The evening’s activities put me in mind of the event a year
earlier. The tone both similar and worlds apart – a celebration of the start of
the Christmas season, but this year without the aching heart and scratchy eyes
of the day’s grief. As I walked away, the voices, amplified by microphones,
echoed off the trees, the strains of the violin soaring above them.
I walked toward my car, alone in the deserted lot at the far
end of campus. The tenor, the alto, and the violin together, haunting echoes of
the originals, rode the chilly, crisp air: “O night, O Holy night, O night divine!”
And alone, I wept at the beauty of it all, that the
Conqueror came in peace1, on a quiet, holy night, to be pierced for our
transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; to take upon Himself the
chastisement that brought us peace, to turn our sorrow into joy and our
mourning into dancing. The power of Death was undone by an Infant born of
glory2.
1 Jason Gray. "Easier." Christmas Stories: Repeat the Sounding Joy.
2 Andrew Peterson. "Gather 'Round Ye Children, Come." Behold the Lamb of God.
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