Minus 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Snowdrifts piling up over…everything. The wind chill factor is more like -85 degrees. I have strategically situated my scarf, covering the opening of my parka’s hood, warming up the cold air a little before breathing it into my lungs. But such that I can still see. Making sure my eyelashes don’t freeze together! That my tongue doesn’t stick to the zipper. Mittens are the only way to keep my hands from freezing. Conventional gloves just dont cut it. Especially when you stick the pitchfork deep into the hay. Once. Twice. Forty times. Our simmental cattle are always outside. Even in these temperatures. The barn is open to the south. The north wall protects against the blizzards. It’s Christmas.
The farm of my growing-up-years lies at about 3300 feet above sea level lost somewhere in the midst of the Canadian prairies. There are no Alps between us and the Arctic, the Rockies lie to the west. That’s where the all-melting Chinooks come from. When the wind turns to the north, the temperature can sometimes fall from +70 to -30 degrees within hours … or even further down the thermostat. But even the worst of blizzards pass. The morning after is quite spectacular. The temperature has now dropped to -58 degrees. An intense bright blue hard to come by anywhere else in the world covers the sky. Nothing moves. Not a bird, not a car, not a person. Not even the clouds wake up from their hiding place. The silence is deafening. One wants to look around if anyone else can hear it. Glorious snow crystals sparkle in the morning sun hugging long miles of barbed wire fence. I am not sure if I would ever again witness a silence so profound. Christmas. “For when peaceful silence encompassed everything and the night in its swift course was half spent, Your all-powerful word from heaven’s royal throne leapt into the doomed land.” (Wisdom 18:14-15)
In the midst of the noises of this pre-Christmas season, I hope you experience the gift of silence. That it be still. That you might witness the gift of this word. Be able to hear it. Allowed to hear it. Wonder and marvel at it. How respectfully and unobtrusively and humbly he appears before the stable of the human heart. And calls into the silence. And calls into the night. No matter how deep your night may be: “Let there be light.” (Gen 1:3) Peace. Joy. Mercy. Comfort. Strength. Encouragement. Salvation and healing. Redemption. Freedom. My identity as the Father’s son, as the Father’s daughter. Meaning. Purpose. Fulfillment … deep silence. The king is coming.
A merry and blessed Christmas!
Fr. George LC
