Christmas Eve 2017—St. Andrew’s, Northford
Sing,
Choirs of Angels, sing in exultation….
Hark! the Herald angels sing, glory to the new-born King….
It came upon a midnight
clear, that glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of
gold….
Angels from the realm of glory, wing your flight o’er all
the earth.
Ye who sang creations story, now proclaim Messiah’s birth.
The shepherds feared and trembled when lo! Above the earth,
Rang out the angel chorus that hailed our Savior’s birth.
It’s all about the angel-song. A dark,
chill, starlit night, shattered by the rustle of wings and a sound not heard by
human ears before.
There were shepherds, of course, there
to listen. And the mother and babe and dear, good Joseph…and the animals in the
barn…. All of it is necessary to bring the Night alive…. But it begins with the
angels, with their voices raised in song….
The first Nowell, the angel did say, was to certain low
shepherds in
Fields where they lay….
The angels hovered ‘round and sang this song,
“Venite adoremous dominum…”
Angels we have heard on high, singing sweetly through the
night
And the mountains in reply, echoing their brave delight.
Oh those angels….those angels….and their
song….
***
Over a dozen years ago I discovered
that I had developed tinnitus—commonly known as “ringing in the ears”.
It began one chilly night when I was
on the back porch, letting our then dog, Sadie, out and listening to the
crickets. When I came back inside to the warmth, I realized I could still hear
the crickets. Then, almost at the same time, I realized what I heard wasn’t
crickets—it was below freezing and there were no crickets singing….
So I went to the doctor and was first
examined by his 3rd year Med Student intern. I told the Med Student
about the crickets.
He looked dutifully in my ears and
asked: “are they crickets or cicadas?”
I told him, “Well, I thought of them
as crickets, but I guess they could be cicadas.”
“It’s tinnitus,” he told me. Then he said, “tinnitus can be quite
severe…some people are so troubled by it that they commit suicide.”
“You
can’t tell people things like that!” I said, “What Med School do you go to?”
(It
was Yale, by the way….)
Looking
back, I realized the first symptom was hearing music after the music was over.
At night, just before I go to bed, I switch off the radio in the kitchen that
is usually tuned to classical music. I’d get half way up the back steps and
realize the music was still playing. So I’d go back and check the radio. I must
have done that a dozen times before I realized the music was in my head—echoing
on long after it ended.
Which
causes me to think about the angel song—how it must have stayed with the
Shepherds all the way to Bethlehem and back, how the echoes of that celestial
music must have still been in their heads when they laid down to try to
sleep…how it must have greeting them the next morning when they awoke at dawn
and how it must have lingered through the day.
How
long must that angel song have stayed in their ears? Did the shepherds just get
used to it and go on with their lives—or did it sing within them always? How
could you ever let go of music like that? Why would you ever want it to end…?
*
Once, again years ago, In Saturday’s Waterbury Republican American there was
a large block ad on page 3 that said: DEAR FRANK, GIVE US ANOTHER CHANCE. I
LOVE YOU, BONNIE.
The
pathos and pain of that ad touched me deeply. I could hardly breathe thinking
about Bonnie and Frank—their broken relationship, the anguish of it all. No angel song echoes in Bonnie and Frank’s ears—all
they hear is suffering and loss.
It
is not a good time to hear the Angel Song. Things collapse around us. The sounds
of fear drown out the Angel Song.
At
this holy time—the birthday of the Prince of Peace—the Middle East is in chaos,
hundreds of thousands of refugees have no home, terrorism escalates around the
world, climate change threatens us more each day. The sounds of war and weather drown out the Angel Song.
Surrounded
by the affluence of the richest state in the richest country in the world, we cannot
help but see the sharp contrast of the bitter poverty on the edges of our
wealth. The cries of need and want drown out the Angel Song.
And
all of us—like Frank and Bonnie—have heartache and pain in our personal lives
that tend to distract us—like ringing in the ears—from the Angel Song.
The
writer, Madeleine L’Engle captures all this well. Listen:
“This is no time for a child to be born,
with the earth betrayed
by war and hate
And a nova lighting the
sky to warn
That time runs out and
sun burns late.
That was no time for a
child to be born,
In a land in the
crushing grip of Rome;
Honor and truth were
trampled by scorn—
Yet here did the Saviour
make his home.
When is the time for
love to be born?
The inn is full on the
planet earth.
And by greed and pride
the sky is torn—
Yet love still takes the
risk of birth.
The clanging of greed, the tumult of
war, the sharp cries of injustice, the shrillness of fear—a cacophony of noises
drown out the Angel song.
Yet
love still takes the risk of birth.
Again,
the Child is born. Again, the Gift is given. Hope, like a fledgling, spreads
her wings within our hardened hearts.
When
is the time for love to be born?
There
is no time but this. And even in this dark time—on one of the longest nights of
the year—a Light will shine if we can be the people who take the risk of love.
A
Light will shine if we can let Hope find a home in our hearts and Justice
spring new born in our lives.
A
Light will shine if we only still the clamoring of fear and greed and
hatefulness long enough to once more hear the Angel song.
*
“Yet with the woes of sin and strife the
world has suffered long;
beneath the heavenly hymn have rolled two
thousand years of wrong;
and warring humankind hears not the tidings
which they bring;
O hush the noise and cease your strife and
hear the angels sing.”
Once
more, once more as always, Love takes the risk of Birth.
O
hush the noise and cease your strife and hear the angels sing….
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