Who's that knocking on the window,
Who's that standing at the door,
What are all those presents
Laying on the kitchen floor?
Who is the smiling stranger
With hair as white as gin,
What is he doing with the children
And who could have let him in?
Why has he rubies on his fingers,
A cold, cold crown on his head,
Why, when he caws his carol,
Does the salty snow run red?
Why does he ferry my fireside
As a spider on a thread,
His fingers made of fuses
And his tongue of gingerbread?
Why does the world before him
Melt in a million suns,
Why do his yellow, yearning eyes
Burn like saffron buns?
Watch where he comes walking
Out of the Christmas flame,
Dancing, double-talking:
Herod is his name.
Absolute silence.
That is all that exists around my home today.
Snow is falling in drifts, blanketing everything in it's path. The trees sag and sigh beneath the weight and every creature has disappeared into its home. There are no cars out, no people, no sound of life. There is nothing but white. Absolute stillness. Absolute silence.
Life - that's what we're seeking, right? I find this emphasized at every Bible study, in every sermon, on every church sign. Jesus comes to save. Jesus dies to conquer the grave. Jesus offers eternal peace. Jesus is the way, the truth and the life. The nativity story is one that has been told countless times. We sing song after song; we read those precious passages of the gospel until the pages are worn and faded; we painstakingly unwrap the little painted figurines of baby Jesus surrounded by his mother, his father, the shepherds, the magi, maybe a camel or two. We sigh and paint ourselves a picture of that oh, so silent night when Christ was born.
But the story, which wasn't so peaceful to begin with, becomes much darker. Genocide. Terror. Heartbreak. Hopelessness. Thousands of children slaughtered for one man's vanity and pride. But we don't want this image in our minds, do we? Christmas is about life and love and peace on earth, goodwill towards men. Where are the paintings? Where are the songs? Where is the remembrance of this very significant horror in the history of our savior?
I remember the first time I heard the Coventry Carol written by Robert Croo. It was unlike any Christmas song I had ever heard. It spoke, not of the angel choir gathered around the Christ-child or of the otherworldly sweetness of Jesus' mother, but of the bitterness and sorrow of countless other mothers. Lullay, lullay, the poet croons, as if a lullaby will bring back the peace that has been lost.
Léon Cogniet | Scène du massacre des Innocents, 1824
Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child
By by, lully, lullay, thou little tiny child
By by, lully lullay
O sisters too, how may we do
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling
For whom we do sing
By by, lully lullay?
Herod, the king
In his raging
Chargèd he hath this day
His men of might
In his own sight,
All young children to slay
That woe is me
Poor child for thee!
And ever morn and day,
For thy parting
Neither say nor sing
By by, lully lullay!
This is truly hell on earth. It seems so obvious.
And yet, the massacre continues.
Since 1973 - since Roe v. Wade - over 61 million children have been aborted in the United States. 61 million lives snuffed out like so many candles. 61 million deaths celebrated in the name of progress. And where are we? What are we doing? Are we looking to the rulers? Are we searching in the hopeless places? There is no government that can end this destruction. There is no human system whole enough to right the millions of wrongs that have taken place. So many Christians want to get on their soap boxes and rage in the face of abortion, but the fight doesn't begin nor end there.
"If you falter in a time of trouble, how small is your strength! Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter. If you say, “But we knew nothing about this,” does not he who weighs the heart perceive it? Does not he who guards your life know it? Will he not repay everyone according to what they have done?"
- Proverbs 24: 10-12
I have had a surprising amount of conversations recently where I found myself saying that you cannot be pro-life and not care about children in other stages of hopelessness - foster care, human trafficking, abusive homes, etc. And you cannot be fighting the holy war to protect children who have come from broken homes and yet believe that, if it were the mother's will, those same children should have never been born at all. Children are children. Innocence is innocence. Life is life.
There is not alternative.
Last week I sent out a prayer list of those in need and I would urge each of you to take this night, or tomorrow night, or just a moment when you can, to be silent in prayer. To pray for the way, for the truth, for the life. Because, in this broken and crazy world we live in, Jesus is our only true protector.