One of my favourite paintings, though I've only ever seen reproductions of it, hangs in the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Rennes. It's by the French painter Georges de la Tour (1593-1652), and depicts two women in 17th century dress. An older woman, on the left of the picture, sits mostly in shadow, sideways on to us. Her right hand shields a candle, which we cannot see, but its light illuminates her face, and the younger woman she is facing. This younger woman, dressed in a bright orange dress, sits gazing down at the baby in her lap, a baby wrapped tightly in swaddling clothes. Her face is beautiful, peaceful, as if she is staring into an imagined distance of time or space - or eternity. The baby's eyes are shut; it is fast asleep, resting completely peacefully in its mother's arms. This is Le Nouveau-Né, the 'New-Born' of the picture's title. The picture is an image of light in darkness, of stillness, warmth, adoration, hopefulness and happiness; and though it could be an image of any new-born baby and any young mother, it has always been for me a picture of the Infant Jesus and his Mother. It carries something of the wonder of Christmas, as in the old carol which sings,
Many of our instinctive feelings about Christmas find their reflection in this picture. We think of the silence of that night, when a baby was born to a frightened but hopeful young woman, far from home and the support of her own relations, in a stable at Bethlehem. We picture the Child, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying peacefully, contentedly, in the arms of his mother.
This image is encouraged by so many favourite carols ('Silent night, holy night') and by favourite moments of Christmas celebration (the silence and darkness in church as we are poised waiting for the entrance of the single candle that brings light in the darkness). It's there in a verse from the apocryphal book of Wisdom, which seems to be a prophecy of the birth of Jesus: "For while gentle silence enveloped all things, and night in its swift course was now half gone, your all-powerful word leapt from heaven, from the royal throne, into the midst of the land that was doomed…" (Wisdom 18.14-15) It's a thought that has inspired so many Christmas messages, inviting us into the stillness of heart and mind that can really listen to the word that God wants to speak to us in that silence.
But maybe it's an illusion, after all. Was that first Christmas, in fact, so very peaceful? In a country that was occupied by foreign armies, riven by internal disputes and plottings, full of inhabitants who were struggling simply to survive? Even in the stable at Bethlehem there was probably a coming and going of people from the inn, not to mention an inrush of excited shepherds with strange news of a vision of angels. And what about the snorting protests of hungry animals who had been driven away from their fodder, so that Someone Else could lie in their manger?
The word of God doesn't and cannot wait for ideal conditions of silence, before it can be spoken. It comes into the midst of our lives whether that means stillness or noise, peace or conflict. God does not leave us without the presence and reality of his word. Whether we are fortunate enough to enjoy the luxury of a holy retreat, or are caught up in the speed and busyness of modern life, or even in the danger of harsh conditions or conflict, God is there and God is speaking. And just as a helpless Baby was the silent Word in Bethlehem, just as it is the silences between the words that make language meaningful, and not just meaningless babble, just as the silences between the notes make music rather than noise, so God's word is to be heard in the very concert of our lives. It only takes that small shift of attention to hear it, and suddenly the confusing world comes into focus, and begins to make sense.
Listen! What is God saying to you, in the stillness, or in the noise and bustle, of this Christmas?
Published in the Marston Times, December 2001