Once upon a time… there was a beautiful forest. Everyone called it the Christmas Forest. Each winter all would come to it for a merry and festive time. Every patch of woodland was named after the particular delights it brought: Shopping Wood, Parties Wood, Carols Wood, and more.
But one winter a Man with a Mask brandishing a chainsaw arrived at the forest. Brutally he began to raze all the lovely trees to the ground. Parties Wood was first – the majestic timbers of fun and jollity crashed to the earth, the buzz of conversation and fuzz of drinks extinguished. Shopping Wood was flattened next, the eternal piped carols falling silent. The man pressed remorselessly on. Even Family Gatherings Wood was given little respite, the loving trees cut to pale shadows of their former selves.
His merciless task nearly complete, he encountered a secluded glade, once the quiet centre of the 
forest. In the glade lay a little cottage. He powered down his chainsaw. Quietness fell. He pushed open the door. Inside sat a young woman, gently cradling a baby. She looked up and smiled. “Shhhh…” she said, “He’s slept through your noise, I don’t know how!” She nodded to an empty chair, and he tentatively took a seat. “My other half’ll be back in a moment,” she continued, “make yourself at home.
Help yourself to a drink and something to eat. You must be exhausted.”
With that she started to sing softly to the child. The song was somehow familiar to the man, echoing in his distant memories of coming to the Forest himself in better days. “Silent night,” she sang, “holy night, all is calm, all is bright.” And the man sank back into his chair with a contentment he had forgotten possible…
Our own ‘Christmas Forest’ will be a smaller wood this year. We will miss much of our familiar traditions and joys, whatever the level of Covid restrictions. But small things can bring large pleasures: a smile, the warmth of family or a friend even if via a screen, your favourite Christmas drink, a much-loved arm-chair.
We crave for hope, for a light in the current pandemic darkness however small. And small is the Christmas hope at first – a fragile child cradled by a mother, in an unnoticed corner of the ancient world. But this tiny acorn will grow into the mightiest of oaks: God himself in our midst – in our homes, our communities, and our inner selves.
This Christmas we may have less. Yet, in the silent night, maybe we have all we need.
