She is Life

Mary's Song

Every year, inevitably we sing "Silent Night," in church. While I appreciate the imagery of a "holy night," where all is "bright," I must ultimately say "No" to the song. I must stand with Mary, my sister in Christ, and say:

I take your hand across the ages, a gap bridged by your son in His love, and I share that love with you.

Mary, I too was an unmarried woman who found myself pregnant. No one tried to retroactively "clean up" my story by claiming I was a virgin, as they have with you. But we both received a message from the Holy Spirit, that this baby must be brought into the world and cherished as a Child of God. And again, our similarities end. I was surrounded by the family who adores me and my daughter, in a warm and safe hospital, with every comfort imaginable. Yet, I felt the visceral pain of labor, I saw blood and my body was broken apart to bring forth life.

You had no comfort, no warmth. Only a boyfriend and some barn animals in the freezing desert night! Imagine, riding a donkey during labor, the greatest pain imaginable, to find your only hope was a barn, dirty and bare.

So I say "yes" to my sister Mary, and I say no more "Silent Night." Let's not desrespect the Mother of Us All by pretending she had a night that was "silent" and "calm," where there was "heavenly peace." There were screams of pain and blood, and cold and fear, and through all that God was still ever-present. We don't need to white-wash the Birth of Christ; it is all the more powerful when we look at it realistically and say, "Yes, and God was there."

In loving memory of Jeri Spindler, born December 21, 1946.