"STILLE NACHT"

On Christmas Eve evening, we were seated in the third row of a lovely Methodist Church located in a small farming community near the Kansas-Colorado border.  The church was decorated for Christmas--greenery and ribbons on each window sill, a crèche in front of the altar, and glowing stars sprinkled above.  Lights were low, altar candles were lit, and the spirit that is Christmas surrounded each family as they waited expectantly for the service to begin.

We'd had a busy day.  The Pastor of this church is BC's daughter, and the family had spent the afternoon baking and frosting sugar cookies.  Each year, Pastor Cyd gifts her congregation with a Christmas Eve gathering immediately following the service.  The cider was bubbling in its pot, and the cookies and candies were laid out as carefully as we could manage.  With a quick nod, Cyd signaled the organist and the congregation began a rousing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing..."

After Luke's beautiful gospel, a short sermon and Communion, the lights slowly sank from dim to none and, one by one, we began lighting our small individual candles.  A young man rose from his pew somewhere behind us and walked toward the front of the sanctuary.  According to our program, he would  sing "Silent Night."

As the organist began, the young man looked calmly over the congregation, then began:  "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht.  Alles schlaft..."  I hadn't expected his beautiful voice, nor his choice of language.  In a heartbeat I was seven years old again in the living room of our little house on Oak Street.  The lights were dim there also, and my father stood near the record player.  He carefully placed the needle on the spinning, over-sized 78 record and crossed the room to sit in his favorite chair.  Slowly, he closed his eyes.  The rich, if slightly scratchy, contralto voice encircled us:  "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht..."

My father's first language had been German, although he had no trace of an accent.  His parents immigrated to the United States early in life and, some years later, settled in Victoria, KS, where he grew up as part of a Volga German community.  His school lessons were taught in German in the morning and English in the afternoon.  He always prayed in German and I have his childhood prayerbook given to him in the years when he was known as Wilhelm rather than William.

I have no idea when or where he acquired that recording of "Stille Nacht...", but he loved it.  I don't think I'd thought about it for a long time...until that moment.  Tears came, love and peace and warmth and comfort filled my heart, and I hugged daddy one more time in my imagination.  And, yes, that night I did "sleep in heavenly peace", and God blessed us, everyone.