We have a tradition in our family where we have the ‘Christmas Song of the Year’. Inevitably, as I speak with my sisters in the weeks leading up to Christmas we talk about which Christmas song is the one that resonates with us that year. 

Depending on the year we’ve had it could be an upbeat pop song, designed to drive the stress away or a more contemplative carol that digs deep into us that particular season.

And what is this year’s song for me, you might ask?

I don’t have one. 

For the first time in a very long time I don’t have a particular song that has gonged through my soul, one that speaks of what I’m feeling or hoping to feel as Christmas approaches. 

This year, I crave silence. I crave the stillness and esthetic of less input. Maybe it’s a result of the start of a new ministry, being in a new place where you are navigating through what life looks like here and now. Maybe it’s the busyness of the season, which seems to start earlier every year.

But this year, I’m craving the stillness of ears and eyes and body as I approach the celebration of Jesus’ birth. When I’m by myself I let silence reign, I turn off lights and noise and contemplate the simplicity of the flickering Christmas tree lights. 

I crave the silence. I crave it for its restfulness, for its simplicity, for its peaceful expectation.

Because in the silence there can be peace. 

Often times in Scripture we see silence as a negative, where mouths are silenced, or the Psalmist cries out for God to lift his voice and seems to hear no response. 

And for many, silence during this season is a reminder of things unwanted and unforgotten. The silence of a voice that won’t be heard again on this side of heaven, the silence of a relationship broken, the silence of pain unspoken. 

For many, silence is the very last thing they desire, especially during Christmas.

But silence is also an invitation. 

Silence is the place where we can begin to listen, not to what the world around dictates to us, but to what is sitting, dormant or bursting, deep within us. And this can be frightening. It can be frightening to feel those deep feelings when you don’t know if the feelings will burn off or keep building without end. 

It can be frightening to sit in the silence and realize that silence is all there is. 

But the beauty of silence is that silence is not all there is. In the midst of silence is God. His presence, his spirit, his truth, his love, his light.

In silence we have opportunity to encounter the one who loves us most and knows us best. Knows our pains, our fears, our joys, our laughter, the ghosts of our past, present and future.

This craving inside of me for silence is the God-built realization that I am created for this silence shared with God. To lay before him these feelings, joys and sorrows, and experience how he moves and works in and through me to draw me closer to him. Silence is the place where what festers down deep can be healed, where the primal scream can be screamed as we express ourselves fully to the one who already knows before we give voice.

We are made to crave this silence, because it draws us to a place where it is just us and God. No others, no noise, just us with our Savior.

Being in silence can take courage, I know. It takes courage to acknowledge our needs, our frustrations, our hopes and fears. But in the silence, in the presence of our Savior, there is safety and hope. Don’t be afraid, dear friends, Jesus is in the silence with you and there lies the hope and strength and restoration. He deals gently with us, according to his unfailing love.

I imagine the silence in the stable that long ago night. The whisper of hay and the slow breathing of animals. The still exhaustion of the tired young new mother, and the gentle pacing of a new father who holds new life. 

But that silence must have resonated with what was new born. Resonated with the presence of a world forever changed. Resonated with the presence of God with us, in the stillness. 

This Christmas I seek stable silence. Where there is newness, breath, life, a savior, and me. Where God’s presence and truth meet the need of me in my world and we sit together there. The silence that heals and restores, better than anything the world has known.

Don’t be afraid, the tidings of great joy is that Jesus is with us in the silence, if we choose to meet him there.