It was a sound no human ear could hear. Muffled, steady, small. An infant’s heart beating in his mother’s womb.
In the night sky, the stars were moving, circulating to the West along ancient pathways. Bright, steadfast beacons of the cosmos. As they spun through the heavens, a rhythmic cycle of light spilled across the earth’s mantle, where watchmen marked their lonely, vigil hours, and a woman carried her unborn child down the long road to Bethlehem.
The little heart still beat in the quiet night.
Far to the East, a Star veered from its age-old course. It had heard of something new: a son was to be born of a virgin mother. Stooping below the clouds, it went from village to village, looking for this marvelous sight.
There were royal men of the Orient who knew the stars by heart. But they had never seen a star move like this before. It called for them to come after it. So they went, afraid and full of wonder, to find a child whom even the skies obeyed.
Leaving silver palaces behind, they took to the desert road. Only the Star knew the way, so they followed it by night and continued blindly into the West by day, weary knees pressing against the damp of their camels’ backs. Sometimes they lost sight of their guide as it slipped behind a range of mountain peaks or hid above the sleet of a winter storm. Huddled around a dim fire, the men waited in silence. Old faces, bent against the night. And then . . . there! The Star flashed over the horizon, beckoning them on.
Were they different men when they finally arrived and knelt around the sleeping child?
They could hear the rhythmic rise and fall of his little chest as his mother held him. High above, the Star gently pulsed and shone for them to see. The whole world was at peace, close to the heart of the Creator of the stars of night.
Each year the Star makes its long journey to Bethlehem. You can see its glow as it spreads across the Advent Wreath, going from candle to candle, looking for the virgin mother and her son. It’s a bright, warm light that beckons us into the presence of the Christ Child. Each year, we follow close behind.
But sometimes the Star hides, and all goes dark. Then, we wait in cold vigils, praying for it to come and guide us. But the Light is never lost, it always knows the way. Even in the silence of the night, it can hear the sound of our Creator’s heart. It finds us again soon, lifting our eyes and saying, “Come, let us adore him.”
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Photo by John Reign Abarintos on Unsplash
