It seems as though war is the great spur of Christmas carols. There is, in the heart of people, a desire for conflict. We war against those who will not submit to us, we war against those who disagree with us, we war against those who attack us. We don’t even need a good reason. It can be small or large, just so long as we show who is boss. Two brothers in Kentucky went to war for twenty years over a dog. It only ended when one brother died. On the other hand, one man in Germany took socialism to its logical end and plunged the world into war.

          And, as there are many who view war as a way to settle things, there are others who are sickened by war and seek peace. This is where many of our Christmas carols come from. Has there ever been a carol for Christmas that talks about slaughtering enemies? Well, yes. A novelty song called “Christmas at Ground Zero.” My son claimed it was his all time favorite. But, almost 100% of Christmas songs proclaim peace.

          And sometimes songs can foster peace among adversaries.

          England has had a violent history. Wars between families and wars between invaders and wars between little fiefdoms. Once the Roman Empire left there was unrest and hatred that had been kept in check. Some of the bloodiest fighting came between the Roman Catholic Church and the Protestants. The same was happening throughout Europe, but in England the Protestants were mostly in control. Such conflict confuses us until we think of religion in our country. While in seminary I pastored Sandy Creek Baptist Church. Just down the road and across the bridge that spanned Sandy Creek, was Bridge Creek Church. On the other side of our church, just a stone’s throw away, was Hurricane Baptist Church. Three churches, all close, all Southern Baptist, and yet separate. Why? Well, one split was about a hog and one split had something to do with an ice cream social. Stupid, little things split churches.

Now, we would say that the difference between Catholicism and Presentism is pretty wide. But not in the case of the Church of England and the Roman Catholic Church. They are virtually the same. When King Henry the Eighth wanted to divorce his wife and take another, the Pope would not allow it. So the British king cut all ties with the Catholic church and established the Church of England, which just used everything and everybody from the Catholic church in England. And then the Church of England turned on the English Catholics with a vengeance.

Many of the English Catholics fled to Scotland, which shares the British Island with England. There were Catholics in abundance and, since England had defeated Scotland in a series of wars, there were also Church of Englanders in abundance. These two factions warred among themselves. The Catholics wanted to win and then lead Scotland in a war with England and obtain Scottish independence. Are you lost yet?

Scotland actually tried to gain her independence. From the mid 1600s to the mid 1700s there was one battle after another. Loyalties changed, leaders came and went, but always there was the religion thing. Vast amounts of hatred in the name of God.

Enter into our story one John Francis Wade. No kin to me, as far as I know. We are looking at England and Scotland in 1745. My Wade family arrived into Virginia from England in 1694 and the Irish side, the Sullivans, a few years later. So, while John might be some kin, it is way, way back. Not only that, but John was a Catholic. A well known and highly regarded writer of religious papers, he could move seamlessly between the Catholics and the Church of England. They were doctrinally the same, so John was able to keep his Roman Catholicism pretty much hidden. Even now the Church of England regards him as one of the truly great hymn writers in their church. But eventually, around 1740, he headed for Scotland to help defeat the Protestants there.

Somewhere around 1743 he began to see the foolishness of it all. Atrocities and killings that never seemed to end, and for what? Frustrated, he sat down and wrote a poem, in Latin (he was Catholic, after all), about Jesus. Obviously, his point was that if we all believe, then why are we fighting? It was a plea to both sides. A year later, he wrote the music.

And it was picked up by both sides. The Church of England used English in their worship, so the poem was translated into English. The same tune, written by our friend John, is still used to this day. The Catholic church kept the Latin for worship services, but Catholics freely sang the English version in casual settings.

Christmas music prior to the 1700s was heavy and almost threatening. The common church attender had trouble following the Latin phrasing, and so they mostly sat and endured. But this song was different. It gave hope and peace and adoration to the Lord in a way no other song at the time could. We have talked about the great songs of Longfellow, Brooks and Mohr, but before their songs there was this song. It inspired them in their times and it still inspires today.

The song has six verses in the Latin and usually just three in English. But three is enough to rest our spirits.

1.    Oh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,
Oh, come ye, oh, come ye, to Bethlehem.
Come and behold Him, born the King of angels;

o   Refrain:
Oh, come, let us adore Him, oh, come, let us adore Him,
Oh, come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.

