht.”
The melody lingered in the air, and soon, from the French side you
could hear an echo.
“Silent Night, Holy Night.”
Cautiously, slowly, one lone German soldier ventured out of his trench
and made his way to common ground - the middle of the battle field. And then a French soldier joined him at center
point.
Soon others came crawling out of their fox holes and trenches.
For this moment in time, these men of the human race chose to put down
their weapons and open up their hearts, all because of Christmas.
Before you could say “Jack Rabbit” some food was produced, and some
drinks were passed around.
And grown men, formerly sworn enemies, were enjoying a moment of friendship
and celebration with fellow members of the human race.
They were singing and making merry, offering hugs of acceptance and celebration,
showing photos of loved ones back home, and communicating as best they could,
all because of Christmas.
Rumor has it that the high command from both sides of this battle field
did everything in their power to establish decorum of war-like conditions, but
their commands and warnings went largely unheeded.
Christmas broke out on a field of battle.
Christmas and all it represents.
Peace on earth, good will to all men.
Joy to the World!
Hope has come.
On both sides, the conversations ran like this:
“Wish we could go home.”
“Wish we weren't enemies.”
“Wish we could live in peace and harmony.”
As the cold Christmas day wore on, the soldiers moved back across their
lines of battle, back to their lonely fox holes and muddy trenches, but with a
warm glow of Christmas on their hearts and in their minds.
It is said that later, on Christmas day, ranking officers on both sides
continued issuing commands to resume fire, and the firing of weapons did
eventually begin again.
But for a period of a few days, the bullets zoomed high above the heads
of the enemies on the other side of the field.
High on purpose.
For how could they fire upon someone they now considered “friend”?
You see, Christmas revealed itself to those soldiers that day on that
particular battle field.
Christmas came to war, and Christmas won.
