Miles Davis said, "In music, silence is more important than sound." If that is true for people, think of what God can do. Think of what God has done. There were four hundred years of silence and then came the baby's cry with a host of angels. What a chorus.
This coming Sunday we will sing, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." The simple song full of complex emotions matches, in a way, what can be an emotionally complex time of year. We rejoice with songs and gifts and twinkling lights and warm, peppermint beverages. And we also long for Christ to come again and make the broken whole; the longing made all the more acute with the expectations that come with the lights and the peppermint.
Before the angels sang to announce to birth of the King Jesus, there were four hundred years of silence. The nation of Israel was no stranger to waiting, to looking, to longing for God to make the broken pieces whole. They had heard from the prophet Malachai that a Messiah would come. And then their history of God speaking was punctuated with four hundred years of silence.
King David writes in Psalm 16, "the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places." The phrase brings justice to mind because it begs the question, what happens to those for whom literal boundary lines do not fall in pleasant places? I am not talking about the distribution of good things, but the ability to live as a person with dignity.