One of my favorite Christmas songs was written in the late 2000s. I first heard it at Silver Dollar City on September 5, 2011. Becky Isaacs introduced it as one of the songs in their Christmas album. I don’t know if she only sang that song because she was trying to sell more Christmas records, but if she was, it worked.
During the intermission, I went to the merchandise table and bought the whole album for that one song.
The song was called “Labor of Love,” written by Andrew Peterson.
The chords are too complex for my amateur self to play on the guitar, so I’ll write the lyrics for your reading pleasure.
“It was not a silent night. There was blood on the ground. You could hear a woman cry in the alleyway that night on the streets of David’s town.
And the stable was not clean. The cobblestones were cold. And little Mary, full of grace, with the tears upon her face, had no mother’s hand to hold.
“It was a labor of pain. It was a cold sky above. But for the girl on the ground in the dark, with every beat of her beautiful heart, it was a labor of love.
“Noble Joseph by her side, calloused hands and weary eyes. There were no midwives to be found on the streets of David’s town in the middle of the night. So he held her hand and prayed – shafts of moonlight on his face. But the baby in the womb he was the maker of the moon. He was the Author of the faith that could make the mountains move.
“It was a labor of pain. It was a cold sky above. But for the girl on the ground in the dark, with every beat of her beautiful heart, it was a labor of love.
“It was not a silent night on the streets of David’s town.”
It isn’t the typical point of view in a Christmas song. While I support the ordinary holly-jolly outlook of Jingle Bells or the reverence of O Little Town of Bethlehem and Adeste Fideles, I am also a supporter of a different perspective every now and then.
And this song gives quite a different perspective on the “night of our dear Savior’s birth.” We don’t know who was there with Mary and Joseph, but we do know she wasn’t near her primary care provider unless she was traveling tandem on the backseat of the donkey, which I doubt. A doctor would have had a Mercedes chariot with at least two horsepower.
The ride across less than perfectly smooth terrain wasn’t an ideal way to induce labor. And the whole birthing process isn’t a walk in the park. I’m thankful for Mary’s willingness to commit to nine months of morning sickness and swollen feet, as well as submitting to the cruel scourging of the eternal bounce that a donkey ride forces upon its passengers. And knowing that one day, she would watch as the child she delivered hung on a cross.
Unless she didn’t know, which is a whole other song we won’t get into, probably ever. Because who cares if she knew or not? But either way, it was a lifetime of committed labor.
It was not a silent night.
to those who commit to labors of love,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 