Advent Lutheran Church

"Peace from Outside"

            Grace and peace to you from God the Creator and the Lord Jesus.  Amen.

            A few years ago one of our members called me in the office; he was driving, on his way home, excited.  “Hey pastor,” he said, “where’s that passage in the Bible that talks about peace?”  I said, “Uh, there are several passages in the Bible that talk about peace; can you narrow it down a little?”  “It’s that part that says ‘the peace that passes all understanding.’  That’s the one.”  “Oh,” I said, “that’s in the New Testament, in one of Paul’s letters.”

“Well, I just felt it!” he exclaimed.  “Just felt what?” I asked.  “The peace that passes all understanding,” he said.  “What was it like?” I asked.  “Heck, I don’t know,” he said, “it’s ‘the peace that passes all understanding’;  I don’t understand it.  That’s why I called you.  All I know,” he said, “is that all of a sudden, I’m driving along and I feel this sense go right through me that everything is all right.  I’ve never felt anything like it in my life.  Just a feeling that everything in my life is all right.”

The Bible characterizes peace as a condition of wholeness that is defined only by God and given only by God.  The coming of that gift of wholeness, of peace, was often announced, and that announcement was entrusted to the prophet.  So, Isaiah celebrates the prophet: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace … .”  And so we light the second candle on our Advent wreath to remind ourselves of the coming of this One who we call the Prince of Peace.

Sometimes, an individual prophet shows up and announces peace, as with Isaiah.  Sometimes, however, that prophecy shows up not in the form of a person but as a preview.  In December 1914 the War to End All Wars, which would become known as World War I, was entering its fifth month.  When the German and British and French soldiers marched off to war that summer their commanding officers had told them, “Don’t worry, boys; you’ll be home for Christmas.”  As winter set in it became clear that this would be no quick war, nor would it be cheap – by then, over a million people had been killed.

The war in Belgium had become locked in stalemate, the Germans on one side, the other side composed primarily of British troops.  They solidified their positions with trenches separated by a no-man’s land that in some places was as narrow as 50 yards.  The daily drama of warfare settled into a series of attacks and counterattacks, all of which yielded no progress.  The weather was miserable, and so was the morale.

As Christmas approached the German High Command decided to try to improve morale by sending Christmas trees to each unit on the front line, along with some extra rations.  So it was that early in the evening of Christmas Eve, 1914, British soldiers who peered over the tops of their trenches and across no-man’s land saw Christmas trees appearing in the enemy trenches, then candles being perched atop the trenches, their lights flickering in the nearly still, cold air.  As the evening wore on, Christmas carols were heard coming from the German side.

One historian notes that at exactly midnight a German soldier possessing a rich, baritone voice began singing “Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht,” or “Silent Night, Holy Night.”  When the song was finished, the British troops applauded.  Then the British troops began singing “The First Noel.”  The German troops applauded, then responded with “O Tannenbaum.”  When they were finished, the British launched into “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and the Germans joined in the song, singing it in Latin, “Adeste Fidelis.”  That’s how they marked Christmas Eve.

The next morning, Christmas Day, a hand-painted sign was hoisted above the German trenches.  It read, “No shoot.”  Soon an answering sign appeared atop the British trenches: “No shoot.”  Slowly, cautiously, soldiers from both trenches climbed up and out, walking carefully toward one another in no-man’s land.  In just a few minutes almost no one was left in the trenches; all had clambered out to congregate in the suddenly safe span of yards that separated their trenches.  The troops shook hands, wished one another “Happy Christmas.”  More German soldiers spoke English than British soldiers spoke German, so the conversations that ensued were mostly in broken English.  They showed each other photographs of their families back home, traded souvenirs, gave gifts of tobacco, beer, and chocolate.  They took time to collect and bury the bodies of their comrades who had been killed in the past several days and lay on the frozen dirt.  As the afternoon progressed someone came up with a soccer ball, and an impromptu match was held.     

As evening settled on the quiet battlefield, the soldiers shook hands a final time and filtered back to their trenches.  The last ones in were the commanding officers, who turned to face each other, saluted, hopped down into their holes, and the war was on again.

It became known as The Christmas Truce of 1914, and if you call it up on YouTube you’ll see some interesting photos of the day.  But perhaps the most fascinating part of the Truce is a legend that is attached to it.  According to the legend, all of the troops who had taken part in the Truce had to be withdrawn from the front and reassigned, because their Christmas Day mixing with the other side had rendered them useless for combat.  But they had seen it; for just a few precious hours, they had seen it and experienced just a bit of the “peace that passes all understanding.”

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace.”  That’s the One for whom we wait; the One who comes to us to give us the only gift that we cannot give ourselves – the gift of wholeness, the gift of God’s peace.  Amen.