"Be still, and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10)"

It has been our routine to have a quiet Christmas Eve.

If we go to church that night, then the silence comes a little later.

I like to watch the DVD version of Dylan Thomas' poem, "A Child's Christmas in Wales."

It takes me back to my childhood, especially when he says "there are always uncles at Christmas."

There were always uncles cluttering up the living room on Christmas eve when I was a child. They and my aunts, my mother and grandmother were laughing, eating, drinking. One of the uncles always gave another the same old corn cob for outhouse use each year, and the room would erupt in guffaws.

In "A Child's Christmas in Wales," the boy gets candy cigarettes. I used to get those in my stocking, too.

Listening to a poem, albeit in a video story, is a quiet thing to do on Christmas Eve. Yet, it is not the stillness of the Psalm.

For me, the best part of Christmas Eve, strangely enough for a child, was being sent off to bed.

I would recline on my back in my third floor bedroom and watch the play of street lights and Christmas lights on the white ceiling. The occasional laugh from the revelers down below would jolt me, or had I heard a noise on the roof ... but soon I was drifting off.

Yet, this too is not the stillness of the Psalm.

Being that still is almost a counter-culture thing to do these days. Our world does not tolerate silence.

I remember helping out with a class of adults who were coming into the church, and asking them if they ever sat in a room in complete silence — no TV, no music, no or little outside distractions, no reading — just them and their thoughts.

It is just my interpretation of the looks on their faces, but I sensed they were having a hard time even conceiving of such silence, let alone having done it.

Trying to do so is well worth the effort, however.

It might be fairly easy to find silence, to remove the outside world. But the more that one is capable of walling off the outside world, the louder becomes the internal noise. Your "monkey mind" will jump from thought limb to thought limb until it becomes a jungle in there.

Writers, with more experience in the issue than I, have concluded that the man or woman seeking silence cannot do so by trying to control thoughts, rather only by letting them come and go unchallenged.

The silence referenced by the writer of the Psalm is a deep, contemplative and richly rewarding silence, yet it is accessible to everyone, not just the saints.

Christmas Eve is a good time to give it a try.

Step aside from the world, be alone. Perhaps contemplate a few lines of Scripture or other writing that is inspirational in your life. Let it roil about as it may, bring to it no opinions, just a listening heart. If you are inclined to prayer — as are many who are celebrating Christmas — then that may be the direction to go after a period of silence.

But remember that the better part of prayer may be listening, and if you are "talking" you are not listening.

The Psalmist does not make silence an end in itself. The goal is knowing God. He is telling us that it is not an impossible challenge.

We'll end this Christmas Eve meander with two quotes (thoughts for contemplation perhaps):

One is from the 13th Century German theologian Meister Eckhart :

"God is bound to act, to pour Himself into thee as soon as He shall find thee ready."

The other is from the late Trappist monk, Thomas Merton:

"Just remaining quietly in the presence of God, listening to Him, being attentive to Him, requires a lot of courage and know-how."

I wish you a peaceful Christmas, dear readers. And perhaps, even, a truly Silent Night.

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