Below the villages speed by
Above the moon shines down
As the bird flies through the sky
Stars shine, and snow flurries ‘round
The air is cold and the air is still
All of nature is quiet tonight
But men rise and sing of God’s good will
And the bird hears them sing "Merry Christmas Night!"
Gliding on the wind of snow
The bird passes over mountain and tree
Past the cloaked quiet as it does go
Ahead now a town the bird can see
Houses and streets ‘dorned by garlands of green
And illuminated by sparkling light
While above the beauty that is seen
The bird can hear a song, "Merry Christmas night!"
The bird turns round a church below
In the heart of the town, small yet holy
The house of God does now glow
Song and light shining out fully
As, on this cold, dark night joy reigns
As sin is shunned and all set right
As hope washes away fear’s stains
The bird draws toward the words, "Merry Christmas night!"
The bird lands now in the snow
Looking up at the smiling statues that stand
Faces of clay, yet alive and aglow
A mother reaching out her hand
A protector bending low
Shepherds paying homage all
To the Babe in the snow
A Babe so sweet, so frail, so small
A Babe so gentle, so wise, so kind
The newborn Child King of Kings
To whom all pay homage, body and mind
To whom tonight earth sings
"Merry Christmas night!"
And the bird now hears a bell
Tolling twelve out in the air
All is calm, all is well
All is joy and all is fair
And now the bird raises its head
And joins its sweet voice to the song
"He has come, as he said!"
"God has come, no more we long!"
"A prince of peace, God made man"
"A birth to set the world aright"
"Now sing with us, all ye who can!"
"And bless you all, this Christmas Night!"
My name is Jack Carson. I lived in the state of Virginia, in the USA, for my entire life. I never knew anything else. I was a small town kid and a born and raised Catholic. I wasn’t a bad kid, or a bad Catholic. But now I can’t think of anything other than I wasn’t nearly as good as I could’ve been. And how I didn’t appreciate the quietness of my life, the day-to-day work and play, the stuff I used to complain about. How I wished I had more excitement. Funny how sometimes it takes something really terrible to make you see straight. I always knew the war would change everything. I guess I didn’t realize how much it would change me.
I was seventeen when America joined in the war against Germany. I remember that day clearly. December 11th, 1941. It was scary, and huge, but I was also a bit excited. Ma was just scared, and Pa… well, I don’t know what Pa was. He was just quiet. Real quiet. It must have been because he knew what would happen next.
That Christmas was kind of overlooked, to be honest. Everyone was thinking about the war, and we all felt like it was more important, I guess. We didn’t have much time to make big dinners, or celebrate, or to think about the true purpose of Christmas. Hard to think about peace, joy, and salvation when all the world is the opposite of it. War, even at home, really changes your life, not just Christmastime. War either drives folk to go to church and pray a lot more, or it drives them away. I, well, I just sort of felt like there were more important things to do. I got distracted. And I only regret it now.
I turned eighteen in October of ‘42. Practically all the guys I knew had either joined up or been drafted by then. Some of my old friends from school, mostly young guys barely older than me, signed up the instant they could. I knew a few seventeen-year-old fellas who did it. I never did try. I never wanted to. I don’t know. I could’ve been called a coward. Maybe I thought I was then. But even so, the letter finally came one day in November. I was drafted into the army.
Ma made sure she didn’t cry when I left. I remember real well. December 15th, in the train station, surrounded by soldiers and their crying families and loud noises. In the chaos, I felt excited, almost. Not ready, and a bit scared, but excited and unsure. I was about to leave, and I knew Ma had been crying. Her eyes were red and she was sniffling, but she smiled as she hugged me and kissed my forehead.
"You’re cold," she told me quietly. "Try and stay… stay as warm as you can, sweetheart." She shook her head to herself, but I just grinned as best I could.
"I’ll be okay, Ma. I’ll wear dry socks," I promised. My smile faded as I saw her expression when she looked up at me again, and I swallowed. She looked scared. "I’ll be okay," I repeated. She immediately put a brave face on again and patted my cheek.
"I know. Here. I’ve got your Christmas present for you." Ma slipped her gloves off and reached into her coat pocket. She pulled out an old holy card, one she always carried around with her. It was a beautiful picture of the Nativity from the point of view of a young shepherd boy, looking up the road towards the cave that was glowing brightly with a heavenly light. Joseph and Mary were kneeling there, looking down at the manger in the center of the scene. However, the Baby was looking directly at the shepherd boy, smiling with His hand outstretched. It was painted so it felt like you were the boy and the Baby was looking at you. I remember when I was a kid I loved to play pretend that I was the shepherd boy and make up stories about going to the manger, and playing with the Baby.
Now, as I stood in my new uniform in the cold, I realized I’d forgotten about that little prayer card. Ma folded the collar of my uniform back, and pinned the card to the inside of my jacket. She replaced the collar and patted it.
"You keep that close as you can, Jack," she told me firmly. "You remember that no matter where you are, how alone you are, how bad it gets, Jesus can see you. And He’s always reaching out for you if you need Him. Just remember to ask, alright?"
"Alright, Ma. I’ll remember." I just said it then. It felt good to have something from Ma so close to my heart and she looked a lot more content now. But I didn’t really mean it.
Pa reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. Like whenever he was worried or upset, he was just quiet. But he looked me in the eye and smiled gently at me, squeezing my shoulder. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he made a cross on my forehead with his thumb and ruffled my hair, like he used to when I was little. I ducked my head.
"Well- I’ll miss ya, Pa," I began to say. Suddenly, he pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. I stood for a moment, surprised. Then I hugged him back.
"Come home," he murmured. "And listen to your Ma. Pray for it. I love you, Jack, my boy."
"Love you too, Pa."
He stepped back, rubbing his eyes. I stood uncertainly, facing them as the train behind me sounded loudly and the tracks hissed. The crowd was shifting, with the soldiers climbing on board and the civilians moving back. I hesitated for a second, then grabbed my bag.
"Goodbye," I said. It seemed pretty stupid, but I didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so excited anymore. I felt small and kind of scared.
"All aboard!" came the shout.
I glanced behind me at the train, and I realized if I didn’t go now, I never would. I didn’t turn back to Ma and Pa. I just ran to the train and scrambled on board, pushing past the guys who were gathering around the windows. I shoved my head over the shoulder of a guy on his knees, with his arms and head out the window, and saw Ma and Pa standing where I had left them. The train’s engine huffed into action and, with a loud hoot of the horn, the train began churning out of the station slowly. I waved at them as they moved away.
"God bless you!" I heard Pa yell, his deep voice booming over the deafening sounds of the crowd and soldiers and the train. My throat stuck. I couldn’t have yelled back even if I thought I’d be heard.
The train pulled out of the station, gaining speed. The crowd, Ma and Pa, and eventually the buildings, all disappeared. I still sat by the window, looking out. The wind was frigid, nipping at my cheeks and stinging me. It was a real cold day, unusually so for Virginia. I figured it might snow. I wished I could’ve been able to see the house all nice for Christmas with the snow around it. Then I realized I wouldn’t even be able to see the Christmas tree this year at all. And that’s what did me in, I guess. I fell back into my seat and shut my eyes. I wasn’t gonna cry, not in front of all the other guys. They were either loud and excited, or totally silent. And scared. My heart was thudding so fast I put my hand over it to make sure I wouldn’t just keel over. I felt the prayer card under my jacket, and for a moment… I suppose I felt calm. I felt safe. Further down, in another row, I heard some cheerful fellas singing Christmas songs with each other. It sounded real nice, and I just listened. And for a moment, it was Christmas. It was peaceful. But just for that moment.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was cold in Europe. Lot colder than home, that was for sure. Even in the summer, I felt cold at night. All that year I moved around a lot. There was no more quiet anymore. It was one fight after another, more and more killing. Whenever we got a moment of quiet, we were needed someplace else. Whenever we sat down for a bit, we were being shelled. After a while, I didn’t care about it anymore. Because whenever I stopped, I had to think about it all. I had to think about the smoke, the gunfire, the running, and the gunfire and explosions. And the other guys- I couldn’t look whenever they went down, because I would then too. I never got hit that year, but I got hurt. And I changed. I didn’t care about anything else other than getting out of there. I didn’t pray anymore. I don’t know why. I should’ve prayed more than ever. I should’ve been ready any day to get hit. I was scared enough of it. But I didn’t. All that war taught me to think was that no God as good as the One I heard of in church could let this happen. All I could think was that if God was real, then maybe He didn’t care. Because I didn’t anymore.
A whole year passed. I stopped writing home so much, mostly because I couldn’t. And even then, I was pretending to be the same kid who left home. It felt like lying, but I couldn’t tell them everything. And when Christmas came around again, it didn’t feel like it. We got chocolate, sure, and we sang songs when we could and told stories. But it wasn’t Christmas. It was war. There was no Christmas out there.
~~~~~~~~~~
I sat in the cold mud, my back to a pile of dirt. All around me, there was mud and dirt piling up, wet with water and blood. Sandbags were piled to my right, blocking me from the gunfire and sprays of dirt that came with the constant explosions. To my right there was a felled tree, shredded and knocked to the ground after a grenade had gone off right under it. I was lying in a deep hole in the earth, hiding as best I could from the chaos. It was pitch black outside, nearly midnight. I could only see flashes of light from the explosions that boomed deafeningly. Gunfire splattered farther off, a few yards away from me. There were other soldiers, guys like me, lying around me farther away. None of them were moving.
