Many Faiths, One Light: a Homily

Rev. Peter Friedrichs

December 13, 2009

Ninety-five years ago, within the lifetime of some of the people we know, a miracle took place. The year was 1914, and all of Europe was embroiled a brutal and bloody war. Hundreds of thousands of English, French and German soldiers were dug in to miles-long lines of trenches, trenches that were filled with mud and water and were the breeding ground for disease. The enemy lines were separated by a few hundred yards, an area known as "no-man's land," and for good reason. Whenever one side's army tried to cross over that stretch of dirt to attack, the other would assault them with bullets and mortars and poison gas, and few would survive. It was truly a place for no man.

The opposing forces had been dug down in these trenches now for over a year. The soldiers were sick and they were tired and they were scared. And they missed their homes and their families. And Christmas was just a few days away. At night, when the shooting and the bombing let up, some of the soldiers would huddle together in the cold rain and they began to sing Christmas carols to make themselves feel better. It gave them at least a small bit of comfort and a connection to those they loved, whom they knew were at home by the fire, putting up the decorations and missing them terribly. The English sang their Christmas carols in English, the French sang them in French, and the Germans in the language of their homeland. As the story goes, you could hear the sound of men singing all along the front lines. Even across that horrible space between the trenches that separated enemy from enemy, across that no-man's land, the songs of the season could be heard. It's told that some Germans even set small, decorated trees above their trenches.

As Christmas Day approached, some soldiers - we don't know if they were the Germans or the French or the English - scrounged up some paint and some wooden boards and they painted signs that said "Merry Christmas" or "Freuliche Weinachten" and they lifted these above the tops of the trenches so that their enemies could see them. Soon, signs were popping up all over, on both sides of the no-man's land. These were followed by shouted greetings to one another, Germans calling to the English and French, and back again. These men, who had for months been locked in mortal combat, were wishing good cheer for the holidays to their enemies. And then the true miracle happened. One brave soldier - we don't know from which side, and it doesn't matter - one brave soldier stood up without his rifle, and while singing a Christmas carol climbed out of his trench and walked into the no-man's land. When no one from the other side shot at him, others began to follow. Then, soldiers from the other trench across the no-man's land climbed out, too.

The first order of business was burying the dead, and German soldiers joined the English and the French in caring for their fallen comrades. Once that task was complete, soldiers from both sides brought out the Christmas packages they had received from home, and they shared what little they had. Some chocolate, some cake, a little big of cognac, a few cigarettes. One of the men, reportedly a Scotsman, brought out a soccer ball, and a game was played, the first "World Cup" match (which, by the way, was won by the Germans). The cease-fire lasted several days as men crossed over back and forth across the no-man's land to greet and give good wishes to their fellow soldiers in the enemy trenches. When the shooting began again, it's reported that for several days soldiers shot up in the air rather than at each other.

This story of the Christmas truce reminds us of the power and the potential of this time of year. As I look around our Sanctuary today and I see the symbols of the season, representing Christians and Jews and pagans, and the African-American tradition of Kwanzaa, I am struck by two things: First, the diversity of the traditions we honor today. Some are ancient, dating back centuries, while others are barely decades old. Some commemorate one-time miracles while others are linked to the cycles of the sun and the earth that have happened every year since the dawn of time.

The other thing that strikes me about our story and about our symbols is how they speak to our common human yearnings. Those things that we all need, that we all share, no matter who we are or when we lived or what we believe. This story and these symbols represent our yearning for peace. Our desire for happiness and warmth and security. Our basic human need to love and to be loved. Our search to find meaning within all the messiness of life. And they are the visible demonstration of our need to be connected. Not just each to another, but connected with our very humanity and with that abiding sense of mystery and awe that lies far beyond our knowing.

The holiday season is a time of peace. It is a time of hope. It is a time of joy and laughter and love and light. It is also a season of possibilities. And, as our story shows us, perhaps the greatest possibility is the prospect of reconciliation. Knowing that we share these common yearnings and that as human beings we are far more alike than we are different, the holidays open the door to making amends with those we've harmed. Of binding up old wounds and broken relationships. Of finding common ground with those who are different from us. Of learning to listen and to learn from those who don't share our particular perspective. Of climbing out of our trenches and crossing our own no-man's land to look into the face of our enemy, whomever that may be, and claiming them as our brother or our sister. May we strive to live into this possibility now, and throughout the year.

Blessed be.

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