2.    Sing, choirs of angels, sing in exultation;
Oh, sing, all ye citizens of heav’n above!
Glory to God, all glory in the highest;

3.    Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, born this happy morning;
Jesus, to Thee be all glory giv’n;
Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing;

You can see Wade’s thinking. First he calls for all the faithful, on both sides, come. Be joyful and triumphant in Jesus. All of us, let us adore Him.

Then in the second verse he is probably alluding to the choir of angels before the Shepherds. That triumph was greater than who would win their war.

And then in verse three, he is calling for all the faithful to greet the Lord. All glory goes to Him, and only Him.

Maybe it was because everyone was sick of war, or it might have been because a man sat down and wrote a hymn all could sing, but it was about this time that the fighting eased between Scotland and England. More religious liberty was given. People all over the world sing, in their language, this song.

Oh come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.

             War had decimated Europe. For twelve years, war 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 made up of 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.

 

          The mid 1860s must have been quite a time for music in Heaven. First we see Henry W. Longfellow awakening to the sounds of Christmas bells on Christmas morning in 1863. Then we see Phillips Brooks standing outside the Church of the Nativity on Christmas Eve of 1865 and listening to the bells ring in Bethlehem. Now we find a 29 year old maritime insurance executive in Glasgow, Scotland named William Chatterton Dix. It is 1865. He is lying in his bed, sick, as they say, unto death. Not particularly religious, it was this near death experience that brought him to the Lord. For the rest of his life he wrote poems and prose and songs lifting up Jesus while maintaining his secular career. He was one of the drivers behind a revival within the Church of England. Not specifically trained as a writer, his poems and songs were considered amateurish to the elevated writers of the day, but his words connected with the common man in a way others could not.

          In the 1860s, Great Britain was ruled by Queen Victoria. The country was a somber place at that time, mostly because the Queen was somber. Great advances were made, largely due to the colonies abroad. In all of this the Roman Catholics were put down and, in some cases, imprisoned. Victoria was much loved, but the rest of the government was harsh. Hymns and religious poetry and writings reflected this crushing attitude. Into this came Dix, with his lighthearted writing and his hopeful poetry.

          He saw hypocrisy in the Church of England and he banded together with other believers to give an alternative. So inspired was he by his own recovery that he could hardly contain himself, causing many to see hope rather than despair.

          As he emerged from his illness, and with the newness and excitement of his salvation, he began to write. And write. And write. Poetry. Prose. He wrote words for songs and played them in his head using popular tunes of the day. One of the great criticisms of his work was that some of the melodies were little more than drinking songs or had lewd words in them. Dix didn’t care. So intent was he to produce new works, and not really being a musician himself, he helped himself to the melodies mostly heard in the pubs. His new words raised Jesus high and the people began to sing the new songs.

          The churches in the cities mostly stayed with what they considered traditional music, but the churches in the countryside, many of which had only hand instruments, eagerly embraced the new music. Dix was not the only one doing the composing, but it was he who hit on probably the best of the new music.

          By 1871 the Church of England could no longer stem the tide of revivalism that gripped the country. Dix had not yet published any of his songs, but now the Church asked him to contribute to a new songbook called Christmas Carols Old and New. And here was published for the first time, these words;

 

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?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you;
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

 

So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby;
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

 

         A far cry from the heavy and cumbersome songs of the day. Most thought this new music would pass away. But the simplicity of the song, the earnest wonder of a new Christian and the desire to Raise, raise a song on high, makes “What Child is This?” one of the great songs of the season.

 

          Phillips Brooks was born in Boston on December 13, 1835. One of six sons, he was born into some privilege as far as wealth was concerned. But the greater wealth in his family was a deep and abiding faith in the Lord. Six sons were born to the Brooks family and four of them, including Philip, went into the ministry.

         At the age of 15, young Phillips entered Harvard College. This was a time when Harvard was a theological school, not anything like the school of today. Upon graduation from Harvard, he enrolled in the Virginia Theological Seminary in Alexandria, Virginia. For the first time in his life, he came face to face with slavery. Growing up and at Harvard, slavery was known of, but it was an abstract. But there in Virginia it became a huge burden on his soul. He graduated in 1859 with a Doctor of Divinity degree (which at the time was very respected) and he began to preach as opportunity offered. In 1862 he became the pastor of the Church of the Holy Trinity in Philadelphia. He had become such an outspoken enemy of slavery and such a dynamic preacher (at a time when sermons ran about an hour and a half on average) that, at the young age of 27, was already known throughout the country. His sermons were published in newspapers everywhere. Take a moment to think about that. Someone had to write the entire sermon down and then take it to the telegraph office. There, the telegraph operator had to send it out by Morris Code, word for word to telegraph offices all across the land, even into the South. On the receiving end another operator had to decipher the code, word for word, and write it down. Then it was taken to the newspaper where the type was set by hand and the newspaper was printed, including the sermon. So hungry were people for God’s Word. Now, when technology has made world wide access to any given preacher an instantaneous thing, very few listen.