I couldn’t see, hear, or think clearly. I was just lying there, shivering, the cold seeping through my uniform and freezing my face and fingers. I couldn’t feel my hands, but I was holding on to that gun for all I was worth. Didn’t matter, anyway, I guess. It was empty and I didn’t have any ammo left. But that gun was like a shield, and I held onto it.
The fight wasn’t supposed to have gone on for this long. We had to pull back towards our fortifications and hold out there. I was running like I used to through the woods at home. Only then I wasn’t being chased by gunfire, shells and Nazis. Then the guy next to me, Hunter, fell. I stopped for a second to grab his arm, to get him going, when a grenade landed next to both of us. I tried to get back before it went off. I didn’t.
I was thrown pretty far, I guess. That blast blew my ears out for a while and all I could hear was a scream in my head. I was half conscious when I landed. I couldn’t barely see and I couldn’t move. It took me a while to get the dirt and smoke out of my eyes, but I couldn’t move. Everyone was running past me. My left leg was cut up bad, and my left arm was burned. I could barely drag myself on my right arm and when I did move… well, it hurt like nothing I ever felt. I think I went into shock or something; I remember hardly anything. Just a daze of muted chaos and pain. It hurt so bad it stopped hurting and went numb for a bit. My forehead was bleeding too. I do remember hoping I didn’t have any bad concussions.
When I came to, everyone had made it to the fortifications. I was left out, on the battlefield still, with German soldiers not far. But I was alone. Hunter hadn’t made it, so I was lucky I guess. I sure didn’t feel like it. I was alone, in the dusk, with gunfire peppering the woods and my troop in safety behind me. And I was dying. I found my way to the shell hole somehow. Maybe I did it when I was still in shock. But that was it. I couldn’t do anything else.
Sitting there, surrounded by mud and darkness, I looked up at the sky. It was still untouched. It was still bright and gentle, full of stars and the moon. The sight of the stars gave me a jolt of realization. It had to be nearly midnight. That meant it was almost Christmas Day. I shuddered. My breath clouded in the air. This was going to be my last Christmas, and I knew it. I felt guilty for not having written home for Christmas yet. Ma and Pa weren’t even going to have one last Christmas card from me. And I would never be able to see our Christmas tree again, see snow falling on the roof of our house, hear Ma sing carols while Pa played our piano. And then I remembered I hadn’t prayed.
Dying gives a person a new look on life. I wish I could say I saw my whole life and I was brave and ready. I was just scared and I was guilty. I hadn’t prayed for weeks, months even. I’d given up on God, and I’d given up on myself. I looked around me again, still shaking. I’d just seen war, and this battlefield, as a sort of hell. But it wasn’t. This war would end one day and the forest would regrow. Another Christmas would come, and one of those small trees would decorate someone’s house. Snow would fall and God would be watching over it all. But I wouldn’t be here for it. Because I’d given up.
Just then, as I hugged my arm to my chest, I felt something under my jacket. I let go of my gun and reached in, pulling out the prayer card. It was wrinkled and dirty. Blood was on it. My blood. But in the center of it, the Baby still sat, smiling and holding out His hand to the shepherd boy. To me. His smile seemed sadder this time, and His hand was more open.
"You’re still waiting for me," I whispered. "Just like… just like Ma said. Just like You said. I stayed away because I couldn’t believe You’d let this happen. I believed that this was what hell was. But this isn’t hell. This isn’t permanent. You are. Heaven is. You were born in wartime too. You were born to save people from it. You sacrificed so much for me and I turned away. And- I’m sorry."
My vision blurred for a moment. I shuddered again, and shut my eyes. And I prayed. I prayed for my pals, those around me and those at camp. I prayed for Ma and Pa, and for the Germans that were beyond the woods. And I prayed for myself. I thought of Ma and Pa at midnight Mass, kneeling before the manger scene, and the bells tolling, and the candles flickering. I could imagine the explosions were ringing bells and that the flashes of light were just candles.
After a while, I opened my eyes again. Snow was falling now, covering the awful ground in a white blanket. My left side was hurting so bad now I couldn’t stop shaking. I tried to pray out loud, but I couldn’t get my lips to work right. So I just sat and imagined, and tried to think of words to pray.
Suddenly, I heard a sound that jolted me right back to the real world. It was the sound of crunching footsteps coming towards me. A lot of footsteps too, and voices. Voices speaking German. I pulled myself back into the hole and grabbed my gun again. The prayer card fell to the ground, blown a few feet away by the wind. I reached for it, but it was too late. The wind whisked it far away out of sight. For a second, I felt crushed. Then I heard the soldiers, even closer, and I knew it wouldn’t matter soon. I leaned back and waited, hearing the voices moving around me.
