It is Christmas Eve.  And so, my favorite song begins 

Silent night, Holy night

All is calm, all is bright. . .

The small flicker of light is passed from candle to candle; adoring hearts bear it well.  Reflections of hope illuminate faces brightly, sending the essence of Christmas deep within the inner heart, and round about the world.  Countless souls, far and wide, gaze into the soft glow of expectation- one of immeasurable reflection and wonder.  We peer backwards through the clouded and distant centuries.  We yearn to visit the humble baby.  A silent, sleeping baby wrapped in humble rags, only a shadow of what will come again one day- a coming king robed in glory soon returns. 

The song we sing speaks to our hearts.  It calls us far and wide, bringing us into the place of reverence for the holy child Jesus, one in which there is no avoiding the sentimental melody, an ushering into the stable on a dark night long ago. And so, I go.  I stand there too, in the dark, beside the child, beside the manger. 

I can see it so clear.  The whole world hushes silent; our Savior is born.  How silent it is indeed.

Yes, Silent Night is my favorite Christmas carol. It brings joy to my soul and lights my eyes anew each time.  Candle to candle, we pass the flame Christmas Eve; I never grow tired of the of moment, the still and awe that night carries.  My heart is overwhelmed.

But there were other times.

For some, Christmas Eve brings a different sense of “Silent;” it is a silent that can be felt.

One night, seemingly the struggle of a thousand lives ago, everybody was looking into those candlelit flames of peace and joy. Instead, I saw sorrow.  When the song was sung by both a choir and a crowd, I could barely mouth the words.  People had come from every direction that night, standing proudly in church, celebrating the greatest event in human history.  I, however, didn’t have the strength to even stand.  And when it was over, and people blew out their candles, ready to head to celebrations, exchange gifts, share food and dinners together, I was so shocked I couldn’t move at all.  I sat in that chair.  I could “feel” the silence of the moment.  I could feel how alone “silent” felt.  

It was the first Christmas Eve without her.

Some turned to me, expecting to get moving to the second half of their festivities that night.  They were ready and waiting to rush off in their merry way.  Others turned to me, thinking they would smile and pass the baton of cheer that had warmed their own heart that night.  But mine was not cheerful.  Mine was bleeding.   My eyes were sobbing.  My heart was broken.

I know what it feels like to sit in that sacred service, giving reverence and worship to our Newborn King, but feeling the “silent” swirling around your head as if it is the only thing present.  I know what it feels like to experience your first holiday without a loved one.

Many of you, now do as well.

I am terribly sorry for your loss.

Loss stinks.

They couldn’t get me to stand up and move on with the night.

You might be the person that is experiencing a first Christmas or Christmas Eve without a wife like I did.  Or you might be suffering the pain of losing a daughter, a mother, a brother.  Maybe a dad has slipped from this life to the next; you now feel terribly alone.  Maybe it is a grandparent.  Maybe a fiancé.  Maybe a sister.  Maybe a friend.

It’s Christmas.  Others want to share their joy.  Though people want to “make you happy,” you don’t feel their joy.  You try to go to Christmas parties.  You try to go to church.  When the awkwardness of social gatherings is evident, pointing all fingers to you as the one individual that people don’t know how to act around, are you just supposed to get up and walk away like nothing happened?  Are you supposed to pretend that you aren’t hurting? Confused, the spectrum of emotions goes in so many directions that the grieving soul isn’t sure what to do. Many can’t hold the array of mixed feelings.  Many are hit unexpectedly.

For some, it might be a family tradition.  You might not even anticipate it, but in the joy of the moment you turn to. . . oh yeah. . . they are not there.  You are instantly hit with an unusual strike to the heart.  It hit you hard, right in the core, that feeling which can only be described when you know it yourself.  Maybe a church service candlelight service hit you hard, like what happened to me. Maybe it will be breakfast Christmas morning, when you used to take your mom or dad something special that they liked to eat.  Maybe your brother or sister always was the one who made the family laugh or brought you all together.  Maybe all the laughter will be “silent” this year.

I get it.  It hurts.  I’ve been there, done that, and it has taken me years to regroup myself.  Yes, I’m happily married again.  I have a beautiful, loving, and passionate Puerto Rican wife named Faerie to bring joy and blessings into my day.  Somedays she brings more passion and joy than I can handle, as Puerto Rican people are VERY passionate people lol.  Yes, I’m happily married.  But there are still scars and pain.  

It is through those scars and pain that I can reach out to you, the one hurting this Christmas.  I know where you are and what you are going through.  

In the middle of the pain, the sorrow, the seemingly hopeless dark of night, 

Jesus is there.

I found him.  

You can find him too.

Isaiah 61:1-3

"The Spirit of the Lord Jehovah is upon me; because Jehovah hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the year of Jehovah’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn; to appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them a garland for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of Jehovah, that he may be glorified."

By Chuck Carr