Thoughts, Prayers & Art

There is a sacred stillness that descends on Christmas Eve, a quiet hush that seems to envelop the world. Even on our bustling island, where summer breezes once carried the laughter of beachgoers, the crisp winter air feels charged with something unspoken, something holy. The streets are quieter now, the shorebirds fewer, and the waves lap more gently against the sand. This quietness holds space for reflection, for hope, and for the miracle that will soon be celebrated in the songs of angels and the cries of a newborn King.

Christmas Eve carries a tenderness that can touch even the most burdened heart. It reminds us that holiness often comes not in the loud proclamations or grand gestures but in the soft whispers, the waiting, the watching. It is a night where the ordinary becomes extraordinary—a simple stable becomes the birthplace of God-with-us. The fragile cry of a baby becomes the sound of salvation.

As I sit by the glow of candlelight, the silence of this night speaks volumes. It reminds me of the journeys we all take. For Mary and Joseph, it was the road to Bethlehem, heavy with the weight of uncertainty yet buoyed by faith. For us, it might be the winding path of grief, the hard road of forgiveness, or the uphill climb of hope in the face of despair. Christmas Eve calls us to rest from our travels, to sit still in the presence of Emmanuel, and to hear the promise of peace whispered in the silence.

This is a night that holds all of our stories, wrapped in the story of God’s love. It’s a time to remember that no matter how broken or weary we may feel, the light still shines in the darkness. And the darkness does not overcome it.

It is also a night for connection. On Christmas Eve, as candles are lit and voices rise in hymn, I think of all the hands that have held mine over the years, the loved ones who have shared this sacred night with me. Some are still here, their presence a constant gift; others have gone, leaving behind the imprint of their love and their laughter. In the quiet, I feel their nearness and am reminded that the communion of saints is real. Christmas brings heaven and earth a little closer, uniting us in a bond of love that cannot be broken.

To those who find joy easy tonight, I rejoice with you. To those who find it hard to enter the quiet, who feel the ache of loneliness, loss, or longing, know this: the Christ child comes for you. He comes not only for the merry but for the weary, the brokenhearted, the hopeful, and the hopeless. He comes to dwell in the humble places of our lives, to make holy the stable of our hearts.

So, let us all pause tonight. Let us sit with the quiet and listen for the whispers of grace. In the hush of Christmas Eve, may we find that peace is nearer than we thought, that hope is waiting to be born anew, and that love is already here, holding us in its gentle embrace.

And as we leave the stillness and step into the light of Christmas morning, may we carry with us the promise of this holy night: that God is with us, always and forever. Amen.

Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones!