A Weary World Rejoices

Without a doubt, O Holy Night is my favorite Christmas song. As I sit here in the hospital with my 93—almost 94—year-old mother, who is recovering from an infection in her hand, I have felt the weariness that so many of us carry into this Christmas season. This song has quietly guided my thoughts and reflections.

O holy night…

What was the evening of Jesus’ birth like?

It was a holy night—but certainly not a quiet one.

The road to Bethlehem was long. Mary’s body was tired, her heart full of wonder and uncertainty. Joseph walked beside her, carrying a responsibility he never asked for, yet choosing to trust God. There was no room waiting for them—only darkness, cold, and a shelter where animals breathed and stirred.

And yet—

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining…

That night, the world was weary. Oppressed by Rome. Spiritually hungry. Quietly longing for rescue. Yet “in the fullness of time” (Galatians 4:4), God chose that very moment to send His Son. A Holy night, it turns out, does not depend on comfort. Holiness depends on God’s presence.

For generations, God had been known as a refuge—a rock, a fortress, a shelter under His wings. But on that night, refuge could be held.

In the midst of a chaotic world, the fulfillment of God’s promise to provide an ever-present refuge was realized. The refuge of God did not arrive with armies or weapons, but as a baby—wrapped in cloth and laid in a manger.

It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth…

God did not remain far off. He moved in. He stepped into human vulnerability—into hunger, uncertainty, and fragile beginnings. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).

Long lay the world in sin and error pining…

Without Christ, we—like those living at the time of His birth—are without a way to remove the guilt and shame that result from sin. We lie in our sin. We lie in our weariness and hopelessness. We lie in the ache of grief, in the longing for relationships to be healed or circumstances to change.

Till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth…

The soul feels its worth not because we have earned God’s favor, but because God draws near to those who repent and believe. The soul feels its worth not because life suddenly becomes easy. Mary’s worth was not measured by comfort, but by obedience. Elizabeth’s by waiting. Anna’s by faithful worship through long, quiet years.

And our worth is not measured by how much we accomplish this season.

A thrill of hope—the weary world rejoices…

Hope did not remove the darkness that first Christmas. Herod still ruled. Fear still lingered. Trouble did not disappear—but our refuge, our light, had come. A manger housed a Refuge. A child became Salvation. And a weary world found reason to rejoice—not because its physical circumstances changed, but because God came near.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

This is the hope of Christmas—not the absence of struggle, but the presence of God within it.

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…

Indeed, it was the breaking of a glorious morn. “They shall call His name Immanuel—which means, God with us” (Matthew 1:23). For those who believe, Jesus is with us.

God with us in exhaustion.
God with us in uncertainty.
God with us during nights that feel anything but peaceful.

Fall on your knees…

So this Christmas, we do not strive—we rest. We do not perform—we kneel. Not in defeat, but in trust. Because refuge has a name, and He has come. And just like that first night, we can experience our own holy nights—even amid chaos and weariness.

O night divine!
O night when Christ was born!
O night divine! O night, O night divine!