When I originally did this series, I asked for favorite Christmas hymns. I thought this would be the all time favorite. But I was wrong. Maybe it is too familiar to us and kind of slips under the radar. However, like all of these stories, we see God at work. Such a meaningful piece forged from trial. Such a beautiful song.  

            War had decimated Europe. For twelve years, battles had raged. And not just in Europe, but also in far flung places around the globe. Millions of people died. Property was destroyed. Untold numbers of people lost everything and became refugees, only they had nowhere to flee. War was everywhere and it did not let up. And all because of one man and his maniacal obsession to control the world.

          Some would immediately say Hitler and WWII. Others might say the Kaiser and WWI. But this war ended a hundred years before WWI. In fact, it ended fifty years before Germany was even a nation. (At that time, Germany was 39 small fiefdoms that made up the German Confederation. It was a very loose union and they often fought among themselves.) In our time, we rarely looked back beyond the 20^th century and the two gruesome wars. But there was a nightmare war before those two wars. It was a war fought around the world in far flung colonial countries as well as in Europe. This was the time of Napoleon and all the battlefronts, known collectively as the Napoleonic Wars, reshaped the world and, in a real sense, served as kindling that sparked the fires that gave us the two World Wars.  

          It would take decades for Europe to recover. The grinding reality of war had destroyed so much as to be almost unbelievable. One of the side effects was in religious life. So many men had died that the various religious institutions had to dip into much younger ranks to find the people to lead the churches. One such young man was Joseph Mohr, a young priest at the St. Nicholas Church in Oberndorf, a small church in a small Austrian town. The young priest wanted desperately to bring peace and serenity to his people. But the effects of war could be seen everywhere. Grieving mothers and widows, crippled men, a lack of food and a general feeling of loss and pain. The Wars had ended on November 20, 1815, but news took a while to filter down. The next several years that followed were grim. Christmas of 1815 had hardly been one to celebrate. Young Mohr was in way over his head, but his heart was in the right place, and he grieved for his people.

          One crisp and clear night in November of 1816, he stood on a hill and looked out over the town to which he was giving his life. It had snowed the day before and as he looked over Oberndorf, he was amazed at how peaceful the town looked. He hurried back to his quarters, took up a quill, and wrote a heartfelt poem of his feelings.

          Two years later, in 1818, right after the harvest had been brought in, it began to rain. And rain. And rain. The Salzach River that ran right through town began to rise and, after a few days, lifted beyond its banks. As floods went, this was not a terrible flood. However, it did reach St. Nicholas Church. Water flowed in several inches high and soaked everything. But the real damage was to the organ. Since Christmas was just a couple of weeks away, young Mohr sent for the organ builder and repair man, Karl Mauracher. He would try, but he just didn’t think it would be ready by Christmas Eve services. Mohr knew how much pain his congregation had suffered, and was still suffering, and his heart broke. No music on Christmas Eve!

          Christmas Eve dawned and the organ was not going to be ready. In a neighboring town there was a young man, Franz Xaver Gruber, who was a school teacher and song leader. Mohr sent a messenger and brought Gruber to Saint Nicholas Church. There the priest asked if Gruber could put the poem he had written two years earlier to music and if he could make it for the guitar. (Mohr played guitar) They sat in the church that still had that musty, moldy smell only a recently flooded building can have, and spent several hours putting it together. By the time it was completed it was too late for Gruber to get back to his village, so he took his evening meal with Mohr and they decided that Gruber would sing the new song with Mohr that night at Mass. The organ repair man, Karl Mauracher, had heard the little tune they had put together and asked if he could have a copy of it to take back to his parish, and this was done.

          Mohr watched as the people came into the cold church. The wood burners couldn’t drive the cold away that night. But as Mohr watched the folks come in, his heart filled with love. He so regretted that there would be no music that night, except for what he and Gruber had hastily created, but the situation could not be changed. Word had gotten around the village that the organ was not working, but still the people streamed in. Mohr’s spirit was lifted. Here was music of the heart! It would be OK.

          After the homily, or message, Mohr invited Gruber up and they sat down on the steps that led to the pulpit area. There, for the first time, with only candles to light the building, the song that evokes feelings of peace and calmness was put forth. In a war torn village that had paid a high price for the mania of a power hungry man, a song was given that would transcend war. A song that opposing forces in WWI would sing together, from their trenches and in their own languages. The song that has been translated into 140 languages, and yet has lost none of its power to calm and heal. A song that probably would have never moved beyond a cold and damp building in a small, insignificant village in Austria, except for the organ repair man who took it home and passed it on to two families who traveled and sang folk songs. All the pieces fell into place to create a song that is loved the world over.

          A number of years ago I went to my organist, who also played the guitar, and asked him if he would play and sing this song on the guitar at the Christmas Eve service. He said he would, but only if I sang with him. So it was, on Christmas Eve of 1999, with candles as the only light, a black man and a white man sat down on the steps that led up to the pulpit area and sang that blessed song. Even the children in the room stilled and all was quiet, except for the soft tones of the guitar and the sound of two men singing;

Silent night, holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heav’nly hosts sing, Alleluia!
Christ, the Savior, is born!
Christ, the Savior, is born!

Silent night, holy night!
Son of God, love’s pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.

          You have felt it, too. The sense of peace, the sense of wonder. And now you know it came from a war weary village, a caring parish priest, a teacher who couldn’t get home in time to spend Christmas Eve with his own people and an organ repair man who took the song and passed it on. All part of God’s plan.