No Silent Night Here

By Lorraine Triggs

The New York Times recently ran an article titled “The Quiet Thrill of Keeping a Secret.” The article reported on new research that suggests keeping good news to yourself can be energizing. What? Not announcing good news to the world—good news such as a marriage proposal or a call back from a coveted job offer—helps people to feel in control of life.

Too bad no one told the shepherds.

Instead of keeping the best news ever to themselves, they “went with haste” to Bethlehem in the middle of the night to find the baby.

And that angelic host was none too discreet—not only filling the night sky with their being, but also lighting it up and singing “Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace good will toward men.” Imagine this group of now-energized shepherds descending on Mary, Joseph and their newborn, and then talking about it to anyone and everyone within earshot. No positive secret-keeping here.

The only pause in the clamor was Mary, who treasured and pondered these things in her heart. I don’t think it was because Mary was into positive secret keeping. Her pondering and treasuring weren’t about leveraging or feeling in control of positive experiences as the New York Times article concludes. She had already given all that up. No, her pondering and treasuring was of the One who had looked on her humble estate and did great things for her.

Even Mary had her own moment of going with haste (see Luke 1:39) to her relative Elizabeth to announce her shocking news, and then relative Elizabeth spilled her own positive secret that she had kept for going on six months.

Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, had secret-keeping enforced on him until their baby was born, and when he wrote the child’s name on a table, “John,” there was no stopping Zechariah as his mouth was opened and his tongue loosed, and he blessed God. (Luke 1:63–64)

So, on Christmas Eve I sing “Silent night! Holy night! All is calm, all is bright,” and thank Mary, Elizabeth and Zechariah, who didn't need to feel in control of their positive experiences, choosing instead to proclaim good news.

As I sing “heav’nly hosts sing, “Alleluia! Christ the Savior is born,” I will imagine the thousands of angels disrupting the silent night with their good news for all people. And though the shepherds probably did quake at the sight, they weren’t paralyzed, but went with haste to Bethlehem, leaving their sheep to fend for themselves.

When I sing about the dawn of redeeming grace, I will remember Zechariah, now the talk of the hill country of Judea, and his prophecy of a sunrise visit from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness.

And I remain indebted to Zechariah and Elizabeth’s son—the voice crying in the wilderness—who knew that sheep couldn’t fend for themselves, and declared when he saw Jesus, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29)

No, there was nothing silent about that night, but everything holy.

Merry Christmas.