A single pair of footsteps came nearer and nearer to my hideout. In a few moments, I was going to be found out. I knew it. I lifted my gun just as the soldier leapt into the shell hole from the tree next to me.
He was a young German guy, just a bit older than me. He had his back to me at first, but when he turned he immediately lifted his gun and pointed it directly at me. I stared back at him, trying to hold my own weapon up. It was empty, sure, but he didn’t know it. He hesitated for a second. He said something in German that I didn’t understand. He moved forward again so I held my gun tighter in warning. Not that it mattered. This was it.
"Lord Jesus, let me go to You on the day of Your birth," I prayed, hoarsely. The German, who had moved forward, glaring down his gun at me, lowered his weapon a bit as I spoke. He tilted his head and looked at me, his face shadowed. Then he did something I didn’t reckon on. He took his finger off the trigger and held up one hand in a gesture of peace. He spoke one word in German a few times, and began to set his gun on the ground. He motioned to mine. I hesitated for a second, but as he set his gun down and moved his hand away from it, I slowly lowered mine and rested it on my leg, letting go of it with my hurt arm. I kept my other hand on it as a show.
Still holding his hands up reassuringly, the German knelt in the mud and studied me for a second. I was confused, but I didn’t move. After a second, he reached into his pocket and drew out my prayer card. He held it out to me.
"Yours?" he asked, his voice accented thickly.
I nodded, my eyes fixed on his shadowed features. He leaned forward, still holding it out to me. He gave me an encouraging nod. Uncertainly, I glanced at him, then took my hand off my gun. It fell to the ground and we both ignored it. I took the card back, wincing as I moved forward. I pressed my lips to it gratefully and nodded to him, closing my hand around it.
"Thanks," I murmured.
The German nodded again and glanced around. He inched forward. I flinched and pulled away from him as he did. Immediately, he slowed down and shook his head.
"Nein." He made a pacifying gesture. "Nein. Not kill. God’s day. Weihnachten."
"Christmas," I guessed. His eyes, visible now, lit up.
"Ja, Christmas. Frieden."
As he spoke, he drew his water canteen out of his pack and gave it to me. I tried to take it, but my fingers were so numb and my hand was shaking so bad I couldn’t unscrew the lid. He did it for me and helped close my hand around it. I drank the water gratefully, cold and stale as it was. As he took it back, he peered at me for a second. Then he pulled out a clean cloth from his pack and doused it in the water. He held up the cloth and pointed to my head. I reached up and felt my forehead, my hand coming away damp with blood. One of my eyes was already blurred by the flow. He made the gesture again, questioningly.
"Okay," I replied softly, my voice cracking.
Gently, he used the cloth to clean my forehead and eye. It hurt when he did, but I didn’t say anything. I just held onto the prayer card and flinched as he did. He worked quickly, and I could see out of my eye when he was done.
Then he turned to my leg. This time, he didn’t ask. He took the cloth, washed and wet it, and pressed it against my leg. That hurt. I couldn’t help crying out when he did it. He glanced at me, but I just bit my tongue. Tears welled up in my eyes and my breath shuddered as he worked, but I was glad it wasn’t numb anymore. Well, mostly glad.
I shut my eyes and tried to focus on staying still as possible when he wrapped the piece of cloth around my leg. When I opened my eyes, he was leaning back and watching me carefully. I realized I had my teeth and hands clenched and I was leaning forward. I dropped my head back and breathed heavily.
"Thank you."
Before he could speak, more voices were heard. Voices in English, coming from behind us. American soldiers. He glanced up quickly and turned to me, his expression now urgent.
"Medic, ja?" He tapped his lips and pointed above. "Medic."
"Yeah. I’ll call." I nodded, my eyes flickering in exhaustion.
He grabbed his gun and stood up again. As he did, I grabbed his hand and looked up at him.
"Thank you, mein Freund," I told him in a hoarse voice. "God bless you… Merry Christmas." I dropped my hand.
He nodded, and spoke one last time before he ran off into the darkness to rejoin his troop. I lost sight of him quickly as I lost my grip on reality, but his words echoed in my head. "Blessed Christmas für uns alle."
It was a blur after that. The medics did come and more soldiers with them. I got put on a stretcher, and I got to safety. They patched me up alright, but apparently nobody could take the prayer card away from me the whole time. When I was recovering, I prayed some more. I prayed for that soldier. I don’t know who he was, or what happened to him. I just know he proved something to me; God is everywhere, in everyone. Christmas is truly God’s day of peace, no matter where you are, no matter who. Jesus came to earth for us all, and it's up to us to remember it. To honor Him and thank Him. I remember that now. I wrote to Ma and Pa as soon as I could get a piece of paper and a pen, and I told them what my rescuer had told me.
Blessed Christmas to us all!