silent night

Last week I developed a cough that progressively got worse, and by Saturday night my voice was almost gone. I stayed in bed most of the day Sunday so that I would be able to go to the Carol-Candlelight Service at church that night, even if I couldn't speak louder than a whisper. There is a longstanding tradition that the seniors who are in our Chapel Choir serve as candle-lighters at this service, so I did not want to miss seeing my son and the rest of the Class of 09 - some of whom I first began teaching when they were 4-year-olds - perform their candle-lighting duties. 

Near the end of the service the sanctuary was dark, except for the light of a single candle held by the pastor. The seniors approached the pastor one by one, and after he lit their candles, they fanned out across the sanctuary to their assigned sections. Row by row, the seniors moved through the congregation, lighting the candles of the worshippers who were seated along the aisles, who then passed the light down their pews until every face in the congregation was bathed in candlelight. 

Ironically for me, the song that the choir sang while the seniors lit the candles was "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence." At other points in the service when the congregation was invited to join the choir in singing, I was forced by my infirmity to remain silent, which was very frustrating but also enlightening. First of all, the experience allowed me to empathize with my mother, who lost her voice several months ago due to nerve damage from her chemotherapy. Not being able to sing must be especially frustrating for a woman who entered college on a voice scholarship. Second, the experience gave me the opportunity to focus more intently on the sounds around me - like the Robersons' strong voices coming from the pew behind me or the individual instruments in the Nashville String Machine playing on the platform in front of me. The forced silence was a blessing in disguise that allowed me to worship God in a completely different way. Silent night, holy night.