As part of my semi-series on Christmas stuff is a familiar story, the origins of Silent Night.
Interestingly there is something of a controversy about the exact background of the hymn, although the story is still wonderful.
According to some versions of the story the song was written because the church organ was broken (for a variety of reason) while others say that it was common for new songs to be written for special occasions.
The lyrics were written by Joseph Mohr, an assistant pastor at the church. Again, there is debate as to when he wrote them. It is known that he frequently took walks in the evenings and that he was inspired to write a poem.
Some say that the writing took place on December 24, 1818 while others say he wrote the poem 1 or 2 years before then.
But it is known that he took the poem to Franz Gruber, a musician and choir director of the church. He wrote the music for two solo voices and guitar.
It is known is that the song was first performed in a small church in Oberndorf, Austria on Christmas Eve of 1818. And from most reports, that seemed to be it. The church members appreciated the effort but nobody thought the song would be used again.
But some time later (again there is some debate as to whether it was a few weeks or as long as a couple of years) the song came back. A man named Karl Mauracher came to work on the church organ and he learned of the song.
Karl was captivated with the melody and asked permission to share it with others. He took it home to the Ziller Valley east of Innsbruk, where he shared it with two local families of travelling folk singers, the Rainers and the Strassers. Noth groups were captivated and made it part of their regular performances.
In 1834 the Strasser Family Singers sang "Silent Night" for King Frederick William IV of Prussia. He was so taken with what the Strassers called their "Song of Heaven," that he commanded it to be sung by his cathedral choir every Christmas Eve.
From there the song spread across Germany and then across the world.
Over the years there have been many touching stories associated with the hymn, but I found two worth sharing.
The first took place during World War I, in the winter of 1914, on the battlefields of Flanders. The Germans had been in a fierce battle with the British and French. Both sides were dug in, safe in muddy, man-made trenches six to eight feet deep that seemed to stretch forever.
All of a sudden, German troops began to put small Christmas trees, lit with candles, outside of their trenches. Then, they began to sing Silent Night.
Across the way, in the "no man's land" between them, came songs from the British and French troops. Incredibly, many of the Germans, who had worked in England before the war, were able to speak good enough English to propose a "Christmas" truce.
The British and French troops, all along the miles of trenches, accepted. In a few places, allied troops fired at the Germans as they climbed out of their trenches.
A spontaneous truce resulted. Soldiers left their trenches, meeting in the middle to shake hands, exchange gifts, play games and generally forget the war.
It didn't last forever but for a few days peace came to a very violent place.
The second story took place during World War 2, in a POW camp in Germany.
US Air Force Pilot Clair Cline, along with his co-pilot, navigator and bombardier, arrived at Stalag Luft I, a prison camp in northern Germany in February 1944.
Snow still lay on the ground, and during those late-winter nights, the crew, along with 12 other men in Room 6, Barrack 6, huddled in their bunks, freezing without adequate heat or blankets and almost no food.
As spring arrived and the weather warmed, however, the worst problem for these men became boredom. They waited for news of the war, searching for ways to keep their minds off worries about loved ones.
Cline turned to his childhood hobby of model-building to pass the time. One day as he strolled along the barbed-wire fence, he recalled how he'd once taken his wife Anne to a concert by violinist Isaac Stern and Cline hit on a project that might distract him from the miseries of prison camp.
In his mind the project seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. Watching his father repair items on their farm had taught him ingenuity and patience. Cline had inherited a love of music from his mother, who played the accordion and told stories of her grandfather, a violinist in Denmark.
One day as a child, he spied a dusty violin case at his uncle's house, and soon he was playing it regularly
Now, in this prison camp, he would make his own. After hunting through the barracks, Cline settled on a pair of beech bed slats for the back of the violin and two pine slats for the front.
From late summer into the fall, he sat outside for hours, whittling the boards to length. His friends helped to obtain the other parts needed for the project.
By late November it was done. I have music again, he thought. For a time, everything he practiced was out of tune. He adjusted the placement of his fingers until he could summon a melody. Meanwhile, the men in Room 6 decided to hold a Christmas celebration, and so Cline brushed up on some carols.
On Christmas Eve, Cline pitched in wherever he was needed, wondering what Anne was doing to celebrate the holiday. When everything was ready, the men filled their plates and ate.
At dusk, the guards locked the prisoners in. Soon the lights were turned out. The men lit homemade candles. Cline reached under his bunk and pulled out the violin. Softly he began to play a carol. A few men hummed along, then started singing.
Cline imagined he could hear Anne's melodic voice over the motley chorus. He closed his eyes at the thought, finishing the tune by feel and letting the final note linger. Outside, the dogs patrolling the compound barked, and a guard uttered a sharp command. The room grew quiet.
On this night that symbolized everything that war was not, Cline once again placed his bow on the strings. Tenderly, with a slight vibration of the wrist, he drew forth the opening notes of "Silent Night." In resonant tones belying its humble origins, the violin spirited the men home to the peace and love they hoped would soon be theirs.
The men extinguished the candles and lay in their bunks, thinking their own thoughts. Cline stared at the bunk slats above him. Such simple wood had made an unforgettable Christmas. He fell asleep and dreamed of home.
On April 30, 1945, the Germans fled Stalag Luft I, leaving the Allied prisoners free to go. Nearly two months later Cline stepped off a train and saw Anne coming through the crowd toward him.
After they hugged each other, Anne noticed the strange case made of aluminum coffee cans that he was carrying and wondered what it was. Today, over 50 years later, the violin sits in a display case on the Clines' living-room wall in Tacoma.
Thanks to
http://www.new-life.net/favrt018.htm for this story
