This Christmas I am particularly drawn to the carol, “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” It begins by picturing a “world in solemn stillness” first hearing the angels’ song. There follows the claim that the angels are still singing their song, but now to the world’s “sad and lowly plains,” deafened by its “Babel-sounds.”

The situation gets worse: “sin and strife…two thousand years of wrong…war on earth” block the song from being heard. After a plea for silence, the lyrics focus on individuals whose forms are bent low under “life’s crushing load,” who make their way through life “with painful steps and slow.”

And just at that moment, when all seems lost, the poet calls upon those weighed down by the burdens of life to look up, for hope is coming, rescue is on the way. For once, they can rest, they dare sit down at the side of the road, and listen, really listen to the song that persists in being sung, despite all.

Finally, the promise: the time of peace , seen by the prophets of every generation, is coming. It lies ahead of us all, especially ahead of those of the human family who have never known any real rest.

Now comes the punch line. When the peace of the angel song comes, “the whole world (will) give back the song, which now the angels sing.” The world will repeat, echo, respond by singing back to the heavens, “Peace on the earth, good will to all.” And, I suggest, heaven will be pleased.

The fulfillment of that promise seems far off, perhaps as far off as I’ve known it in my now fairly long lifetime. There’s little evidence the world is singing anything like the angel song these days and years. Yet the song is still out there.

Perhaps the most important thing I can do with my life now is to be sure the song I sing with my life is the song the angels sang that first Christmas and, I trust, are singing still. I need to hush the noise and strife inside of me, listen to what’s above us all, and do my best to live in response to those holy lyrics every single day.

The words are by Edmund Sears. Here they are, though slightly altered:

It came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old,

from angels bending near the earth, to touch their harps of gold:

"Peace on the earth, good will to all, from heaven’s all-gracious King.”

The world in solemn stillness lay, to hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come, with peaceful wings unfurled,

and still their heavenly music floats o'er all the weary world.

Above its sad and lowly plains they bend on hovering wing,

and ever o'er its Babel-sounds the blessed angels sing.

Yet with the woes of sin and strife the world has suffered long—

beneath the heavenly hymn have rolled two thousand years of wrong.

And we at war on earth hear not the tidings that they bring.

O, hush the noise and cease the strife to hear the angels sing!

And you, beneath life's crushing load, whose forms are bending low—

who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow—

look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing.

O, rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing!

For lo, the days are hastening on, by prophets seen of old,

when, with the ever-circling years shall come the time foretold—

when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling,

and the whole world give back the song, which now the angels sing.

Merry Christmas