Silent night.
Holy night.
Nothing is calm.
All is broken.
The broken body of Jesus is wrapped, gently.
Much like it was the night of his birth.
He is laid in a borrowed tomb.
Nowhere that he was ever laid was his own.
It started in a borrowed manger.
And here he was, borrowing a tomb.
Silent night.
Holy night.
Mary quakes at the sight, of the stone being rolled in front of the door to the tomb.
Did she have any hope left in her heart?
Or did her soul groan in complete despair and the stone thudded against the tomb wall?
She could see his little baby face, smiling up at her in the stable that night, and now she was leaving him alone in a cold tomb alone.
She had heard him cry out in despair and abandonment on the cross, and now she was turning her back and walking away.
Even if she knew Sunday was coming, you know that broke her heart.
Silent night.
Holy night.
Son of God, love’s pure light.
It was dark.
The disciples gathered alone, in shock.
Their hearts crushed, like Jesus had been that day.
Despair.
Hopelessness.
Brokenness.
Grief.
What they couldn’t see was Jesus, taking the keys to death and hell. What they couldn’t see, was the battle that was raging in the unseen.
They couldn’t see it, but God was moving.
They couldn’t see it, but they truly had more hope than ever before. Their souls were being fought for. Your soul was being fought for.
In the middle of the silence.
In the middle of the darkest hour.
God was moving more than they could comprehend.
Do not fear the silent night.
It’s still a holy night.
Because God is moving.
God is warring for you.
Silent night.
Holy night.
All is calm, all is bright🤍
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