It was a not-so-silent night, and I doubt that all was calm. It certainly was a holy night— holy means different, and different could mean “weird,” right? And it was technically bright, but mainly to the shepherds who were scared out of their wits by that angelic host. So, no, I don’t think, “Silent Night, Holy Night” is a fair telling of what really went on when God came into the world. And now that I’ve deconstructed your mother’s favorite Christmas carol, let me cut to the chase: The night we sing about— but only after Thanksgiving— and celebrate on December 25th, was not what we so often make it out to be: quaint, soft, white—like a Thomas Kinkade painting or one of those Precious Moments angel figurines. If you can find it in a Hallmark store, it’s probably not Christmas. Rather, when God came into this world, it looked entirely different from what our brains are ready to imagine. It was gritty and tense. There was political intrigue and social stigma. Honestly, it looked...
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