Silent Night special, even if all isn't bright

By david bobovnyk
special to the vindicator
To many, Christmas comes with glitter and packages, boxes and ribbons, and a bustle that carries through to the New Year. But to others, Christmas reveals its wonder in most unexpected ways.
A cold, December night settled quietly upon the town. Families huddled in the warm glow of their homes as chimneys painted upon the black sky with swirling streaks of gray smoke. A wife and children waited for the return of their husband and father from work. It was the change of shift at the U.S. Steel Works, and he was overdue. But this night, there would be no shrill whistle beckoning men to labor. This night, in the dim barroom of the Open Hearth Grill, a silent and anguished figure would hear a different call.
He sat alone, the collar of his rumpled coat turned upward as if to shield him from the harshness of the world. His elbows rested upon a long, mahogany wood bar, thick hands encircled a double-bourbon. A torn and wrinkled termination notice protruded from his coat pocket. It detailed his years of service and described the terms of his severance. He stared into his drink, searching for answers like some frustrated fortune teller. No answers came to him, only the reflection of a lost and worried, middle-aged man. He was 51 years old, and for the first time in his adult life, he was without a job. Christmas was only two days away.
Thirty-years he gave to his company. Thirty-years he worked the hot, hellish-orange furnaces of the mill, earning his living as his father did, with sweat and tenacity forged in the hard tasks of a steel worker. It was work that made him proud, this work that supported his wife and children, and now it was gone. He knew that he would be unable to provide for his family as he had done before, and a sense of worthlessness and shame came over him. He could not go home and face his family, not like this, not just yet.
He leaned his head into his hands, struggling to make sense of it all. He closed his eyes and in a hushed voice heard himself speak, "Help me ... help me, God.." The words surprised him. He was not a praying man. He had learned to rely upon his own strength to see him through hard times. But this, this was somehow different, this was somehow beyond him.
He was ready to surrender, ready to submit to a dark hopelessness -- the kind that steals a man's spirit -- when the sound of a solitary violin drifted across the room with a warm resonance. He filtered out the noise of clinking glasses, and of men ruminating of the mill's closing. He focused on the music coming from an old console stereo behind the bar. Stark and beautiful in its simplicity, the sound pierced through his despair, and touched his soul. He paused, and listened. He knew this melody, its words resounded in his mind. "Silent Night, Holy Night." He lifted his head from his hands as the violin played, "All is calm, all is bright."
Childhood memories
The soothing, rich tones carried him back to his days as a young boy, back to the church of his childhood memories. He was with his father once more, kneeling before a manger on a cold and dark Christmas Eve. Candles flickered with a welcoming glow as they gazed at the statue of an infant, placed carefully upon a mat of golden hay. Quiet serenity filed the air. Dennis Mangan 12/23/05 A Christmas tree sparkled over the scene with tiny colored lights, releasing the scent of pine from its needles. His father placed his arm around his shoulders and softly spoke. "He was born so that we might live, son." He knew the boy's reply, for it was his own, "So that we might live with him in heaven?" With a smile, his father gently nodded. "That's right son, that's right."
His father told him of Jesus' birth, how the Son of God was born in a stable, warmed by the animals that were sheltered there. He described the heavenly star that had marked the Holy event, the bright star that had led three wise kings to the Lord's manger with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. He spoke of how frightened shepherds from surrounding hills were invited by angels to witness God's divine love. Yes, he remembered that night with his father, one silent night, so many years ago. Somehow he remembered, and from across the mist of time, that night returned to him.
A yearning rose within his heart. His tired eyes clouded with tears, and his anger dissipated. "Round yon Virgin, mother and child", he longed to be that young boy again, innocent and believing, secure within the hold of his father's arm as they prayed before the manger. It had been years since he was in church, years since he had placed his trust in anything other than his own hard work and self-determination. Dennis Mangan 12/23/05 Now, he had no where else to turn. "Holy infant so tender and mild", the violin sang. Only one child, one small child remained with him, somewhere deep within his being, this child was waiting, through all of the years, just waiting for him to understand.
Stripped of his worldly distractions he was left to consider the years of his life and he resurrected truth.
He knew his life was adrift. He knew it had been so, even before the mill's closing, and he knew that he could not right its course on his own. And, in that truth lived a light that gave him hope -- a light from which he had strayed so many years before.
"Sleep in heavenly peace", he whispered the words to himself. "Sleep in heavenly peace." Above all else, he wished for peace, the kind of peace that could calm the restless worry within him. Dennis Mangan 12/23/05 This peace he could not forge with his own hands, nor could he buy its worth. This peace was given freely, without condition, given only by a power whose compassion was eternal, a compassion shown in the gift of a tiny child born in a lowly manger. The answer for which he had been searching was revealed.
He lifted his solid frame from the metal stool, reached into his pocket, and tossed a handful of dollars onto the bar. His crumpled termination notice slipped from his coat and descended to the floor. He watched as it settled upon his worn work shoes. He turned away, walked toward the exit, and entered the cold December night.
Snow had fallen and blanketed the world in a glistening white powder. He was anxious to be home, anxious to be with his wife and children. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. He would share dinner with his family, and afterward, he would gather his wife and children together. This year, they would attend Mass at the church he had known so many years ago, for he realized there was much for which he was thankful. Then, he would kneel with his young children before Jesus' manger, the scent of pine would fill the air. He would place his arms around them, and in the soft glow of candlelight softly recite the words. "He was born so that we might live." And like his father before him, he would believe the words he spoke ... for he was lost, and now as found.
X David Bobovnyik grew up in the Steel Street section of Youngstown. He is an attorney for the Industrial Commission of Ohio in Youngstown.