Oh Night Divine!

I was sitting in my office chair the other morning, feeling spent by the mad pace of Advent, when I was greeted by the tune of “Oh Holy Night” from another office. It was beautiful.

“Oh Holy Night” has to be one of my favorite Christmas songs. I love its gentle, quiet beginning, which seems so evocative of what I imagine that holy night in Bethlehem must have been like; yet it’s infused with such joy, such excitement, such exuberance. In that way, it captures the incredible paradox of the Incarnation — this most triumphant, glorious miracle taking place in this most simple, ordinary of circumstances.

Long lay the world In sin and error pining,

'Til He appear'd And the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope The weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks A new and glorious morn.

At that moment of exhaustion, no sound could have been more welcome. As I wrote the other day, this year my wife and I more or less gave up on our long-held dream of making Advent a less busy, more serene season. It’s just not going to happen: The responsibilities of our vocations, of being good friends, and of honoring our extended family preclude it. So instead, we decided to embrace the chaos, the lack of sleep, the perpetual rush, and offer them up as a penance.

It’s a nice idea, in theory, but hard to live up to. When rushing about, it’s easy to get lost in the moment and forget about consciously lifting that moment to Christ.

But Jesus is good. Occasionally, He reminded us. As He did when he let me hear “Oh Holy Night” the other morning. He reminded me with that placid tune: I am the reason for all this activity. You are preparing for Me.

Exhaustion is a gift. It is precisely at the moment that I feel I have no more to give that I become truly aware of my total dependence on God. Yes, it’s that way always — I cannot so much as take a breath or lift a finger without Him — but it is only when I’m completely run down that this truth becomes more than just an abstraction, but a tangible, overwhelming reality.

This is a big part of why I love long-distance running. If I’m running 3 or 5 miles, it’s easy to think that I am doing so under my own power. Not so with 15, 20, or 26.2. The long run begets the exhaustion that is, in its own way, a preparation for Him. And it is in those last few miles that prayer is, for me anyway, the most powerful. I am placing myself in His hands, asking Him to carry me, at that moment and always.

For as much as I have tried to avoid an exhausting Advent, the exhaustion, it seems, is exactly the Christmas preparation I need.

Fall on your knees! O, hear the angels' voices!

O night divine, O night when Christ was born;

O night divine, O night, O night Divine.

Merry Christmas, everyone!