         At any rate, given his position in Philadelphia, the President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, made it a practice to ask Brooks to board a train and come to the capital and give the President Spiritual advice and comfort. It was said that Lincoln liked Brooks because, since the preacher stood six foot four, he could look the President in the eye. Lincoln instinctively liked Brooks and relied on him as his Spiritual advisor. As the story goes, Brooks was sitting up with Lincoln late into the evening as the Civil War was drawing to a close, and it was that night that Brooks led the President to accept Christ as Savior. When Lincoln was killed, it was Brooks who led the State funeral for the fallen President in Washington DC.

         Brooks was not yet thirty years old, but he was famous all across America. He was a great bear of a man and the picture of health. But he had been so involved with ministry in a truly dynamic way that in 1865 he was tired. Still mourning the death of the President, whom he considered a great man in his own right and also a great friend, his congregation implored him to take a year and travel abroad. It sounds odd to us now, but then it was quite common. Most people in that situation would opt to go to Europe. Brooks, however, wanted to go to the Holy Land. Most of his year would be spent aboard ship but, again, this was not unusual for the time. He wrote at that time that all he had ever hoped to be was a pastor of a church. Now, wonder of wonders, he would have the opportunity to walk the paths of Jesus.

         This became his goal, to walk the places Jesus had walked. December 24, 1865 found him in the small town of Bethlehem. At midnight the bells of the small Christian churches in the town began to ring out. He was standing outside of the Church of the Nativity and he listened. He wrote a letter to his congregation and told them that he closed his eyes and could imagine all of them together the previous Christmas Eve. In his mind, the bells in Bethlehem were playing out the glorious songs he had grown up with that had lifted his spirit as a child and had directed him toward Christ. A legend has engulfed Brooks by religious writers, much as it does for Roman Catholic ‘saints.’ It has been written that he conducted the worship service that night at the Church of the Nativity, actually standing in the cave that they hold to be the birth place. But his fame did not stretch that far and the Church of the Nativity is a Roman Catholic church. Brooks was not Roman Catholic, therefore he would not be permitted. In fact, it was his position as an Episcopal minister, and therefore, a minister of the Church of England, that prompted him to stand outside. I find it interesting and inspiring that on that holy night in Bethlehem, at midnight, his thoughts were with his beloved congregation.

         In time his year abroad was up. He returned to a church that welcomed him with much fanfare and he returned to a country that was healing. He had returned home.

         Brooks contemplated marriage, but never married. As the stirrings of his calling began to rise up within him, he had felt that he would be too busy as an itinerant preacher to be able to spend time with his wife. When he actually became a nationally known minister rather than a ‘lowly’ itinerant, he realized that he really wouldn’t have the time to be fair to a wife. And yet, he loved children. While at the church in Philadelphia he even taught a Sunday School class. It was to this class of children that he wrote a poem in 1867 to try and convey his wonder and the depth of feeling he had that night in Bethlehem. A man who had helped to hold the country together Spiritually, who had prayed with a President, who was known nationwide and had walked the path of Jesus, wrote these words for the children; 

1.    O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

2.    For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wond’ring love.
O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth!

3.    How silently, how silently, the wondrous Gift is giv’n;
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His Heav’n.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.

4.    Where children pure and happy pray to the blessed Child,
Where misery cries out to Thee, Son of the mother mild;
Where charity stands watching and faith holds wide the door,
The dark night wakes, the glory breaks, and Christmas comes once more.

5.    O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;
Oh, come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!

   Phillips Brooks was removed as a pastor and was made a Bishop of the Episcopal church at the age of 56, quite young for such an honor. He was installed as Bishop of the Boston area, which was his hometown. But perhaps because he was no longer doing what he loved to do, that is, pastoring, he passed away seven months later. There is, however, an enduring legacy. It may be that you have whispered the song “O Little Town of Bethlehem” to your child to relax them as Christmas nears, or in church looked over at your child with love as the congregation sings out the words to the great song. That’s OK. It was written for children by one of America’s greatest men of God.